After a stilted greeting, Quill followed Ariana and the hostess to an out-of-the-way table in the dining room. Ariana flicked her fingertips across her thumb, one by one. When she wasn’t doing that, she was fidgeting with something else. He’d teased her in the text, and she’d responded in like manner, but this face-to-face meeting was clearly uncomfortable for her.
She sat across from him. “I hate that I needed to text you.”
Quill removed his coat and took a seat. “This is nice, and it has food.”
She unwrapped her flatware and put the napkin across her lap. “Did you know Scarlet Oak supports MAP?”
“I didn’t.”
“Gut. When Daed asks Salome where we stayed, maybe he won’t know either.” She shifted the flatware and moved the vase with its fake flower several times.
He picked up the menu. “Any suggestions?”
“The filet mignon, roasted potatoes, and grilled asparagus are amazing. It’s all covered in some package deal Nicholas got, so I’m not actually paying for it.”
He studied the menu. “Then filet mignon it is.”
A server brought water and unsliced bread on a cutting board with a knife and butter. They placed their order, and the server left.
“It was good of you to come, especially on short notice.”
“Of course. My meeting ran a little later than I’d hoped.” He’d gotten so involved in the plans Melanie wanted him to help carry out that he’d left fifteen minutes late and then got stuck in traffic.
“It feels odd sitting here, talking as if…”
“As if what, Ari? As if we’re friends? As if we grew up together?” His awareness of being a phony formed a lump in his throat. They were friends, but he’d loved her too much and for too long. For both their sakes, they needed to put some distance between them. And soon.
“I should be here with Rudy.”
Quill fiddled with his napkin. Could he really disagree with her? “I see it a little differently. I believe if Rudy was who should be here right now, you would’ve made sure he was here. But you apparently need to talk about something he can’t help you with. That doesn’t mean he’s not everything to you. It only means you need a different perspective for maybe an hour before you return to him feeling better than when you left.”
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Denki. That was the perfect thing to say.”
“Good. Mark it down”—he circled his index finger in midair—“that I said the right thing at least once tonight.” He took a sip of water. “What’s going on, Ari?”
She sliced a piece of bread and put it on the little plate in front of him. “I’m not really sure.” She explained about the roar of conflicting opinions in her head, each group insisting on what she needed to believe and who she needed to be, and she confessed that she had no idea how to make them shut up or how to isolate which group of thoughts to believe.
“Is any of it complete nonsense?”
She grew quiet, apparently thinking, and their dinner arrived.
“Man, that looks great.” He picked up his fork and knife.
“It tastes even better.”
He cut the meat and took a bite. It seemed to melt while exploding with flavors. “Oh, my stars,” he mumbled. “That’s the best steak I’ve ever had.”
“Good.” She motioned at him, circling her index finger. “Mark that down as one thing I got right tonight.”
He chuckled. “You have to bring Rudy here.”
“I agree.” She cut her steak.
He forked a potato. “What’s the verdict? Is any of the roar complete nonsense?”
“Sure, but if something has no validity or value, I can toss it out like a piece of trash, and it’s gone.” She drew a deep breath, looking torn and tired. “But over the last few months, I’ve learned a lot that has substance and solid reasoning. Most of it collides with what I’ve been taught in church, and those teachings also have substance and solid reasoning. I’m like the wave of the sea in the book of James—‘driven with the wind and tossed,’ ‘double minded,’ and ‘unstable.’ ”
“And your concern is God doesn’t answer the prayers of the double minded?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. What’s bugging me is the dozens of different viewpoints inside of me on every single topic.” She gestured at him. “When situations crop up in your life, you know what you believe and what you will and won’t do.”
“I only know the essential answers, Ari.”
“What are those, and how do you get them?”
“We have a core value of who we are, right?”
“If that’s true, mine is so muddled it’s useless.”
“I don’t think so. Your thoughts and emotions are bewildered. But our core is our gift. Our way of making a difference. Our filter through which we see life.”
“Uh, still confused.”
“Push aside all you know of my beliefs and opinions, and tell me the lifeblood of who I am.”
Her eyes bore into his as she pondered. “You’re a protector.”
He smiled. “Bingo, and on the first try.” He took another drink. “It’s like my personal North Star, navigating me through the important things. I mess up and make mistakes in all areas of life, of course. Too much and too often. But I don’t ignore or discount that one thing I know about me.”
“I know nothing about me.” She set her fork down and leaned in. “The morning I was getting ready to return to my Amish home, I pinned up my hair and put on my cape dress, apron, and head covering. When I looked in the mirror, I had no idea who was looking back at me.” She shook her head. “None, Quill.”
He could see the aftermath of the earthquake that had shaken her. Her focus had been to get home, but once there, she discovered that her newfound knowledge railed against the Old Ways and vice versa.
“Are you having second thoughts?”
“No.” She trembled as she took a drink of water. “This isn’t about being Amish or not being Amish. I know with my whole heart that I could be in either world, and I would be equally bombarded and overwhelmed.”
“You’ve done several vital things right. Can we take a moment for you to appreciate that about yourself.”
