by Liz Flaherty
“A few years ago the senior class project was that they developed this everybody-needs-a-friend program where if someone was sitting alone in the cafeteria, one of the seniors would sit with them and make sure they were okay and, you know, just be their friend,” said Royce. “It’s not a formal thing anymore, but now people just do it on their own. It’s not just seniors and it’s not required, but it is so cool how many people do it.”
“That is cool.”
“Yeah. Today, I got the chance to do it. To be a friend, I mean. I just said, ‘Hey, how you doing? Can you believe it’s raining again?’ and before I knew it, this girl was crying really hard. I took her outside with a whole wad of napkins from the table and we just sat there on one of those benches in front of the school until she was okay again. I didn’t say hardly anything at all. When we went back in, the guidance counselor was waiting—I don’t know how she knew.” Royce shrugged, but her eyes were shining. “I still don’t have any idea what she was upset about, but I do know I did the right thing. That can happen anywhere, not just little schools in the middle of nowhere, but it was one of the best feelings I ever had. I saw her later…the girl, I mean, and she thanked me for listening. I asked her if she wanted to go to the movies Sunday afternoon.” She paused, reaching up to stroke away the tear that slid down her cheek. “It’s a gift, isn’t it, when you know you’ve done something good for someone else?”
“It is.” Cass set down her cup and leaned to hug Royce close. “You’re a gift, too, Sister With-Good-Hair. I’m way proud of you.” She tousled the good hair that rested against her shoulder. “Your mom will be, too.”
Royce sniffed. “Do you think she’s okay, Cass?”
“Yes.” Cass hugged her again. “We’re military brats, remember? We know weird.” It wasn’t the first time she’d said it over the past week, when they’d heard nothing from Damaris except a short, cryptic I’m okay email. “If there was anything wrong, Dad would know and he would call.” She was certain of that, at least.
“I know.” Royce blew her nose and reached for her cup. “I’m glad to be with you, but don’t tell anyone I said that. Okay?”
“Okay. And I won’t tell them I’m glad to have you with me, either.”
Later, lying in the middle of the queen-size bed in her room, Cass thought back over dinner with Zoey, ice cream and kisses with Luke and the chocolate-and-apples time with Royce. She’d never really considered the quality of her days having anything to do with food and drink, but this had definitely been a delicious day.
*
SHE DIDN’T RECOGNIZE the ringtone, which meant it was probably a robocall from somewhere on the other side of the world. Why else would anyone call at—Cass opened one eye and peered at the screen of her phone—3:17 a.m.? Surely even robocallers knew people slept, didn’t they? It wasn’t that she begrudged them making a living, but she wished they’d do it during daytime hours.
She connected, muttered something and disconnected, shoving the telephone under her pillow.
It rang again.
“Cass!” The voice, strident and familiar, reached her ears before she could hang up again. She sat up in bed, reaching for the lamp switch and getting it first time.
“Sir?” Even at 3:18 a.m. she addressed Major Ken Gentry as sir. If she were wider awake, she’d probably think there was something inherently sick about that. He was her father, for heaven’s sake. “Is something wrong, sir?”
“It’s Damaris.”
“Oh, no.” Not Damaris. While it was true enough that things were weird with the military, female officers didn’t die, did they? Especially ones who sat at desks even when they were in the desert. “Is she all right?” Cass had to push the words out, knowing how stupid they were. Of course her stepmother wasn’t all right—Ken wouldn’t be calling if she was.
“She will be. I’m not entertaining any other possibility.”
Cass wasn’t in the mood to massage her father’s god complex. Her words came quick and sharp. “She’s hurt? Where is she?”
“The vehicle she was in made contact with an IED. Pure carelessness on someone’s part.”
“Sir, how badly is she hurt?” She made no effort to contain her impatience. The man was an unfeeling jackass. On his good days.
“Broken bones. A few burns. She’ll be fine. It’ll just take some time.”
“Were there other casualties?”
“What?” He sounded startled by the question.
“Were others hurt?”
“I suppose so.”
Cass sighed. “Where is Damaris?”
