Loving Caspar

by Rea Winters

  Caspar thought it was funny, but didn’t realize she’d given it away with the slight crack of a smile until the girl scoffed and rolled her eyes, breaking into a grin herself.

  “Yeah okay, have your laugh, big boi. And when you’re done, just go on your way. I still have a few things to say to this hunk of junk.”

  “Or you could save your breath and let me give you a lift into town.”

  A decline was right on the tip of her tongue, but then she glanced down the seemingly endless stretch of road ahead and nearly whined.

  “You’re sure it’s no trouble?”

  “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  As she got in, Cas got out and set the broken bike in the truck bed.

  Chapter Six

  “I’ll fix the bike when I get back.”

  “Oh, no that’s okay. I didn’t pay much for it anyway.”

  I can tell, Caspar thought, hiding a faint smile behind one hand while she worked the steering wheel with the other. A guy named Abrahim must’ve sold it to her. He was a “technically homeless” hustler known for having a lot of quick-cash side businesses. One of them was building bikes with old or broken parts, then selling them to tourists at the parks and hiking trails. They seemed sturdy, but in reality, they weren’t made to hold up for longer than a week.

  Amie Seda was quite the observer, as well. Those big brown eyes of hers didn’t miss a thing. A quilt draped over the back of the long seat with the initials C.A. handsewn into the center. Blue crystals hung from the rearview mirror next to a silver charm of a woman breastfeeding a baby and an expired pack of cigarettes sat in the cupholder.

  “This was your mother’s truck?”

  Caspar glanced at her. “Yeah.”

  “Looks like she was crafty. Guess that’s where you get your talent for stone work from?”

  “Yeah. How do you—”

  “I saw the half-finished tombstone in the back, power tools. Put two and two.”

  Caspar nodded.

  “So, was it the cigarettes that got her?”

  She didn’t answer, but her grip on the wheel tightened some.

  “Sorry, probably shouldn’t assume it’s not still a sore subject.”

  “It’s not. She died six years ago. Suicide.”

  “Oh. Hey.” She paused, waiting for Cas to look at her. “I’m really sorry.”

  Her gentle tone and genuine stare took Caspar off guard, leading her to linger on the girl. The warmth of sincerity made her fidget and flit her eyes back on the road.

  “No need. She wasn’t.”

  After a few minutes of tapping the sides of the bag in her lap, Amie offered up the story of how her mom passed. It had been quick. Some disease pulled a trojan horse on her liver. The lights started going out organ by organ overnight and a few mornings later, she was gone. Her dad hadn’t been native to Cedamire nor a fan of small-town living, so devotion to his sweet Beth had been the only thing keeping him from answering the call of the city. Amie didn’t remember the fine details, but her “papa bear” had said they left Cedamire not even twelve hours after her mother’s burial.

  "What about you? No dad?"

  “No.”

  “Hm. Cool necklace. Does it open anything?”

  “No. It’s just a key.”

  "I notice you don't talk much."

  “You talk enough for both of us."

  Amie snorted a laugh. "Good one.” She casted her gaze out the window. “It’s impressive, the work on that stone in the back. I’m more of a painter myself. As a hobby, I mean. I’m actually pretty terrible at it compared to real artists, but paints are more relaxing than clay, wood, or stonework. Even when I feel like I’m screwing it up, a little swipe here and a dab there and suddenly something ugly becomes something beautiful. No measurements, no callouses, no cuts. Soft and easy.”

  After a brief silence, Caspar cleared her throat. "My mom liked to paint, too.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. There's a room full of canvases and paint buckets I still need to throw out. Where are you staying?”

  “Melvin’s, right up the street here.”

  Small, cheap, and virtually unpopulated by vacationing families, the family-owned Melvin Motel was more of a sordid spot for highway strangers to meet their illegal dates for a night and where shady locals had or settled secret affairs.

  “Sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable north of here?”

  “I’m sure I would, if I could afford it for longer than a weekend. I’m not just visiting Cedamire. I’m looking to stay here. Gotta save up first.”

  Caspar hummed, sounding unsure.

  “I’m not blind. I know this place is a bit…skeevy, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ll have my own place soon enough.” Amie noticed Caspar tense, her eyes narrowing at something behind her. Apparently, they were getting looks from the weaselly manager and a few others gathered outside of the reception office.

  “Huh, what’re they looking at us like that for, I wonder.”

  “Not us. Me. I don’t come into town much. Will you be okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride, stranger.”

  Amie hoped out of the car, adjusted the messenger bag on her back, and walked to her room. Cas didn’t move until she saw the door close behind her. Then she shot the weasel-like manager and his friends a glare before rolling out.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Once the door shut, Amie leaned against the door and let out one long huff as all the aching in her limbs came to a head. Deep breaths and a count to ten gave her the strength to fight through a wave of dizziness and get to the bathroom on semi-steady legs.

  A hot shower and shampoo set right the wrongs committed by too long a swim and that hard tumble in the woods. At the urgent beep of her wristwatch, Amie rummaged through a large duffle bag full of everything she owned for one of a few prescriptions, nabbing the one that stopped headaches in their tracks.

  She choked down two chalky pills, then shook out her arms and legs. "Whew, okay. You’re okay.”

  Next on the agenda was wardrobe. She picked out a spring-themed sundress, a small jean jacket, and a pair of wedge-heeled boots for the interview ahead. After brushing and styling the long crown of curls she inherited from her Afrikan mother, she splashed water on her cheeks and gave them a pinch for good measure.

