by Liz Adair
3
Ben Torres proposed to me last night.” Cassie was curled up on the couch in the living room of her Scottsdale condo. Dressed in Levi’s and a scoop-neck tee, she was barefoot and her hair was down. Taking a bite of a cheese Danish, she watched her companion expectantly.
Punky Gilbert didn’t disappoint her. “Holy Crow, Cassie!” she squealed. “You wait for half an hour to tell me that! How could you!”
It was mid-Saturday morning, and Punky had come over for brunch and a visit, a longstanding ritual they had observed ever since Cassie had joined the Church and Punky had drawn her into the ward single adult group.
“I was listening to all your news,” Cassie said. “Congratulations on the part in the play. The lead! You’ve waited a long time for this.”
“Well, it’s Annie Get Your Gun. I don’t think I’m cut out for the lead in Oklahoma or Camelot. But never mind the play! Tell me about Ben Torres! How did he ask you? What did you say?”
“I said—”
“No-no-no. Let’s have how he asked you first.”
Cassie shook her head, smiling as she remembered how nervous Ben had been.
Leaning forward in anticipation, Punky demanded, “Cassie! Quit grinning like the Cheshire Cat and tell me! How did he ask you?” Punky was the complete opposite of Cassie. She was petite and plump, with a round face and dark hair cut short. Her brows were thick and dark, and if she didn’t pluck them relentlessly, they grew together across the bridge of her nose. She dressed in bold colors and wore theatrical touches like fringed shawls and costume jewelry and played up her long black lashes. She had real talent, and worked as a waitress so she could support her thespian habit.
Cassie shook her head at Punky’s demand for details. “It’s too private.”
“What did you say? Did you say yes?”
Cassie shook her head again. “It took me by surprise. I asked for more time.”
“Are you crazy?” Punky hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Ben is a hunk. He’s a great dad. He has a great future on the police force—that is if he doesn’t get killed in the line of duty—and did I mention he’s a hunk? And, he honors his priesthood. What else do you want?”
“What else? I guess I want . . . oh, I don’t know. I never even thought I’d marry until I joined the Church. I never thought of myself as a mother, or even a step-mother. I didn’t know what a family could be like until I went home with you for the Fourth of July.” She rearranged the burgundy throw pillows that had been pushed to the end of the couch. “What am I looking for? I don’t know. Chemistry? I’ve never thought of Ben in that way. I didn’t realize he—”
“Didn’t realize? You are obtuse, you know. I’d give anything to have him look at me with those melting brown eyes the way he looks at you.”
“I guess I am obtuse. I love being with him. We have a great time—we all have a great time together, the Three Amigos. Ben is safe—”
“Safe! Safe, she says! The man is a police officer. Homicide! That’s not incredibly safe.”
Cassie laughed. “What I meant was, he’s dependable. You know where he stands. There’s no mystery.”
“Lady, when you’ve been around once like the rest of us, you’ll know that mystery isn’t always a virtue. My ex was a mystery, I can tell you that. Mysteries are no fun. If you’re smart you’ll snap Ben up, right now.”
“Do you know, my head tells me the same thing, but I asked for time, because I need to listen to my heart, too. You want another Danish?”
Punky stood. “I think I’d better have another to drown my sorrow.” The doorbell rang when she was halfway to the kitchen. “Want me to get it? You expecting someone?” she asked.
“Uh-uh. Go ahead and answer it.” Cassie picked up the newspaper that was lying beside her on the couch and glanced at the headlines, looking up as Punky came back to the living room with a long box tied with a silver ribbon.
“It was the florist,” Punky said. “Who’s sending you flowers? Must be from Ben.” She sighed. “Nobody ever sends me flowers.”
“I did,” Cassie reminded her as she undid the ribbon. “The last play you were in.”
“I meant no man ever sends me . . . ooh! Roses! Long-stemmed roses. And what is that there with the card? Is anything the matter, Cassie? Are you all right? You’re white as a ghost.”
Cassie was sitting very still. One hand held a silver barrette from which the card dangled, and the other hand was over her heart.