“At Walter Reed. She just flew in today. I’m here, too. I’ll stay until she can be released for rehab. I have friends here to stay with, ones I served with in the old days.”
“When did it happen?”
“Four days ago.”
“Four days? You’re calling at 3:17 in the morning after four days?” Her voice raised so that she thought it might have rattled the windowpanes a little bit. She was good with that. “Sir, she’s Royce’s mother—don’t you think you might have let her know?”
Her bedroom door flew open. Royce stood there in her pajamas, her eyes wide. “Mom?”
Cass beckoned her sister to join her on the bed and turned the phone on speaker.
“I didn’t want to let either of you know until I was sure Damaris would survive. I’m sure of that now. She’s on the mend.”
“Do we need to come there?”
“What for?”
“Once again, sir, this is Royce’s mother you’re talking about. She might want to see her daughter.” Or maybe not. Marynell wouldn’t have wanted Cass—she’d scarcely wanted her around even when she was dying.
“Well, she does, but…here, she wants to talk to you.”
A second later, Damaris’s voice was there. “Are you girls all right?”
“We’re fine,” said Cass. “What about you? Why are you awake? Do you want us to come there?”
“No. Your father’s right on that one.” Damaris sounded grudgingly enough that Cass and Royce grinned at each other. Anyone who knew Ken Gentry very well didn’t like for him to be right—he enjoyed it far too much. “I’m awake because no one sleeps in hospitals. Royce, are you there?”
“Hi, Mom.” Royce’s voice squeaked. Cass saw her chin tremble and firm. When she spoke again, her voice was stern and not at all adolescent. “You do know you’re grounded after this, right?”
Muffled laughter came from the other end of the connection.
“The nurse who’s in here agrees with you,” said Damaris dryly. “But listen to me, girls. I have some heavy-duty rehab ahead of me. Royce, are you all right staying with Cass until I’m on my feet again? Cass, I should have asked you first—is it okay if Royce stays with you until then?”
“Actually—” Cass had to clear her throat. She ran a hand through her sister’s messy hair where it had come to rest in her lap and picked up the phone, tapping the button that took it off speaker. “Actually, I’d like her to stay the whole school year. And maybe instead of going to Sacramento to rehab, you could come here. Aunt Zoey has plenty of room, and she’d be glad to have you stay with us.”
Royce sat up, staring at her. “Shouldn’t we ask first?” she whispered.
“I’ll ask tomorrow,” Cass mouthed, then spoke aloud. “It would be good for all of us, Damaris. Before we know it, we’ll have you selling apples and pouring cappuccino with the best of them.”
“I’ll think about it,” Damaris promised. She sounded tired. “I’ll try to talk to you tomorrow, okay? Your dad will call or you can call him.”
They exchanged goodbyes and hung up. Cass and Royce exchanged a silent gaze. “We won’t sleep now, right?” said Cass. She knew she wouldn’t, but she had hopes for Royce.
“Maybe after some more of that chocolate.”
They made their way to the kitchen as quietly as they could; nevertheless, Zoey was there before them. “He called me first,” she said fl
atly. “Honestly, your father’s had four wives and the woman he calls when he doesn’t know what to do is the one he jilted before he married the first one—what’s wrong with that picture?”
She set a mug of cocoa in front of Royce, cupping her cheek. “Are you okay, baby?”
“I am, but I’m scared, too. What if Mom’s hiding something?”
“Even if she’d wanted to, Dad wouldn’t.” Cass accepted a cup of tea from her aunt, breathing in the comforting scent of bergamot before taking a sip. “Compassionate falsehoods aren’t in his wheelhouse.”
“That’s sure true. Mom said he used to call you Olive Oyl.” Royce looked stricken. “I’m so sorry. I think I must take after him.”
“It’s okay.” And it was. Being forced in front of the mirror by Damaris and Tony had convinced Cass that her only resemblance to Popeye’s girlfriend was that she was tall and slim. “He was wrong, and we both know we love it when that happens. What did he call you?”
