8
Peter
A horn sounded.
Peter looked through the window and saw Christie out front. She was early. School wasn’t out for another two hours. He looked at his uncle.
“Sure.” George smiled, “Go ahead. It must be important, or she wouldn’t be pounding that horn like that.”
Peter took off the apron and left it on the counter as he went through the double doors and outside to meet her.
George opened the door and called out to Christie. “Stop beatin’ that horn, young lady, you’re gonna scare off my customers.” He looked up and down the deserted street, shaking his head and laughing. “Looks like you already have.”
“Can you get off for a little while?” She asked as Peter leaned over and kissed her.
He nodded and signed, What’s wrong, Christie?
“I don’t know what you just said, but that’s what I want to talk to you about. I want to learn to sign, too. Do you still have those books?”
Peter nodded and ran back into the store and up the stairs. He returned a few minutes later with a stack of books. Christie leaned over and opened the passenger door. When Peter got in she shifted to first, and the car’s tires squealed as she released the clutch. He sat sideways in the seat and looked at her as they sped through the sleepy little town.
Peter took out his notebook, wrote in it and showed it to her.
“Sam’s going to give you a ticket,” she read and laughed. “It won’t be the first time.”
Something had happened. He wondered what it could have been, but he didn’t ask.
A few minutes later, they were out of town and passing her parents’ farm. She turned on the familiar dirt road and stopped when she reached the creek.
The car had scared the rabbits into hiding and the birds had left the trees enmass. As the dust settled, she switched off the engine. The only sound was the gurgling of the shallow creek.
Peter reached out and touched her cheek. She had been crying, and her tears mixed with the dust from the road. He took out a handkerchief, and wiped her cheeks.
“I just had to talk to someone,” she said, her eyes on the water, tumbling noisily over moss-covered stones. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
Christie opened the car door, got out, and stood facing the creek. Peter went around to her. He put his arms around her waist from behind. She pressed her hands against his and laid her head back against his chest.
“I love you so much,” she whispered. “That’s why I get so angry when people say such stupid things. Peter?” She turned around in his arms, and looked up at him. “I never told you this. My father ordered me to stop seeing you. That’s why we stopped coming here. And now all the kids at school are saying nasty things about us.”
Peter signed, I know.
“I don’t know what you just said.”
He ran his fingers through her long hair and held her tightly with his other arm.
“I guess that’s all I really needed,” she said, laying her head against his chest. “Oh, Peter. Why does everything have to be so complicated?”