“Who’s it from? Look at the card,” Punky urged.
“I don’t need to look at the card,” Cassie croaked. “I know who it’s from.”
“Mystery, she wants,” Punky declared. “Methinks we have a mystery here. Come on, Cassie. Out with it!”
“I met a man . . .” Cassie began.
“When?”
“Yesterday. Was it just yesterday? It seems so long ago.”
“Where? When did you have time to meet a man? Didn’t Ben meet you at the airport?”
“It was in St. George. I met him in the hospital, and he drove me to the airport. I lost my barrette in his car, and he’s returned it to me.”
“Holy Crow! How did he do that? How did he get the barrette clear from St. George to here on a Saturday morning? With flowers? How’d he do that?”
“I don’t know.” Cassie picked up the card that was dangling from the barrette and read it. “He’s here,” she said.
“Here, as in. . . . ?”
“As in Scottsdale. He wants to take me to dinner tonight.”
“Tell him you’re bringing a chaperone.”
“Punky! Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I don’t like the sound of this. He sounds like a loose fish to me. What decent man drives four hundred miles to deliver a barrette? He’s after one thing, and one thing only, mark my words! I can see you’re smitten—otherwise Ben might have had a chance. You need a chaperone, that’s for sure.”
“What should I wear?”
“Will you listen to yourself? What do you know about this man?”
“I know he’s resourceful. I wouldn’t tell him my last name, but he found it out and followed me here.”
“That’s not resourceful. That’s creepy. That settles it! You’re not going out with him! He sounds like a stalker to me.”
“No, he’s not. How could he be? He’s . . . he’s . . .”
“Yes?”
Cassie’s mouth twisted into a rueful smile. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about him. But I want to. I really, really want to.”
“He must be good-looking,” Punky observed dryly.
Cassie giggled. “He’s gorgeous! Oh, Punky, this is so adolescent,” she wailed, covering her face with one of the pillows.
“Well, I’ll tell you what I teach the adolescents in my Mia Maid class. You don’t date nonmembers, because you marry who you date.”
Cassie peeked over the edge of the pillow. “But, Punky, what about the good people out there that would welcome the gospel into their lives? What about people like me? If you exclude them from social relations, you deny them a glimpse into what the gospel can do for them.”
“If what you’re looking for is social relations, fine. Be social. But have a chaperone. Me. That is, until you know more about this man. I’m not kidding. Ted Bundy was good-looking and personable, but he was still a serial killer!”
“You’re right. I’ll tell him I’ve made plans to spend the evening with you, but he’s welcome to join us.”
“We can fix dinner here. You can make your famous lasagna, and we’ll get a loaf of crusty bread from that little bakery down the street.”
“And you can make your famous cherry cheesecake for dessert.”
“And we’ll put together a huge tossed salad with all kinds of greens and colorful veggies and garnish it with artichoke hearts.” She looked at her watch. “What time do we have to have this ready?”
“I don’t know. He says here that he’ll call, but he
hasn’t—”
As if on cue the phone rang. Punky stopped in mid-sentence and Cassie grew pale. They both looked at the designer, European-style instrument on the end table by the couch. “Answer it,” Punky prompted.
As Cassie picked up the handset there was a band around her rib cage that wouldn’t allow her to breathe. She felt Punky watching her. Turning away, she said, “Hello,” in a husky half-whisper.
“Cassie?”
She recognized the voice on the other end. “Hello, Chan.” There was a pause as she searched frantically for something to say. “Thank you for sending my barrette. I must have dropped it.”
“You got it, then.” His voice was warm. “And you read the card?”
“Yes.” The band around her chest was tightening. “Yes.”
“And you’ll go out with me?”
“Oh, well, you see, I had promised to spend this evening with a friend.” Cassie looked up, saw Punky on the edge of her seat, and couldn’t help but smile. “But we’d love to have you join us for dinner, here at my place.”
“A home-cooked meal? I accept. What time?”
“Oh, how about six?” She raised an eyebrow at Punky as she said it, and Punky nodded decisively.
“Six it is. See you then.”
