by Jamie Pope
“Because I want to.” She removed his hand from her shoulder and walked completely out of the house, leaving everyone staring after her.
* * *
“Dude.” Tanner rounded on him, anger rolling off him. “What the hell is your problem? Were you trying to be a dick, or did that come naturally for you?”
“Yeah.” Nova punched his arm. “You couldn’t have pretended? You couldn’t have told her she looks pretty? She was finally feeling good about herself, and with two freaking words you took that away from her. I would have walked away from you too. In fact, if I was her, I would be looking for a giant stick to whoop your ass with.”
“Did you go shopping today?” he asked, ignoring the angry looks from his sister and friend.
“How the hell do you think she ended up in that dress? Magic?”
“Where is her stuff?”
“Why do you want to know? Are you going to try to return it? She bought it with her own money, you know. Her mama sent her a wallet full of her money. Are you mad that you don’t have control over her anymore?”
“I’m not explaining myself to you, Nova. Where is her stuff?” he barked the question, making her jump.
“It’s in the spare room.” He went there, grabbing the five or so heavy bags and dumped them in the back of his truck. Then he was on Cassandra’s heels, following the dainty tracks her sandals left on the path to the beach.
She hadn’t made it far, only halfway there, when he caught her. “You are not staying away from me.” He lifted her up, slinging her over his shoulder and carrying her to his truck.
“Put me down!” She punched his back hard, but he barely felt the pain. He carried her back to his truck, dumped her in and sped off before she had a chance to escape.
She was pissed. He could feel the anger rolling off her, burning him as he sped back to his house.
“Just fine.”
He knew the words were impossibly stupid as soon as they left his lips. There had never been anything just fine about her. If there had been, he wouldn’t have risked losing his brother, the only family he had known, to be with her.
He pulled into his driveway, throwing the car into park and locking the doors so she couldn’t get away from him.
“I want to leave, Wylie James.”
“You want to leave and I want you to stop being every goddamn thought that runs through my mind.”
She looked at him then. Her eyes narrowed in confusion. He couldn’t explain what was going through his mind when he first saw her that afternoon. It was like he was meeting her for the first time again. It was like he was thirteen and tongue-tied and unsure of himself.
Because she was more than beautiful. More than perfect to him. Her hair was gone. Shorter than he had ever seen it, but instead of the wild mess of waves, she had short, soft curls. The kind that he wanted to touch, to run his fingers through. The style highlighted her graceful features, her pretty, high cheekbones and her wide eyes. It made her neck look longer. More skin, which he could stroke his fingers over, more space for him to kiss.
She wore a dress, a simple little green dress. It was the color of spring, the color of growth, the color of renewal. It was a color that looked so good with her pretty brown skin. The dress just fit her, not just her body but her personality, the happy, sassy girl he had loved. The little dress showed off her legs and bared her shoulders. It defined the flare of her hips that so often drove him to distraction.
So, no, she wasn’t just fine. She was something he couldn’t describe. “I’m not good with my words, Cass. I never was. I’m not like Terrance. I don’t know how to tell you how beautiful you are to me,” he said, looking straight ahead. “But you are. You are so beautiful. You always have been. A haircut and a pretty dress don’t change that for me.” He leaned over and took her hand. He lifted it to his mouth, knowing if he got any closer, if he tried to kiss her lips, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. “You do look very nice.”
He left her then, walking back to his private little beach, where he had almost made love to her that morning.
Chapter 11
Her mother had taught her how to cook when Cassandra was fourteen years old. She had always helped her mother in the kitchen, but when Cassandra was fourteen, her mother decided it was time for her to learn what all the women in her family knew.
Her mother said it was “woman training.” Her mother was from the South, and she was lovely and proper. She had been raised to believe that a woman took care of the home while the man made the money. She also taught Cassandra that even though the men made the money, the women did all the hard work. This meant that women really had all the power. She taught her daughter that knowing her way around the kitchen was part of that power.
Cassandra smiled at those good memories of her and her mother in the kitchen. As she placed the balls of dough into the pot of chicken and dumplings she was making, Cassandra recalled how they used to argue playfully about women’s roles. Cassandra was cooking again. She, who had told herself that she would never cater to a man, never spend her nights in the kitchen, was enjoying this. She was enjoying making something from scratch again, enjoying making something she knew that Wylie would like.
Her mother taught her how to make all the Southern classics. Smothered meat loaf, biscuits with sausage gravy, slow-cooked beef stew and perfectly fried pork chops. Wylie used to love coming over for Sunday dinners when they were kids. This kind of food reminded him of home, of the South. Cassandra sometimes forgot that he had to leave his home at such a young age—that his mother had abandoned him, and his father had died abruptly. He was so quiet when he first moved to Harmony Falls, people thought he was slow or couldn’t talk. He was always so stoic. She had forgotten how hard things must have been for him.
She had been mad at him today. No, more than mad. She was hurt—hurt after feeling numb for so long. After a year of not giving a shit, not caring if she lived or died, she wanted to be pretty for herself, but a big part of her wanted to be pretty for him.
