Operation Bonnet Page 15

  “Hi, guys!” Jordan was back, this time wearing a headset. “How are we doing for sizes?” She looked at Amos’s ankles. “Ooo, no. That’s not good. I’ll be back.” She said something into the headset and left without hearing a word from us.

  “Wait, Amos,” I said, following him to the dressing room. “You can’t pay me yet. We’re not finished.”

  He shook his head. “It was true. She is marrying the Slim Shady, John Yoder. I am helpless to change her mind. I am paying you now.” He picked up his wallet, but I pushed the money away.

  “Amos, she doesn’t love him.” I forced him to look at me. “She looked as miserable as you do.”

  He waited.

  “We’re not finished with this. That girl isn’t going to marry someone she doesn’t even love. Not on my watch.” I caught a glimpse of my reflection, arms crossed, chin tilted in defiance to all things Yoder. Very impressive for someone with no experience in the dramatic arts.

  He slammed down his wallet. It hit the concrete floor with a thud. “You are correct, Nellie Monroe, PI. We are not going to stop our fight to the death. Katie will be saved by her Moondoggie, or my name is not Amos Benjamin Shetler.”

  “I thought you stopped watching Gidget.”

  He shrugged. “It is such the good television program. Not like the trash on these days of the twenty-first century.”

  Jordan returned with an armful of denim. “Hi, folks. These should work better.”

  I waved. “I’m off. You kids have fun.”

  Jordan balked. “Um, maybe you should stay. My boss says always to defer to the girlfriend.”

  Amos and I snorted in sync. “She is not my girlfriend,” he said, shaking his head as he reentered his dressing room. “She is not the girlfriend of anyone. She punches men in the stomach.”

  I sighed. “It happened once,” I said quietly to Jordan.

  “Twice!” Amos called. “She is a most frightening girl.”

  When I left, Amos and the Jordan River were weighing in on a pair of Bermudas and a matching pink shirt. “Frightening,” like most things, was completely relative.

  20

  Honestly

  The next morning, I had the early shift at the golf course. This adjective, early, means many things to many people, but to Tank it meant be behind the counter not a minute after six.

  “You got all winter to SLEEP,” he’d say with a look of disgust. “You YOUNG people don’t know that daylight in our NORTHERN CLIMATE is something to savor, something to CHERISH. Start ’er up at SIX BELLS and quit your whining!”

  Fortunately, I was not averse to early mornings. Though not a chatty person at that hour, I was at least able to offer a pleasant countenance to the senior citizens who liked to golf just after sunrise.

  “NELLIE!” Tank barked from the bathroom where he was dealing with a leaky faucet. Despite my repeated offers to call a plumber, he would have none of it. This was the fourth consecutive day spent on the drip with no resolution in sight.

  “Yes, Tank?”

  “How’s your beautiful grandma? She back to her sweet SELF again?”

  This was not a conversation best yelled. Nevertheless, Tank was a man who needed his space when emotions arose. I knew he was worried in his own head-under-the-sink way.

  “She’s doing better, Tank, thank you.” I tore the cellophane off a package of balls destined for driving-range buckets. “She still knows you’re full of malarkey, for one thing.”

  I heard him snort. “That woman would say NO SUCH thing about me, and you know it. She knows QUALITY when she sees it. She lived through the Depression, for Pete’s sake.”

  The bell above the door announced another golfer. I looked up from the bucket of balls to see Matt blazing a trail for the counter.

  “Matthew DuPage, what on earth are you doing out of bed at this hour?” I peered at his face. “You look horrible. What’s wrong with you?”

  He sighed. “Nellie, do you have an internal censor? Because the rest of us have a little flashing light that goes off in our brains when we think of saying ‘you look horrible’ to someone else. You don’t have the censor, do you?” He pulled Tank’s stepladder from behind the counter and opened it. He sat heavily, his hair falling into a tired face.

  “But you look really bad. Aren’t you sleeping?” I poured him a cup of coffee.