“I’ve done nothing right—”
“You’re aware of what’s going on inside you, and you didn’t repress it or assure yourself you were fine when you weren’t. And you’ve taken time to get away to absorb and regroup.” He knew she wouldn’t have done either of those things before her time with Nicholas and Brandi.
“What’s the next step?”
“I wish I knew, Ari. You want relief, and if I could give it to you, I would. But these things take time.”
“It’s normal?”
“I think so.”
“You went from the simple life and limited knowledge to a chaotic world with too much information and too few answers. Did you feel like this?”
“Yeah. It was a mixture of information overload, grief, guilt, and who knows what else.”
“It is, isn’t it? I feel bad for leaving Nicholas and Brandi, and I feel bad for not being overjoyed to be home.”
He’d carried so much guilt for hurting Ariana, and he’d grieved the loss of many friendships. It had been a hard adjustment, knowing everyone he cared about thought poorly of him. “Focusing on your purpose helps.”
“You do get it. I knew you would.” She pointed at him.
“I get it, so what’s your purpose?” He knew the answer, but she needed to say it.
Her brows furrowed, and they both ate in silence for several minutes.
She pursed her lips. “All my life I’ve wanted to make things better for Mamm and Daed. But they’re no better off, and the café’s finances are in a mess.”
He listened as she told him about the items Abram had purchased to make the café more successful and about Cilla’s medical bills.
“Quill, the bank receipts and deposits from the café show a really good profit, except there’s about five thousand dollars unaccounted for.”
“What?”
“Ya. My reaction exactly. Sunday afternoon right before I left, Abram gave me everything concerning the finances of the café—checkbook, statements, receipts, deposit slips. I’ve spent a lot of time this week going over everything, and the café earned that money, but it’s not in any account.”
“Have you asked Abram?”
“No, and I won’t. He and the others held down the fort for me. Without them I wouldn’t have a café by this point. He’s turned over everything, even the petty cash, so I’ll either figure it out, or there’s five thousand fewer dollars to work with.”
“Well maybe at least ask. Any chance someone forgot to make a deposit?”
“For five thousand dollars? That’s several weeks’ worth of deposits, and Abram assured me they went to the bank each week.”
“How big of a mess is it?”
“No one’s received a full paycheck since the café opened. With the missing money and what’s been spent on coffee machines and such for the café and medical bills for Cilla, I’m not sure there will be enough to pay next month’s mortgage. Nicholas gave me a debit card with a thousand dollars on it, which is both generous and yet not nearly enough.”
“It’ll help, though, and I could—”
“You won’t.” She set her fork and knife on the plate with solid clinks and looked him in the eye.
He nodded.
She relaxed. “I’m not sure I’ll even use the debit card Nicholas gave me. He’s grieving over the situation with Skylar and me leaving and his countless mistakes. I can’t take advantage of that.” She looked exasperated. “What is it with us Brennemans and money? First the dairy farm and now this?”
“The café is a new small business. Those are notorious for being tough to keep afloat. You’ll get the financials figured out.”
“I’m beginning to think we’re poor because we have no money skills.”
“You know what happened that caused your farm to suffer, right?”
“Something happened?”
“I was eight. That would’ve made you three, so it makes sense you don’t remember it. No one talks about it in your house?”
“I guess not.”
“Your Daed had a milking herd, one of the best in the state is what my Daed said. Disease struck, and he lost half his herd.”
“He didn’t buy any new cattle to rebuild his herd?”
“The bishop said that it was God’s will the cows died and that Isaac needed to accept it and rebuild the herd slowly.”
“Not sure I agree with that thinking—although you should note that I have dozens of warring opinions coming at me from Scripture, Amish and non-Amish preachers, authors from times past and today. But moving on, cows have calves, and the cycle repeats continually. It’s been seventeen years, Quill.”
“His calves are often sold quickly because that provides instant money to pay bills. The loss of income meant your family had to borrow money to live on. I think maybe things snowballed from there.”
“More like an avalanche.” She sat back, seeming to stare through him. “If Daed had even ten more milking cows, he could make ends meet. What does that run a head?”
“Supreme milking cows—about two thousand dollars a head.”
She coughed. “He’d need eighteen to twenty thousand dollars to buy enough cows to comfortably pay the bills. My brain is fuzzy and is still full of opinionated voices, but you’ve made my purpose clear again.”
“Then being forced to eat this meal has been worth it.”
Amusement glimmered in her eyes for a moment. “One last thing.”
“Dessert?” he teased.
“I’d like to move in with your Mamm.”
“She would love that.”
“But Daed’s not keen on it, and he says the bishop won’t be either.”
Quill knew what the bishop thought and why. The man was a tyrant with a Bible in his hand, preaching about love and forgiveness. “What’s your Daed’s hesitancy?”
“He seems to think her ways caused all her sons to leave, and he’s concerned it’ll rub off on me.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”
“Hey, I asked. You answered.” Quill knew what the community thought of his Mamm. She’d been unjustly tried and found guilty, and her one bright spot in the district was Ariana. “Move in, Ari. I know my brothers would agree with me on that. Just don’t grab a gun the next time you hear one of us sneaking in to visit.”
Ariana sat up straighter, looking much better than when he’d arrived. “Tell them I’ll try not to shoot any of you.”
Quill laughed. “You’ll try not to?”