And when he said nothing, when he said “just fine,” it took her back to those days right after he had left her, left Harmony Falls. It was like when she had felt raw and empty and wondered why she wasn’t enough, wasn’t lovable enough, or worthy enough for a simple explanation or a good-bye.
She still wondered about that, about how one moment he treated her like the world, and the next moment he was gone. How even now, he brought her close to him and then pushed her away. She had hated him for that for a long time. She was still mad about it now. Hurt by it. But then he said things like he said in his truck and she was reminded that even though the outside packaging had changed, Wylie, in large part, was still the thirteen-year-old shy boy who had been through too much, too young.
The kitchen door opened and she heard his booted footsteps on the hardwood floors. She didn’t turn to look at him. She didn’t know what to say. He had been gone almost two hours. At first she hadn’t known what to do with herself. She rarely found herself alone since she had come here. She had been alone so much of the time since she had come out of her coma: alone because her friends and family got sad when they looked at her; alone because being around people who knew Terrance was too much to stand; alone because she no longer cared to be a part of the life that was still going on around her.
It had fooled her into thinking she liked being alone, that she needed to be alone. But she liked noise and conversation and just feeling another person’s presence. Being around people reminded her how much she had once enjoyed life.
“It smells good in here,” Wylie said, coming up behind her. She could smell the ocean air on him, feel the warmth from the sun on his skin. It made her want to move closer. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I did. I wanted to. I put a load of laundry in too. Everyone has been taking care of me since Terrance died. I should be taking care of myself. I should be doing more.”
“But you don’t have to do more. You know that, don�
�t you?”
“Yes. I know that. I also know that you walked out on me. Twice today.”
She couldn’t see his face, and she felt him go stiff, but she didn’t care if her words made him uncomfortable. “You walked away from me ten years ago too. I’m not sure what I did. I’m not sure what happened, but you hurt me and I’ve decided I don’t want to be hurt anymore. I appreciate what you’ve done for me these past few weeks, Wylie. I can never thank you enough for bringing me here, but if me being here is too much, I’ll understand. I’ll leave so you don’t keep having to go away.”
He was silent for a long moment. “I—I . . . I like having you here.”
She turned around to face him, to look into his soulful eyes. “Then don’t walk out on me again. Next time you do, I’m leaving. For good.”
“What?” His eyes went wide. “But, Cass . . .”
She turned away from him, checking on her chicken and dumplings, finding comfort in their familiar smell. “Set the table,” she told him. “Dinner is almost ready.”
* * *
She had to know why he left. She had to. Wylie had often blocked out that night. It was his worst memory—the night he completely lost control and beat his best friend bloody. She had to know that Terrance came to his apartment, pissing mad and feeling betrayed. She had to know about the fight that broke out, about the words that were exchanged.
Terrance must have told her. He must have gone to her that night to show her what kind of out-of-control animal Wylie could be. That’s why she married him, accepted Terrance’s proposal so soon after Wylie left.
Right?
He never contacted her besides the one note he left for her on the morning he left. He never went back to Harmony Falls because he assumed she hated him. He assumed that the entire town hated him for nearly killing their favorite son.
But what if it didn’t happen that way?
He shook his head. No. It had to have happened that way. Because if it didn’t, that meant he had thrown away the only woman who ever really made him happy.
“What is it?” Cass asked him from her side of the porch swing.
“Dinner was good,” he said instead of asking her. The need to know right then and there was clawing at his chest, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask her. “Thank you. I haven’t eaten so good since . . .”
“The last time you cooked. You cook way better than I do.” She inched closer to him on the swing, so close that their sides were brushing.
He had slept in bed beside her every night since she had been here. He had made love to her before, but sitting next to her like this—alone on a late summer night—made him feel like he was sixteen years old again, wanting to kiss her so bad his chest ached.
“How did you learn? I know Terrance’s mother expected a lot from you, but I don’t recall her making you cook,” she observed.
“She didn’t. I spent a lot of time with my granny when I was a little kid. “My mama was never around and my daddy worked long hours in the fields. He never wanted me to help so I stayed with my granny and she taught me how to cook. I took over making dinner when I was ten.”
“You were so young.”
He shook his head. “I never felt that way, but I guess spending all your time with an old lady does that to you.”
“Why didn’t your father want you to help him?”
“He didn’t want me to be like him. He said I needed to be smarter, so I didn’t have to work farm land. He said I was going to be the first one to finish school.”
“And you did.” She inched even closer to him, so that their sides were fully pressed together. The breeze had kicked up. The night was growing cooler, and the heat of her body felt like a blanket around him. “He would be so proud of you.”
“I got my bachelor’s while I was in the service. I did it for him,” he partially lied. His father would have gotten a real kick out of seeing him get his degree, but he got it for himself too, and for the Millers and for Cass and Terrance, just to prove that he could. “He died of a heart attack. He was thirty-eight. Everybody always says how sudden it was, but I think he knew he had a bad heart. I used to see how his legs and feet would swell. I used to hear him wheeze and cough this nasty, loud hacking cough at night. He said it was from smoking as a kid, but I knew it wasn’t. The man never smoked a day in his life. Toward the end he couldn’t even make it to his truck without getting exhausted. He knew he was dying. I just don’t think he did anything to stop it because he wanted me to have a shot.”