  “Not really,” he mumbled. He thanked me for the coffee and gulped his first swallow. “I’ve been, um, thinking too much.”

  “Just a sec. Eighteen, nineteen—” I was counting the bucket balls. Tank was a stickler when it came to making sure each bucket had fifty and not one more. This was no CHARITY, he was known to remind us.

  Matt cleared his throat when he saw I’d finished. “I’ve been thinking. And I’ve been reading. I’m in a really worthwhile book right now called Honesty: The Courageous Choice.”

  I tore open another package of golf balls and looked at him. “That title makes me nauseous.” I shook my head. “How can you plow through that stuff? Isn’t it kind of common sense?”

  “Well, yes. But no, not always. Sometimes it’s really difficult to be honest. But look at what it’s done for my dad and Mrs. H. They went to a movie last night.” He smiled, and I smiled back, knowing the thrill of conquest. Plus, you can’t not smile when Matt DuPage smiles at you. It’s a rule of the universe.

  “Do you think they make out?”

  He stopped smiling. “That’s gross.”

  “No, it’s not. What? They can’t kiss because they’re old? Are you an ageist?”

  “Pretty much, particularly when it has to do with my own father. Sick.”

  I waved my finger in his face. “You say that now, but you just remember that you will one day be an old people. And you’ll still want to be kissed.”

  He blushed, and I noticed again how good-looking he was getting to be.

  “I’m telling you, Matt,” I said, “nice man-face. You’re pretty cute.” I reached over the counter to pinch his ruddy cheeks.

  He batted me away, but I could tell it was a fake pout. “So, this book, about honesty. I’ve, um, been meaning to talk to you about some of the author’s theses.”

  I widened my eyes. “You think I should be more honest? I thought I needed a filter.”

  Matt nodded as he took a gulp from his coffee cup. “Right. You do. But honesty in relationships can always improve. Even for people who, for example, punch people in the face or gut when trying to show affection.”

  I sniffed. “Who says that has anything to do with affection? Anyway, you sound like Amos.”

  “Amos?”

  “Yes. He was just giving me grief about this same issue yesterday when we were shopping.”

  “Shopping.”

  “Haven’t you noticed the predilection for DayGlo? It was time. A bit unnerving when he didn’t have his shirt all the way on, but we made it. Did you know Slash has ‘totally gender-neutral’ dressing rooms? This comes from a trusted source, one wearing a headset.”

  Matt was staring out the side windows, sipping his coffee.

  “Amos, now there’s a person with an interesting take on relationships,” I said. “I mean, here he is, all alone in the outside world. Well, not entirely alone. He has me, for one. But you understand what I’m saying. He’s having to rethink everything he’s ever taken for granted, from the way he spends money to what he wears to what it means when a girl flirts with him. You know?”

  Matt said nothing.

  “You’re not listening,” I said. “And you’re very think-y. I can see why you aren’t sleeping well. Too much thinking makes Matt a tired and nonresponsive conversation partner.”

  He turned away from the window and smiled sadly at me. “I’m listening.” He pushed his empty coffee cup onto the count
ertop and stood. “Heard every word.”

  “I guess this is good-bye, then,” I called after him as he walked out the door, hands in his pockets. “Weird,” I said to myself.

  “What’s THAT?” Tank called.

  “I said, ‘WEIRD.’ People are weird.”

  “Young lady,” he said, “don’t EVEN get me started.”

  3

  I knocked on the attic door. “Popsicle delivery,” I said, my voice loud to compete with the music blaring on the other side. “Nona, it’s me, Nellie.”

  “Oh!” I heard her pad toward the door. She opened it wide and studied my face. “Can I help you?”

  Okay. So today was a not-so-great one. They’d become more frequent, but I had not felt the need to tell Pop and Annette, who were gone again, this time in the Catskills for a tournament benefiting the Byrne Family Foundation. There was no need to alert them every time Nona couldn’t remember my name. In the deep, important parts of her, she knew who I was, even if her brain wasn’t cooperating. I’d simply roll with the not-so-good days.

