by Liz Flaherty
At the end of the meeting, nothing was resolved. The point was moot, anyway—the coffee shop was her baby just as the apple barn was his. He had to give her credit for never interfering with his judgment concerning apples, so common sense told him he should stay out of the coffee conversation altogether.
After locking the orchard store’s doors, he walked to Ground in the Round. The only vehicle there was Cass’s red one, parked off to the side. As usual, she was working long hours to make up for the time off she would need the following day. He admired her work ethic, but it made him angry all the same.
She brought out more feelings in him than he’d experienced in ten years. While it was exhausting, it was enlivening, too. Was it wrong to try to protect himself from the pain that was inevitable when the emotions were that engaged? He knew it wasn’t, and he knew she was trying to protect herself in much the same way as he was. And yet he sensed it might not be working. That all their emotional armor was as ineffective as it was invisible.
When he stepped inside, she looked up from where she sat at her laptop. She looked beat, and he felt fear shudder through him. Was she sick again? “Hey.” He made his voice cheerful, pushing a smile into it. “Harvest supper at St. Paul’s. What do you say?”
He saw the refusal coming, but even as she shook her head no, she closed her computer and got to her feet. “Let’s do it. I am so done with today that it can’t end a minute too soon.”
They drove to the little white church a few miles away and sat in wooden pews to wait until there was room for them at the dining tables in the basement. All throughout, and while they ate too much of a delicious meal, they talked nonstop.
They argued the merits of football versus volleyball in high school sports. Of the traditional schedule versus the year-round one. Of public versus private versus charter schools. They laughed because, being childless, they didn’t have horses in that particular race, but having teenage siblings under their roofs gave them an added interest in the ongoing controversies concerning education.
They talked about apples; Cass was woefully uneducated and he was bound and determined she needed to learn all ninety-seven varieties the orchard produced.
“I only have ninety-two to go,” she mourned to the woman sitting beside her, and everyone laughed.
They talked about the winter formal and how relieved they would be to have it over. Their sensible siblings had been proving themselves to be anything but, up to and including arguing about whose car they were going to borrow for the dance. Zoey had a vintage Mustang and Luke drove a five-year-old Camaro, both of which had been offered. It seemed neither of them was interested in Cass’s SUV even though it was red and newer than either of the other cars.
“My money’s on the Mustang,” said Cass. “It’s what I would have chosen. When Sam and I went to the winter dance, we had to go in his mom’s minivan. It was traumatic.”
He laughed. “I can imagine it was. So,” he continued, gazing longingly at her pie, “you said you were ‘so done with today.’ What was that about?”
She rolled her eyes and gave him half the slice of sugar cream. “I talked to my dad this morning. I told him Tony and his wife had a little boy yesterday and Dad said he was sorry he’d never had a boy. Then he asked if the chemo and radiation I had meant I could never have children. It just—” She stopped, looking down at the pie. “I just didn’t need that today, is all.”
It occurred to him that in all their conversations, they’d never discussed children. It had been an easy decision for him—since he never intended to marry again, he didn’t plan to have a family, either. But he didn’t know how Cass felt. He didn’t know the answer to the question her father had asked. Or how to ask it.
Cass wasn’t finished. “Then I broke a coffee carafe. When it was full of coffee. Not your regular, run-of-the-coffee-mill blend but the pumpkin spice I’m trying to not run out of until people stop asking for it. A customer mentioned that I should get fired for that kind of clumsiness and when Penny Phillipy said I was the boss and I’d never fire anyone for something so trivial, he started cussing. I asked him to leave, and he did. Didn’t pay his bill and stiffed the barista who had taken him coffee three different times because he had a complaint about every single cup.”
“And then?”
“Then the woman who was going to work this afternoon called in sick. That was all right, really, because it wasn’t that busy. But it’s her third time to call in and she’s only been working there for two weeks. I’m afraid I really will have to fire someone and I don’t want to.”
“A downside of being a boss.” He hated it, too. He’d never managed to do it without losing sleep over it.
He leaned forward, capturing and holding her gaze. “How much of today actually has to do with tomorrow?”
She hesitated. “Probably everything.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” Her answer was immediate and didn’t invite argument. “But I’m glad you know.”
“Me, too.”
“We should go. I need to get to bed early.”
He drove her back to her SUV, and they were as quiet as they had been talkative only minutes before. He parked and turned off the engine, looking up at the front of the round barn, and wondered where they were in their relationship and how they’d gotten to this place.
Because it seemed to be changing hour by hour. He didn’t think he’d ever in his life been as comfortable with anyone as he was with her. Or as uncomfortable. As confident or as at a loss.
As lonely or as…no, that wasn’t true. He was never lonely when he was with her, knowledge that added to his feelings of discomfort and uncertainty.
“I’ll call you tomorrow night before I come over,” he said. “Text me if you need me to do anything at all.”
She nodded. “I will. I promise.”
He got out of the car when she did, taking her into his arms before she could get into her SUV. They kissed for a long time, and did a little apple orchard waltzing around the gravel parking lot. He wondered as he held her if he was giving as much comfort as he was receiving.
