style="font-size:15px;"> “And did you?” Sierra asked.
He was quiet for a moment. “I found a beautiful place. By that time I’d met Maggie. And my life started over.” He reached over and touched her knee. “Your turn to start over, kid.”
“Yeah,” she said, suddenly feeling tired. Scared. It came upon her at the weirdest times, that fear she’d turn out to be a failure. Again. “Right. And looks like a great place to do that.”
“I think of this as home,” Cal said. “We never really had a home.”
“We had the farm,” she said. “Sort of.”
“You had more of that than I did,” he said.
Their parents, who described themselves as free spirits, hippies, freethinkers and nonconformists, raised their family on the road, living in a bus converted into an RV, but it was really just a disguise. Jed was sick and Marissa was his enabler and keeper. Marissa’s parents had a farm in Iowa and they landed there quite often, all of them helping on the farm and going to school in Pratt, Iowa, a small farming community. Then they’d take off again, on the road. By the time Sierra was eight they’d settled on the farm full-time, taking care of the land for Grandma after Grandpa passed away. Cal finished high school there.
Then he left to seek his fortune, to go to college with the help of scholarships and loans. She had been only ten. He passed responsibility for her on to Sedona, next oldest. When Sierra was twelve, Sedona left for college. She got herself a full ride and went to a hoity-toity women’s university back East and though she called, she rarely visited. When Sierra was fifteen, Dakota left, enlisting in the Army at the first opportunity. Then it was just Sierra. Sierra with Jed and Marissa. Counting the minutes until she could get away, too.
Not long after they all left her she discovered beer and pot.
* * *
The Crossing, the place where Cal had found his woman and his second chance, did not look anything like Sierra had expected. It was a completely uninhabited campground. Little dirt pads were separated by trees, the foliage just beginning to turn leafy. The sites were dotted with little brick grills here and there. The picnic tables were all lined up by the side of a big old store with a wide porch that stretched the length of the building. There was a woman sweeping the porch—had to be Maggie. She stopped sweeping, stared at them, smiled and leaned her broom against the wall. She descended the steps just as they got out of the little car.
“Sierra!” she said, opening her arms.
“How did you know?”
She hugged her and then held her away to look at her. “You couldn’t be anyone else. You belong to your brother as if you were his twin. Maybe I’ll have a daughter and she’ll look exactly like you.”
Sierra blushed. “Would that be a good thing?”
“That would be perfect,” Maggie said.
Difficulties strengthen the mind, as well as labor does the body.
—Seneca
SIERRA LEARNED SHE’D arrived at the Crossing in the middle of some serious cleanup. A skinny old guy named Frank was cleaning and stocking shelves; his wife, Enid, was giving the kitchen and pantry a good scouring; Sully was cleaning the rain gutters and when he was done with that he’d begin repairing and painting picnic tables. Maggie was going to hose down the porch, and then she was intent on raking up the patch of garden behind the house so they could get planting.
But everything stopped when Sierra arrived. They gathered on the porch. A table was wiped off, warm buns and hot coffee were brought out for a little visiting, getting to know Sierra.
“Don’t you do too much,” Cal said to Maggie. “Just take care of the bump.”
“We don’t let her do too much,” Enid said.
“I got my eye on her,” Sully said.
“Don’t know what all the fuss is about,” Frank said. “Women been doin’ it since Eve. Exercise is good for her. What?” he asked when he noticed everyone was glaring at him. “I just speak the damn truth!”
“That’s a first,” Maggie said. “I agree with Frank.”
“And I bet Frank just stays in trouble, don’t you, Frank?” Sierra said.
“Young woman, I been working like a farmhand every day it don’t rain,” Frank informed her.
“’Bout damn time,” Sully said. “Tom Canaday is rounding up some boys from that county road crew he works with. Some fellas who need a little extra cash and can bring their own equipment. They’ll give the grounds a good grooming, clean out my trench for the runoff from the snowpack melt and cart off some heavy trash when they leave. I can fix and paint the picnic tables, spruce up the lavatory, showers and laundry room. And while the yard crew is here, I’ll get ’em to till up that garden.”
“I always thought running a campground would be easier than this,” Sierra said.
“Mud season,” Maggie informed her. “When the snow melts and the rain plagues us, there’s a lot to do to restore the place before the campers start showing up again. We’re coming up on spring break and Easter weekend and from Memorial Day through summer, it’s full almost all the time.”
“Maybe I can help out,” Sierra said.
All eyes turned to her. It was quite a while before Sully spoke. “Could you use a little extra money, girl?”
“I was thinking of being helpful,” she said. “I have a job, but it’s only part-time. I’m happy about that—I want some time to explore and...you know...get settled in. I’d be happy to help out.”
“That’s very sweet,” Maggie said. “Are you going to stay with Cal and me?”
“In the construction zone?” she asked. “Thanks, but I have a place.”
“Oh?” three people said at once.
“A hostel in town,” she said. “It’s very nice. It’s next to a bookstore. It’s across from the diner, where I’m going to work a few mornings a week.”
“Midge Singleton’s place?” Sully asked.
“That’s it,” Sierra said.
Sully leaned forward. “Girl, that woman will stack bodies end on end, stuff as many people as she can in that place.”
“It seems decent enough. She seems very nice,” Sierra said defensively.
“I didn’t say she wasn’t nice,” Sully said. “I’ve known Midge over thirty years. She opened up that place when her husband died a long while back and she means to make