  “Hi.” I smiled. “I’m Nellie. I brought some Popsicles for us to share.”

  “Oh, please, do come in.”

  Light filled the room, both from the arching windows and because Nona had every single lamp and overhead light switched on. I followed her to her canvas, which was covered in so much dark paint, it extended outward in a three-dimensional aesthetic. I handed her the lime Popsicle and kept the raspberry.

  She held the wooden stick with paint-splashed fingers. “This is my absolute favorite kind,” she said, delight on her face. We ate in silence, smiling at each other every other bite and murmuring our approval when we’d hit on a piece of frozen fruit.

  “Nona, your new painting is very dark.” I pointed with my Popsicle and watched her reaction.

  She nodded slowly, letting a big bite melt a bit in her mouth. “Yes, it certainly is. You know, dear, life is not always easy. Sometimes it looks a lot like that.” She turned away from the painting. “And sometimes it’s sunny and bright and full of good treats and good friends.” She nodded at me, the sunlight picking up gray and green flecks in her eyes.

  “Absolutely,” I agreed, trying my darnedest to not feel anything but just that moment. At any time, she would come back, sometimes even shaking her head as if to clear it from the rubble that had blocked her view. Other times, though, she stayed wherever she was, content to be there, unhurried and seemingly unconcerned about the length of her absence.

  “Now, tell me what it is that you do. Do you own a dessert shop? Because this is exceptionally good. Compliments!” She tilted her head to bite around the stick.

  “No, I’m a private investigator. In fact,” I spoke slowly, mulling over how much I should say, “I’m working on an interesting case right now.”

  “You don’t say?” Her eyebrows arched. “What a fascinating line of work.” Her weathered hands, which had so many times gripped a paintbrush, held my own hands, cupped my face, folded into each other on her lap. She watched me expectantly. “I’d love to hear about it if you have a moment.”

  Oh, Nona. All I want anymore are more moments. “Well, there’s this man named Amos.” I told her about our playground hiring session, with a few embellishments involving a fedora and the rumble of distant thunder. Nona was a great listener. She gasped when I told her of my ruse with Professor Moss and how I’d gained entry to the Schrock home. She swooned over Amos’s rivalry with John Yoder and his undying love for Katie. And she grimaced at the recounting of Grandmother Mary and her bone-crushing personality. By the time John was parting the willow branches during our pie break, Nona was flushed with emotion.

  “Well, that girl has no business marrying a man she doesn’t love.” She got up from her chair and began to pace. “I should know. You cannot force a person to love you any more than you can force yourself. You can pretend very well.” A bitter laugh escaped her throat. “I’ve known women who’ve pretended their whole married lives! But what does that get a girl?” She pointed at me from across the room before she made her way back, slender legs just working it out on the Berber carpeting. “It gets her a lifetime of heartache, that’s what!” By the time she reached me, her eyes were back to the real Nona, feisty and alive.

  “Nellie, sweetheart. I want to talk to you about Matt.”

  “Okay, Nona,” I said, my heart full. She could talk to me about carburetors, for all I cared. It was just so good to see her.

  “He is hopelessly in love, and you’re not helping him one bit.”

  “Matt?” My eyes bugged. “In love? Oh, my gosh. That’s why he looks so horrible. He can’t sleep, he thinks too much, he stares out windows….” My stomach lurched. “Who is she? Did he say her name?”

  My Nona, the pinnacle of patience, rolled her bright eyes. “Nellie, he loves you and has since you were children. Honestly, I thought you were the genius around here.”

  I stared at her lips, then my eyes darted to her eyes. She’d seemed so lucid, and yet she was speaking nonsense.

  She shook her head and went to the little minifridge and freezer where I’d stashed the opened box of Popsicles. “I can see you want me to prove this.” She sighed into the billows of frost escaping from the freezer. “Oh, lovely! My favorite kind!” She tore the wrapper off a cherry treat. “Let me see.… He watches you with moony eyes.”

  “He does no such thing. That’s just the way Matt looks.”