“Let me give you my—oh, I guess you already know where I live. Do you need directions?”
“I have a map. If I get lost I’ll call. See you at six.”
“Yes. See you then. ’Bye.” Cassie sat for a moment, cradling the handset next to her cheek, then hung up. She met Punky’s eyes and colored faintly.
“He’s coming, then?”
Cassie nodded.
Punky squealed. “Cassie! I can’t believe this! It’s just like Cinderella! Holy Crow!” She jumped up. “We’ve got lots to do. Let’s get busy and make a list.”
Retrieving the magnetic note pad from the refrigerator door, she moved the pillows and plopped down on the couch next to Cassie. “Shopping list,” she said, pencil at the ready. “What do you need for the lasagna? What do we need to buy?”
“What? Oh. Lasagna.” Cassie listed the ingredients she needed.
“What do we need to get for the salad? What have you got in the fridge?”
“Nothing. I’ve been gone two weeks. We’ll have to get everything.”
Punky wrote furiously, adding her cheesecake needs. She looked up to see Cassie fastening the barrette in her hair. “Let’s go,” she said.
“Go?”
“I swear, Cassie, you’ve become addlepated. I’ve never seen anyone as capable as you, but you’re sure wooly-headed this morning. Yes, go. We’ve got to go shopping. She looked at her watch. We’ve got seven hours to pull this together.”
Cassie sighed. “You’re right, though my head is telling me that Cinderella is a fairytale. Most probably this will go nowhere. And, you’re right about the LDS thing, too. I need to find a righteous priesthood bearer.”
“You found one,” Punky reminded her. “You told him you needed more time.”
“Yes. I know. I know.” She stood. “Let me get my shoes and we can go shopping.” She disappeared into the bedroom. “Did you put the bread on the list?” she called.
“Got it.”
The afternoon was spent in furious activity. Punky had a gift with food, knowing innately how to combine tastes and textures for maximum effect. She cooked with her hands and was incredibly messy. Cassie, on the other hand, was methodical and tidy as she followed her recipe rigidly. By late afternoon they had everything prepared, with the lasagna ready to go into the oven and the salad chilling in the refrigerator. Cassie wiped the last of the tomato sauce off the backsplash and surveyed the kitchen and dining area.
“You were right about not using the roses as a centerpiece,” she said. “They look better in the entryway.”
“You need something low that won’t interfere with conversation,” Punky advised, moving one of the goblets to stand just above the right-hand silverware. “The table looks beautiful. You’re lucky you have your mother’s china and crystal.” She looked at her watch. “Pretty good. We’ve got two hours, yet. Let’s go have a swim. Then we can come up, pop the lasagna in the oven, get ready, and then he’ll be here.”
“You’re trying to keep me busy,” Cassie said. “Keep me from being nervous.”
“I’ve got a few butterflies myself.” Punky looked out the kitchen window. “No one’s in the pool.”
“Let’s go, then.”
Punky grabbed her keys. “I’ll get my suit and meet you down there.” She paused at the door and called, “Last one in is an ugly sister.”
Laughing, Cassie called back, “You’re on!” and went to find her swimsuit.
4
Cassie was peeking at the lasagna when the doorbell rang.
“He’s prompt, I’ll say that for him,” Punky said. “It’s straight-up six.”
Cassie closed the oven door and wiped her hands on a towel. Trying to see her reflection in the glass door of the microwave, she fingered the barrette and asked Punky, “How do I look?”
“Like you always do. Beautiful. I’ve never heard you ask before.” When Cassie hesitated, she said, “Answer the door, Cinderella. I think it’s the prince.”
Cassie laughed and headed for the door. Her royal blue pantsuit was made of supple crepe that hung down over her strappy high-heeled sandals, giving a fluid grace to her walk. Dangling lapis lazuli earrings picked up the blue of her outfit and transmitted it to her eyes, which were still twinkling above a wide smile when she opened the door. “Good evening,” she greeted. “More flowers? You will spoil me.”
Cassie hadn’t remembered how tall he was. Tall as she was, and wearing high heels, she still had to look up at him.