After a prolonged kiss goodnight, he opened her car door for her, but didn’t let her get in. He held her hand against his chest and tipped her face so he could look into her eyes. “Tomorrow,” he said, “remember I’m keeping you right there.” He tapped her fingers against his heart. “I’m no superhero—I’d probably trip over my own cape—but I’m perfectly willing to sit and be scared with you.”
She laughed, the sound husky and small at the same time. “Sounds heroic to me. I’ll remember.”
He kissed her again, closed the door when she’d gotten behind the steering wheel of her SUV and waited until she’d driven away, heading down the lane to Zoey’s. He started to get into his car, then changed his mind, relocking it and taking off walking between the trees in the opposite direction of the farmhouse. He circled around, checking trees in a way that had become second nature, and ended at Cottonwood Creek.
He stood under the towering trees, watching the water. The creek ran uninterrupted behind the orchard, the golf course, the winery and Worth Farm as well as everywhere in between. It provided good fishing in a few places, good swimming in a few others and even boasted a waterfall that sounded glorious as it crashed against the limestone below.
The stream was placid at the back of the orchard, though. Slow-moving and welcoming. Back when he’d first bought into Keep Cold, Zoey said their portion of Cottonwood was a “Gentle on My Mind” kind of place. She’d said, with kindness in her dark blue eyes, that sometimes it was a good place to grieve.
And so he had. Often and always alone, for the life that had ended with Jill’s death.
Tonight, sitting alone on a large flat rock and looking into the dark, quiet water, he grieved again. For Cass, because of her fear of cancer’s recurrence. And for himself, because he had thought all along that it would be easier to walk away than to stay and face the poss
ibility of losing another woman he loved.
He’d been wrong.
*
CASS ALMOST ALWAYS wrote on her computer, but occasionally she had to construct a scene in longhand simply because it wouldn’t come together using the mind-to-keyboard-to-screen method.
Until a few years ago, she’d never kept a journal, either. Her father had given her a leather-bound book with blank, lined pages for her birthday once at some point after she’d given up on ever being able to please him. The book lay unused for years, and sometimes she thought her primary reason for not journaling was to frustrate him. Not a nice thing to admit about herself, but that was the way it went sometimes.
However, for some reason she still couldn’t identify, she’d written on the first page of that book the day she got a mammogram because her gynecologist had told her it was time.
It’s evidently some kind of baseline thing so they can identify changes later. My insurance pays for it and the doctor said I could do it now or wait until I’m forty and then have one every few years. Damaris, who has breast cancer in her family, urged me to go ahead. So we went to the hospital, got ourselves squeezed and went to lunch. It was a fun day.
More than two years later, she’d filled not only the journal from her father, but another one with lavender paper that Royce had given her for another birthday. Today’s entry, written without the customary benefit of caffeine, was stark.
If I didn’t have to fast, I could sleep. As it is, I’m awake long before daybreak, sitting here with Misty the kitten and watching the empty coffee pot. It’s funny how that happens. Or should be. It’s really not.
She didn’t think it was going to be a fun day.
By the time everyone else got up, she was dressed and working. Surprisingly, the writing was going well. Lucy was close to finding answers, and Cass was almost certain she knew how the twisting plot was going to straighten out.
She remembered writing The Case of Daisy’s Ashes during chemo, radiation and reconstruction surgery. She’d used information from the internet and from her own journal because her thought processes were so compromised by medication and pain that she could barely express a coherent thought. Damaris had earned herself a slot on the book’s dedication page with her assistance.
Cass had turned the book in on the day it was due. It had required more editing than her previous ones, and she still couldn’t bring herself to read it, but it had been successful. That, as much as anything else, had reassured her there was indeed life after cancer.
Remembering, she looked down at the words she’d written this morning. Hunger made her stomach rumble, but satisfaction overrode the sensation. She had survived before—she could do it again.
When she went into the kitchen to leave for the hospital in Sawyer, Luke and Seth were there. Zoey, Damaris and Royce were putting on their coats.
“What’s going on?” Cass accepted the jacket Luke held out to her.
“I’m taking Royce to school in Luke’s car.” Seth smiled at her. “Zoey and Damaris are going in your car because it’s easier for Damaris that way. You and Luke are going in Zoey’s Mustang. Unless you want Royce and me to take it, that is.”
“We talked about this.” Cass lifted her chin and frowned at Luke.
“Yes, we did.” He kissed her cheek. “But we didn’t say enough. I’m going with you. Are you ready to go, or did you want to stand around and argue about it until you’re late? You know you hate that.”
He was right about that—she did hate tardiness, particularly her own. But—“I’m a big girl. You don’t need to baby me.”
“Right. And as soon as you and Damaris are off to have your respective procedures taken care of, Zoey and I are going to have breakfast and talk about you. Doesn’t sound like babying to me.”
“Unless he makes me buy breakfast.” Zoey came to hug Cass. “You don’t always have to be the strong one,” she said, her voice very quiet. “I know you’re good at it. I am, too. But occasionally it’s just fine to lean.”