  “It’s normal to you because he developed this crush in junior high and you probably can’t remember how he looked at you before that. Number two: He laughs at all your jokes.”

  “I’m funny.”

  “Not that funny, dear.” She offered me a bite, but I shook my head. My insides were quivery enough as it was. “Number three: He told me.”

  I said nothing, just sat with my mouth agape. Looking back, I can’t imagine that this pose, so often revisited during the following weeks, was an attractive one. It pretty much canceled out any progress made with my hair, but I couldn’t help it. Nona was talking crazy when she wasn’t crazy, and it had to do with Matt and me. In that way. The sky was falling, people.

  “He told me years ago, Nellie, and he’s kept his secret through all your friendship. Oh, I’m sure there were times when he convinced himself otherwise, when he told himself you weren’t interested or that he wasn’t interested. But I’m afraid he’s always loved you, sweetheart. It’s time you woman up and deal with it.” She slapped her second clean Popsicle stick on the coffee table like a gauntlet.

  “But—what—how—why—?” I could have thrown in a few more interrogatives while I was at it, so muddled was my thinking. “I don’t understand how you knew all this time and he knew but I didn’t know.”

  Nona leaned forward in her chair and fixed her gaze on me. “Nellie Augusta Lourdes Monroe, I love you more than anything on this planet. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re the dumbest smart girl I’ve ever known.”

  I scowled and started to protest.

  “Nope.” She clapped one hand over my mouth. “I’m too old to hear your feeble argument. You’re a luminary, I know, I know, but you are beloved by a sweet, sweet boy, and it’s never even occurred to you.” Her face softened. She stared at my face for a moment and then kissed me softly on the forehead. When she pulled away, her eyes were shining. “God is so good, isn’t he?” She took in my face, smoothed my wrinkled brow with her fingers. “He knows just what we need and is so openhanded in his giving. He gave you to me, and”—she sighed—“he gave Matt to you.”

  “Nona, I’m kind of overwhelmed.”

  “Oh, I’m not saying you have to marry him, though you could do much worse. It just amazes me every time, and I’ve seen it over and over again, how God provides people for each other. Perfect fits, even with all our quirks and differences and craz
y wiring.” She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes.

  I watched her, listening to her breathe, a small smile still on her face. When I got up, I tiptoed around her, taking care not to stir her from her sleep. I was almost to the door when I heard her speak, her voice cozy and tired but clear.

  “I love you, sweet girl.”

  I knew that. I may have been the dumbest smart girl on the block, but to my very last cell, I knew that.

  21

  Uncharted Territory

  Perhaps you’re thinking, Oh, good. She finally got it. Girl with the unfortunate hair finds true love and doesn’t dillydally any longer in getting there. Certainly the wisest course of action, looking back, but I’m afraid I dillied and I dallied. Instead of facing the whole thing head-on, I threw myself into good old-fashioned denial and procrastination. Matt didn’t call for a full week, but when he did start up again, I’d let it ring and instead send him a cheery and impersonal text. For example:

  Hey—Saw I missed your call. SWAMPED at work. Hope all is well with you!

  Or:

  Sorry I couldn’t pick up. Hanging out with Nona a lot. See ya!

  I mean, it shamed even me, using an elderly relative as an emotional shield. I’d just stare at the phone, his Michael Jackson ringtone playing “Man in the Mirror,” and I’d freeze. There I was, a girl of twenty years, and I didn’t know how to talk to a boy. That he was the boy who’d seen me in headgear, let me wear his ball cap when I’d undergone a very sketchy spiral perm, and taught me how to slow dance for my first homecoming—those details flew to the periphery when his number flashed on the screen. All I could think about was his new jaw and his sleeplessness, and I’d start chewing my nails, a habit I thought I’d kicked in seventh grade.

  So rather than confronting my best friend with his unrequited love and facing what that might mean for me, I spent more time with the Amish. Naturally. There was nothing quite so escapist as hanging out in a boiling kitchen with turn-of-the-century technology to keep one’s mind off one’s romantic troubles.