I stood there in the driveway among the lightning bugs until his taillights were out of sight. Then I looked back down at the Chris-kissed penny, and I traced the now organic outline slowly with my fingertip. Smashing these pennies was therapeutic. I slid it into the front pouch of Chris’s hoodie, then headed for the front door.
As I got to the bottom step, I noticed motion in the upstairs guest room window. It was Amy. I decided I was done letting her jealousy bother me. I didn’t care what she saw. I headed inside, replaying the scenes from my evening with Chris over and over again in my mind.
Once in my room, I placed the penny in the marble trinket box on my bedside table that my Dad had brought back from one of his lavish trips. Then I pulled out my blue composition book journal and wrote about my evening with Chris and shoved it safely between my mattress and got ready for bed. The last time Amy found my journal, it was in the bottom drawer of my dresser, covered with clothes. I would make sure that she wouldn’t find it again.
19
On the way to Isabelle’s farm, Dave Matthews Band’s Tripping Billies came through the speakers, so I rolled down the windows and turned up the volume. I was almost out of the neighborhood when I saw my Mom’s blue minivan heading my way. She was rolling her window down as I got closer, and then she stuck her arm out to flag me down. I put my foot on the brake and came to a stop in the middle of Moorland Road. When we were window to window, I turned down the music and she spoke, but she was strangely calm.
“Hi Allie, where are you headed?” she asked. Her cheerful demeanor had me immediately on guard. Instead of questioning it, I smiled and replied.
“I’m going to Isabelle’s farm to go horseback riding,” I said politely, to avoid her asking questions or telling me I couldn’t go.
“That sounds fun. What time will you be home?”
“I should be back by 4:00,” I said. This time, she replied with the weirdest thing I had ever heard in my life.
“Okay, we are going out to dinner tonight. It’s your choice. Wherever you want to go, we’ll go,” she said, with emphasis on it being my choice. Was this about my scholarship? Was she finally going to celebrate my accomplishments?
“What? Why am I picking? I don’t care where we go, just pick something.”
“I want it to be your choice, but if you don’t care, what about going to Richmond Country Club? You like that, right?”
“Sure, that’s fine, whatever. I’ll see you at 4:00,” I replied skeptically.
“Okay, have fun. Be safe,” she replied, with a sudden parental shift in tone.
“I know, Mom.”
As I began to roll my window up, she gave me a strange smile, told me she loved me, and then continued home.
What just happened? That was just too weird.
I put my foot on the gas, turned the music back up, and tried to take my mind off of it as I drove the winding roads out to Manakin Sabot. Field after field full of cows and horses grazing behind beautifully painted three-board fences lined either side of the road. How had I not known that Isabelle lived out here in this serene countryside?
The wooden Apple Blossom Farm sign swung gently in the breeze as I approached the gravel driveway. Turning into the gravel drive, I slowed my speed and followed the fence line up to her house, passing a field of horses on the left and an apple orchard on the right. She lived in a large white farmhouse with a wrap-around front porch and freshly watered ferns that hung along the roof line. They dripped onto the porch rail as I climbed the steps to her front door. Isabelle met me at the open door before I could knock.
“Allie! You made it! Come in!” she said with a huge smile.
This was such a nice welcome. I wasn’t used to being invited to other people’s houses, so I wasn’t sure what a normal greeting was, but this felt warm, unlike what my Mom extended to Chris when he came to my house.
“Through here!” she said, motioning for me to follow her inside. Isabelle walked through the foyer and down a long hallway that emptied out into a spacious kitchen. The windows spanned the entire back of the house that looked out to the back pasture, the apple orchard, and the barn.
“Wow! What a view,” I said, simultaneously exhaling and gazing out the window, wondering what it must be like to see this every day.
“Pretty great, right?” I spun around. “Hi, Allie! Welcome!” It was Isabelle’s Mom.
“Good morning, Mrs. Wharton. Thank you so much for having me over. Your home is so beautiful,” I said, still taking in the view.
“Thanks, dear. Hungry?” she asked, as she slid a basket of freshly baked rolls and a dish of butter across the kitchen island.
“Sure, thanks,” I said, reaching for a roll that was still warm to the touch. I looked at Isabelle with wide eyes.
“Is it always like this here?” I asked, pointing at the basket of bread. “Your mom is such a great hostess,” I said, now with a mouth full of bread, and Isabelle laughed.
“Yes, she loves to entertain. She’ll take any excuse to cook or bake,” she said, as she gestured around the kitchen. Her mom had multiple items on the stove and the counter.
“Is that all for us?”