“He didn’t. Sometimes when I’d come home from school, he’d give me this curious look as if he’d forgotten who I was. I think he really did. After he and Mom got divorced, he bent over backward to avoid visitation.” Royce grinned, and some color came back into her face. “I think that may have something to do with how you ended up with me.”
The way her insides turned to mush almost made Cass roll her own eyes. “Well, then,” she said, “I guess I’ve got something to thank him for, haven’t I?”
“Me, too,” said Zoey. She sat at the table with them. “I was thinking.”
Royce beamed at her. “The last time you said that, we drove all the way to Peru to have ice cream at the East End. Whatever you’re thinking, I’m in.”
“I’m thinking maybe your mother could come and stay with us. There are very good rehab places close by, and enough of us around to get her there. Rent-a-Wife provides transportation, too. What do you girls think?”
Cass laughed. “I think you’re a genius.”
“I think you’re clairvoyant,” said Royce sleepily. “Cass already asked her.”
Zoey didn’t look surprised. “I’m glad to see the family grow.”
Royce took her cup to the sink and rinsed it, kissing the tops of Zoey’s and Cass’s heads on the way. She left the room, and after a few minutes, Cass found her asleep on the couch. She covered her with a quilt, stroking her silky hair back from her face, and returned to the kitchen. “She’s out.”
“Which is exactly what I’m going to be.” Zoey looked speculatively in her direction. “Going to write?”
Cass nodded. “I’m behind. A couple of quiet hours will get some words. Whether I like it or not, emotional stress is good for my productivity. I wrote most of one book and did revisions on another during the sixty days Tony’s and my divorce took. I wrote another one during chemo.”
She set her laptop on the kitchen table, glad she wasn’t opening the coffee shop today. There might be time for a nap before she went in later. When the teapot was empty, she made a pot of coffee and wrote without stopping.
Sometimes when she wrote, she thought how odd it was that she was so much more at ease in the persona of her pseudonym than when she was being herself. There was something inherently wrong with that, but she wasn’t sure what.
This morning, though, with thoughts of Damaris, Royce and Luke crowding her mind, calm and collected Cassandra was able to take over, clearing a hurdle that would make the next few chapters easier to write.
She didn’t hear Luke until he opened the kitchen door and whistled softly. “Everybody asleep?”
When she jumped and turned to look at him, her heartbeat thumping, he raised a hand in greeting. “I knocked,” he said, “but you were really concentrating. What’s going on?”
She closed her laptop, not ready to share her other identity, and got up to make more coffee. “Nothing, really.”
He stopped her as she passed him, holding her in place with a hand on her stomach. Its warmth spread from her center to the ends of her fingers and toes, and she stood still to absorb the comfort—and something else she wasn’t ready to identify. He kissed her, and she leaned into it. This would help get through the day.
He released her before she was ready, and held her gaze. “What’s going on?” he said again.
Thoughts of the story were going from her mind as if they’d been written in disappearing ink, replaced by visions of Damaris, Royce and her father. She relaxed, her forehead against Luke’s shoulder. “The shoe dropped.”
CHAPTER NINE
LUKE ENJOYED THE busyness of the orchard in autumn. He never had to worry about where his brother was because he was either at school, playing football or working—there was no time for other options. Luke didn’t have time for alternatives, either. He had to admit, as he locked the doors of the apple barn on the second Saturday in October, that this was the first year since Jill’s death that he’d been in the market for a social life. Business craziness had always been his friend, but this year he’d enjoyed some respite. Not a lot, but some.
“Remind me one of these days,” he’d told Cass that morning, when they’d left Zoey’s farmhouse after breakfast, “that I’d like to ask you on a real date.”
“Now, that’s romantic,” she said, veering off toward Ground in the Round. She looked back over her shoulder, her expression flirtatious enough his heart did a strange little bump against his ribs. “But I might say yes.”
He watched her go, liking the easy swing of her gait. He thought she might have gained a few much-needed pounds since she’d come to the lake.
She seldom mentioned her illness and had never given it a name, but Zoey had told him it was breast cancer, asking him not to let her work too hard. “She’s healthy now, the way I understand it, so I’m trying not to baby her. I just thought you should know,” she’d said.