Cass remembered the night before, when Luke had held her hand against his heart and promised to keep her there. That gesture, plus the toe-curling goodnight kiss, had allowed her to fall asleep immediately when she’d crawled into bed. It was true it hadn’t lasted that long, but she’d wakened with his touch and his promise still there in her senses.
Zoey was right. It was okay to lean. Just this once.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“IF ANYTHING HAPPENS—because you know things can any time there’s a medical procedure because that’s one of the first things they tell you—Aunt Zoey knows where my will is. You need to know that everything I have or will have is to go to Royce. She can’t have it now, except maybe for the car because that would save Damaris the expense of buying her one, but it’s all hers. You’ll be all right with that, won’t you?” Cass was looking straight ahead. Her hands were together in her lap, her knuckles white.
It was a beautiful sunny morning, albeit colder than usual for late November. But Luke didn’t think she was giving the weather any thought at all. They were having yet another serious conversation in a car and he was, frankly, unnerved by the statement she’d just made.
“With what?” Stopped behind a school bus, he stared at her. Don’t do this.
“If anything happens,” she repeated patiently, “Royce will inherit my half of the orchard. She’s not an adult, so obviously she wouldn’t step into managing it, but she would still be another Gentry sister you’d have to contend with.”
“I’m not talking about this.” He was surprised he got the words out, as hard as he was clamping his jaw. “You are having a biopsy, where they are going to clarify that you are fine, and then we’re going home. You’ll take a day or two off, whatever you need, during which time—” He stopped. She didn’t need him getting all tense and living-in-the-past scared. She needed… “During those two days, I’ll go into the coffee shop and rearrange everything to where you can’t find it. I’ll put up a huge, huge sign saying we close at six no matter what transpires.” He held up a hand to add a little dramatic flair. “I’ll put up another sign saying there will be no more pumpkin spice in Ground in the Round ever again.”
Her cheek twitched and he knew she was trying not to laugh. When she looked at him, her eyes were sparkling. “You do realize that’s something like saying there’ll be no more Honeycrisp apples in the orchard ever again?”
He drove on when the bus did, wondering why he’d taken this road to Sawyer when he should have realized a school bus would stop at nearly every house on it. “That’s un-American. I think there’s probably a government agency that forbids it.”
They laughed at their own silliness, but at the next stop, she said, “It is okay with you, isn’t it? You’ll watch over the property for Royce if something happens? Or buy it from her the way you wanted to from me?” She hesitated. “Just look after her.”
You’ll have to take care of Seth. I know your parents will, but he’s so special, so much ours, that I need you to promise you’ll take care of him the way we always have. Make sure he gets guitar lessons if he wants them, or you keep teaching him.
Jill’s words echoed at the back of his mind, but that promise had cost nothing—Seth had always spent more time with his brother and sister-in-law than he had with his parents. After Jill’s death, that hadn’t changed. Having a small, noisy boy in their empty house when she wasn’t there anymore had been a godsend.
Promising to take care of Royce was a different thing entirely. She was a sweet girl, but she wasn’t family. Zoey and Damaris would take care of her anyway, so he didn’t know why the thing Cass was asking was a big deal. But it was.
However, the anxiety in Cass’s eyes was more than he could look away from. “Of course,” he said, and lifted his foot from the brake when the bus moved forward. “You know I will.” Because he would, whether he wanted to or not.
“Thank you.” Her indrawn breath was tremulous. “I know her mother and
Zoey will take care of her just fine if I’m not there, but she’s become so special this fall, more than just a half sister I wasn’t really attached to.”
He thought of Seth. Their sisters always teased him about loving their little brother more than he did them. That wasn’t it, though. It was that in addition to the love, he was responsible for Seth and always had been. That responsibility made a difference.
Responsibility always made a difference, and if he were honest about it, that was the real reason he didn’t want to promise to look after Royce. Perhaps it was something he didn’t want in any personal relationship. It went along with permanence and commitment and making a life with someone. He wasn’t going there.
*
HAVING A PROCEDURE done in Sawyer’s twenty-five-bed hospital differed greatly from Sacramento or Indianapolis if for no other reason than Cass knew several of the staff and she thought Luke knew all of them. A maintenance man even brought him coffee in the lobby and asked whether Seth was playing basketball now that Miniagua High School’s football season had ended.
“How can you possibly know everyone here?” she demanded when she was sitting on a hospital bed in an oh-so-attractive gown and he was in the chair beside her. “And how can I possibly know half of them?”
“We have the best orchard and coffee shop around. What do you expect?” He grinned at Arlie when she came into the area wearing scrubs. “They’ll all be wanting discounts, too. Right, Arlie?”
Arlie smacked him with the sheaf of papers she carried. “I’m here to deliver a baby, which makes me a rock star, so don’t get smart with me, Rossiter.” She leaned over to hug Cass. “It’s gonna be fine,” she said into her ear, “and if it’s not, we’re going to take care of it. Right? We are the Lakers, the mighty, mighty Lakers—”
“—everywhere we go, people want to know, who we are.” Cass joined her in the high school chant until they were both laughing too hard to go on.