Chan Jordain’s face creased into that rectangular smile. “Hello. I hope you don’t mind, but the flowers are for your friend. I made the assumption that it was a lady-friend?” He raised a questioning eyebrow. “I think I’m in trouble if it isn’t.”
“She’s a lady friend,” Punky said, sailing past Cassie and taking the flowers that Chan proffered. She held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Punky Jones. If Cassie isn’t going to invite you in, I will. Come on in.”
“Thank you.” Chan stepped in, and though he spoke to Punky, his eyes were on Cassie, registering appreciation for the blue outfit.
“Thank you for the flowers,” Punky said. “I’ll just go put them in water.”
“The roses you sent me are beautiful,” Cassie said, indicating the bouquet on a stand in the entryway. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Chan looked around. “You have a lovely place. Are you roommates?”
Cassie shook her head as she led the way into the living room. “Punky lives a block away. Won’t you sit down? Are you hungry?” She picked up a magazine.
“Starved. I’ve been busy all day and didn’t take time for lunch.”
“Oh? What were you doing?”
“Looking for a place to live.”
The magazine slipped from Cassie’s hands, smacking on the unglazed tile as she stared. Chan stooped to retrieve it, smiling as he handed it back to her.
“Oh . . . ,” Cassie said in confusion. “I was going to give that to you to look at while we’re finishing up in the kitchen. Everything’s ready. We just have to put it on the table. Sit down,” she invited again.
Chan took the proffered magazine and sat. Reading the title, The Hospital Quarterly, he said, “I think I’ll just sit here and soak up the ambiance. Sights, sounds, smells. Unless I can help?”
“No, no. It’s all ready. I’ll just be a minute.” Cassie headed for the kitchen, where Punky was waiting for her with a mile-wide grin. “You were right, princess,” she murmured. “He is drop-dead gorgeous. Will you please tell me again what I was teaching my Mia Maids about dating nonmembers? I’ve forgotten what it was.”
“Me, too. But we’ll be strong. Though, that doesn’t mean we can’t ask him to do things as a group.
What are we doing for FHE Monday night?” They were whispering conspiratorially.
“We’re playing basketball, remember? You and Ben conned short little me into that. I get Chan on my team. You and Ben against Prince Jordain and I.”
“Shhhh. He may not even be in the area on Monday.” Cassie hissed, reaching to take the lasagna out of the oven.
“I heard him say he’s looking for a place to live.” Punky splashed a ruby-colored vinaigrette on the salad and tasted a piece of lettuce. “Sounds like he’s here for a while.” Putting a pair of serving tongs in the bowl, she carried it out to the dining area.
Cassie followed her with the lasagna and a trivet, glancing over to where Chan sat on the couch, following her with his eyes. Suddenly, he stood. “I forgot something in the car. I’ll be back in a minute.” He was out the door and gone before Cassie could think of anything to say.
Punky arrived with the fragrance of warm bread wafting behind her and set a basket covered with a heavy linen napkin on the table. “Where’d he go?”
“I don’t know. Said he forgot something.”
“Is he coming back?”
“I hope so. Otherwise we’re going to be eating lasagna leftovers for a month.”
They stood at the table and waited in silence. Finally Punky said, “The salad is wilting. Is he coming?”
“He’s been gone three minutes is all.”
“How do you know?”
“I looked at the clock when he left. I don’t know why.”
Just at that moment, there was a tap-tap on the door, and Chan entered, carrying a green bottle with a large, yellow label and a gold foil cap over the stopper on top. Cassie’s heart sank.
“I brought something to drink,” Chan explained. “I was so nervous I left it in the car. It was chilled when I bought it, so it should still be fine.”
“Um. Thank you,” Cassie began. “But, the thing is, we can’t . . . we don’t . . .”
Chan grinned. “I can’t, and I don’t either. I’m a Latter-day Saint. It’s sparkling grape juice.”
“You’re LDS?” Punky was the one who found her voice first. “You’re LDS?” she repeated, upping the tone and decibels. “So are we!” She pointed to Cassie and then to herself. “Cassie and I are too!”