He was glad she’d told him. Not so happy with himself at his gut reaction, his immediate need to pull away before the attachment grew too deep. He’d lost one woman he’d loved—the idea of getting involved with someone else who had a threatening illness made his blood run cold.
They could be friends and partners. That would be enough. The pleasure they’d both found in kissing made him think, before he fell asleep at night, that it probably wasn’t enough, but it needed to be.
They went to football games together, picked up and dropped off each other’s siblings when the other couldn’t and ate breakfast together at Zoey’s many mornings. They had occasional last-minute business meetings and shared breaks at Ground in the Round.
Usually when the coffee shop wasn’t busy, though, she sat with her laptop at a table along the wall near the counter. If he came in, she closed the computer and poured coffee just the way he liked it before coming to meet him.
It bothered him that she felt compelled to hide what she was doing, as if she was afraid he was going to snoop, but he never said anything. It was her business.
After closing the orchard for the night and running a few errands, he went to the coffee shop—open for another hour, at least. They hadn’t really solidified its hours yet, but it seldom closed before nine. Cass was behind the counter. “You look tired,” he said bluntly.
She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”
He noticed that the mascara she started every day with had worn off, but had the sense not to mention it. “I do say that,” he admitted heavily, “and it never gets me anywhere. What do you suppose the problem is?”
She handed him the mug with his name on it filled with the half caff he favored. “I can’t imagine.”
“Got time to sit with me?” he asked. “Our siblings are doing homework at Zoey’s so all is well until at least ten o’clock.”
Cass scowled, filling her own cup and walking around to join him at a table where she could see everyone in the shop. “They’ll eat all of that Black Forest cake she made yesterday. Every little bit including the crumbs.”
He laughed. “That’s what you think.” He lifted a finger. “Hang on.”
A few minutes later, he came back in carrying a plastic container. He noticed that Cass had freshened both her mascara and her lipstick in the time he’d been gone. He wondered how she’d done that so fast, but thought maybe that was something else he shouldn’t question. There were a few things he’d learned from Rachel and Leah along the way. Not enough to keep him out of trouble, but some.
“Here you go. Got forks?” He set the container on the table and opened it. “I’m sure Zoey meant the big piece for me, but you can have it.”
“You’re all heart.” She fetched two forks and paper napkins and returned to her seat around the corner of the table from him. Two bites later, she closed her eyes in sheer bliss. “Heaven in Tupperware, I swear.”
“It is,” he agreed. He ate slowly, finding as much pleasure in watching her as he did in the rich dessert, although Zoey’s baking was seriously good.
When Cass had finished her piece and one of the last two bites of his, he raised his cup in a toast. “To Zoey and her cake.”
She lifted her cup, but before she could clink it against his, he set his down abruptly, digging in the pocket of his jeans for the note Zoey had sent with him. “I was supposed to give you this because her phone was having a tantrum, and I forgot.”
Cass unfolded the piece of lined paper and read quickly, frowning. “Damaris will be here either tomorrow or the next day and my father’s bringing her.” She leaned back in her chair. “We’re ready for Damaris, but no one’s ever ready for Dad.”
Luke thought of his own father and how glad he always was to see him. Seth had mentioned that Royce referred to her dad as a “Great Santini wannabe.” Luke and Seth had called theirs Sheriff Taylor from the old Andy Griffith Show.
“It will be all right, won’t it?” he asked.
“As long as we don’t all forget we’re grown-ups. I’m not afraid of him anymore and I don’t think Royce ever was, but I still call him sir and try never to upset him.” She laughed, but there was more bitterness than humor in the sound. “When I got a divorce, Dad flew to California to tell me I was making a terrible mistake and that it was my fault because I didn’t understand a man’s needs. Even Tony, my ex-husband, was telling him that wasn’t the way it was, but there was no stopping him. When I got sick then, almost right on top of the divorce, Dad was pretty convinced it wouldn’t have happened if I’d just stayed married.”