“You really think that’s true?”
He looked into her eyes, wide with concern. “He knows I would have dropped out of school to help him.”
“You would have given up your future to help him live longer.”
“Yeah, and he gave up his future so I could have a good life.”
“Do you have a good life, Wylie?”
“Define ‘good’?”
“Are you happy?”
He smiled at her, at the expectation on her face. “Define ‘happy’?”
“All right. Don’t answer me. I don’t care anyway.” She turned her face away from him, staring out at the setting sun.
“I could ask you the same thing. I could ask you if you were happy before Terrance died. I could ask you if you thought you had a good life.”
She turned back to him, surprise etched all over her features. He’d caught her off guard and he was glad for it. He was glad when her mouth opened and no answer immediately came.
“I loved him, you know,” she said firmly, like she was almost trying to convince herself. “I still love him.”
“So do I,” he said truthfully. He was so mad at himself that they never spoke again, that he ignored Terrance’s attempt to reach out to him. But in the end he couldn’t see him with her. He couldn’t go back to Harmony Falls and see them together, knowing he would never be able to look his best friend in the eye while he was still in love with his wife. “I have something to show you.” He got off the swing and extended a hand to her. “And after the crazy day we had, I’m not sure I want to show you.”
“Why?” She took his hand, sliding her fingers between his.
“I don’t want you to leave.”
* * *
Cass wasn’t sure what Wylie was going to show her, but her heart pounded as he took her up the stairs, past the bedroom they had been sharing. She had only been in the back of the house once. It was filled with old furniture, a lifetime’s worth of stuff from someone else’s life.
“How did you get this house, Wylie?” she asked him as she looked around the beautiful old house. She was trying not to think about what was going to happen next. She was trying not to think at all. When she did think, she realized how crazy it was that she was here, especially when she knew it would probably be better for her to go. “I know you’ve done well for yourself, but having a house this close to the ocean must cost a fortune.”
“It would, even in this condition. The man who sold it to me was a Marine too. He saw action in Vietnam and has PTSD also. Art helped me get through mine. We got close, and when he lost his wife, he called to tell me he wanted to give me the house. Said he didn’t have a son and would rather let a fellow leatherneck have it than some uppity stranger. I was honored, but I knew I couldn’t accept the house. It was too much. So I went and bought a boat, a real nice one that you could live on, and we traded. He once told me that he wanted to sail around the world with a beautiful girl. I couldn’t find him a girl, but I got him the boat. He took it down to Florida.”
Wylie was sweet and so thoughtful. She still couldn’t wrap her head around why he left. Even though they rarely spoke of Wylie, she knew Terrance felt the loss of him too. For so long it didn’t feel right to be together without him there. “I bet he met a beautiful girl in Florida.”
One corner of Wylie’s mouth curved into that soft half smile that always made her insides feel wobbly. “He did. Her name is Edna. They drink piña coladas and sail around Key Wes
t. He invited me down. I was thinking of going this winter.”
“You should go see him,” she urged him as they stopped in front of the last bedroom at the end of the hall. “He’s your family now.”
“I need all the family I can get.”
They went quiet for a moment, staring at each other, their hands still linked as they stood before the closed door. “Is this the room where you kept your secret collection of body parts?” she joked, trying to ease the tension that had crept up between them.
“You’ve become morbid in your old age.”
“Getting shot will do that to you.”
He shut his eyes for a moment as if he were in pain. His hand went to her belly, to right where the bullet had entered her body. He stroked his thumb over the spot as he leaned in to kiss her face. It was like he was trying to heal her with his kiss.
“Come.” Suddenly his hands were off her body; his lips were gone from her face. He opened the door to the room, leading her inside.
It was too much to take in at first, but the first thing that struck her was how warm it was. Not the temperature, but the feeling. The windows were open, and a breeze was blowing the sheer white curtains. The room smelled of sea air and fresh paint. The walls were painted the softest shade of blue, a beautiful old wooden mirror hung on the wall. There were two old white nightstands, which someone had lovingly restored. And in the center of the room was a large canopy bed with a seahorse-printed bedspread.
The room was beautiful. She could spend hours looking at the small details, but in that moment she wanted to look at Wylie more.
“I want you to be comfortable while you’re here.”
“You remembered,” she said, ignoring him. “I told you when I was fourteen years old that I wanted a canopy bed and you remembered.”
“I didn’t.” The tips of his ears grew red and she knew he was lying. “I just thought it would look nice in here.” He walked away from her to the closet in the back of the room. “This is your room now, Cass. I moved your things in here.”
As soon as she saw it, she knew that he had done this for her, given her this beautiful space. But it didn’t dawn on her what that meant until that very moment.
