Amish Sweethearts by Leslie Gould Page A

last thing she wanted to do was get out of the car and help. If she didn’t make eye contact, they wouldn’t expect her to.
    Finally the back door opened and Simon slurred, “Hi, sis.”
    Lila didn’t respond.
    Mandy opened her door and slid onto her seat. “Guess it’s a good thing we stopped by,” she said.
    “Or not,” Lila responded.
    “ Ach , don’t be mad.” Simon leaned toward Lila, his breath foul.
    She plugged her nose. “Fasten your seat belt.”
    Mandy shifted the car into drive, Simon clicked his seat belt, and Lila kept her hand over her nose.
    If he couldn’t manage to get out of bed in the morning, she could expect another row between Simon and Dat—that was for sure.
    Simon leaned back and said, again, “Don’t be mad.”
    Lila tucked her shoulder up to her face. The moonlight onthe snow lit up the fields. Silently she recited a short poem she’d found a couple of years ago in a book of Zane’s.
The sun’s gone dim, and
The moon’s turned black;
For I loved him, and
He didn’t love back.
    It was by Dorothy Parker, if she remembered correctly. Perhaps Zane had loved her once, but the words were true tonight. They were true every night.
    “Do you have any tomato juice at home?” Mandy asked. “That’s good for a hangover.”
    They did, but Lila didn’t answer. She wasn’t going to involve herself. She kept her eyes on the dark landscape. A dog slunk under a fence. A barn owl swooped down over a field.
    Simon didn’t say anything more. Maybe he’d fallen asleep.
    “Do you work tomorrow?” Mandy asked, turning off the highway and down Juneberry Lane.
    “Jah,” Lila answered. “The lunch shift.”
    “I’ll see you at the shift change, then,” she said.
    “I think I’m going to be sick.” Simon leaned against the window.
    “Hold on,” Mandy said.
    As she steered the car to the edge of the lane, Simon swung open the door, letting in the icy air. He unbuckled his seat belt and slid out of the car in one move. Thankfully he closed the door behind himself.
    Lila looked the other way, into the woods behind her father’s house, back where Simon had his shooting range.
    As a child, she’d never wanted to grow up, especially not after her mother died. She’d wanted to stay thirteen, the golden year before she was done with school, back when she and her siblingsplayed with Zane every day. When she could run as fast and far as the boys and swing across the creek on the rope. When their whole lives were ahead of them and yet there was no thought past the next day and what they would play.
    Simon fell against the door and then opened it and slid back onto the seat. “I feel better,” he said.
    “You might as well drink toilet bowl cleaner,” Lila said. “You’re poisoning yourself just the same.”
    He wagged his finger at her but didn’t say anything.
    Mandy pulled back onto the lane, and a minute later down the driveway to the house. “Thank you,” Simon said to her, “for everything.” Lila wondered what else he meant, besides the ride.
    Lila thanked Mandy and climbed out quickly, hurrying toward the back steps and then into the house. She made her way through the pitch-black kitchen to the table and felt around until she found the matches and the lamp. After she lit it, she looked around. Rose had mostly cleaned up, but there was still a dirty frying pan on the stove. Lila lifted it and sniffed. Cabbage and onions. She’d rather clean it now than in the morning.
    By the time she was drying it, Simon finally came in.
    “I feel much better,” he said again, much too loudly.
    “Hush.”
    “You hush,” he said, grabbing the side of the table. Once he’d steadied himself, he blurted out, “Don’t you get tired of always doing the right thing?”
    “No,” Lila answered. “I don’t.” She snapped the dish towel toward him and then hung it over the back of a chair to dry. Turning toward the lamp, she said, “Good night.”
    “I know you still love him,” Simon