  "You can do this. This is what you do. Just like riding bike."

  With thirty minutes left to spare, she set out of her room with a messenger back on her hip and a winning attitude.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Caspar sat in her car, slamming water bottle number three when Miss Carla found her. The inescapable lady popped up at the car window with a loud and cheery “There you are!”

  Caspar flinched and nearly choked, but suppressed her aggravation and managed a thin smile.

  “Hello, Carla.”

  “Just wanted to let you know that a prospective Girl Friday is in your office right now, waiting on that interview.”

  “A what?”

  “Someone answered our ad about taking over Oscar’s spot as your assistant. She’s around your age, a charmer to boot, and seems quite capable according to her resume. I’ll give you a couple minutes.”

  “Wait, wait. I’m interviewing her?”

  “Well, yes. No one gets hired or fired without the boss’ say so. I’ll let her know you’re on your way.”

  With that, Carla skedaddled back inside, leaving Caspar to wince as she pondered the fresh hell conducting an interview was about to be.

  “Just get it over with,” she ordered her reflection in the rearview mirror. She hopped out of the car and marched inside straight to the office, quickly discarding her jacket on the rack.

  “Alright, uh—”

  “Stranger?”

  Cas whipped around, equally confused and stunned.

  The strange chatty girl from Pine Lake sat before her. Dry, dirt and twig-free, wearing a pretty
dress and nervously musing a few rebellious curls among the waves of them flowing down to her elbows. Her eyes lit up even brighter with amused surprise.

  “I’m Amie, remember? Amie Seda.” She stood a little taller in her boots and stuck her hand out for a shake. This time Caspar made herself return the gesture. “And apparently you’re Aobe Adami. Nice meeting you. Again.”

  “…Yeah. It’s Caspar—just Cas.”

  “I wondered if you might work out of this place, but I didn’t think you’d be the owner. Pretty big time.”

  “Right...”

  “So.”

  “So…”

  “Should we start?”

  Chapter Seven

  Amie sat down in the guest chair with a folder in her lap, ready to present. Caspar broke from the weirdness of the situation, took a seat behind the desk, and did her best to look like she knew what to do for the next ten minutes. She might’ve caught the tail end of a few interviews back in the day when checking in with George after school, but she couldn’t recall a lick of what was said. She struggled to even ask the first question, opening and closing her mouth between sharp inhales.

  Amie’s expectant expression softened to understanding amusement.

  “You haven’t been the boss for very long, have you?”

  Caspar relaxed some, thankful to have it said for her. “No. I haven’t.”

  “It’s okay.” She passed her resume over the desk and explained every previous job listed with a short and sweet anecdote. Apparently, she had worked any odd job under the sun since she was fourteen years old and picked up a variety of skills and know-how along the way. She promised that anything she didn’t quite get about this specific job, she would find a way to understand quick, fast, and in a hurry.

  “It’s sort of a superpower of mine.”

  Cas hoped she wasn’t exaggerating because that kind of power was exactly what she needed. The only way to know was to put Amie to the test. So, she picked up the last binder she read that gave her a migraine and handed it over.

  “Tell me what this means.”

  Amie cracked it open and flipped through the first few pages. “It’s a fiscal report of the last two quarters.”

  “And uh…” Cas cleared her throat. “What does it say?”

  “Business is pretty good. Really good actually. Spring and summer treated you guys well. It does look like there's an old machine that costs a pretty penny to keep repairing and it seems like it’s rarely needed for majority of the jobs your people pull. If another two quarters pass and it just sits there collecting dust, I’d say scrap it or at least shell out for a newer model.”

  She handed the binder back and Cas stared at it, not understanding how the girl got all that from a bunch of columns, numbers, and technical mumbo jumbo. Amie took the furrowed brow and set jaw as a bad sign. Wringing her hands in her lap, her smile began to falter.

  “Look I know for jobs like this, people usually have to come in with some kind of University-stamped slip of paper, but in my experience—"

  “You’re hired. Can you start right now?”

  Amie blinked and the brightness returned to her smile in full force. “Really? I mean yes, absolutely!”

  Her new boss shot up and showed her to the smaller room attached to the office. The small tour consisted of a closet behind the door, a small couch under the single window in the back corner, and a dusty desk with a computer to match. All of it hers now. Cas fumbled around the boxes of files and folders cluttering the carpet, moving things out of Amie’s way.

  “Uh, they told me the last guy had a system. Something about color coding and a program on the desktop. The old manager abandoned it after the guy left, so there’s a lot to catch up on.”

  Amie took it all in with a nod. “Okay. On it.”

  “And um, about your bike. I should have it fixed soon.”

  “Oh, that’s okay, really. I think I’ve got plenty to keep me hunkered down in town for a while.”

  “…Right.”

  And with that, the awkward giant stalked off back to the bigger office. Amie decided to remind her later that there was paperwork she needed to fill out to make her position there official. First, the dust had to go. She found a broom and a bucket of cleaning supplies in the little closet, tied her hair up with a couple scrunchies, wrapped a bandana around her face and got to work.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  At the end of the day, Caspar returned to the office from the alley – where she’d been sitting in her truck since lunch. She stood just in the doorway and told Amie the employment forms she’d asked about were on her desk, then headed out before the Girl Friday could even respond.

  “Something tells me I’m gonna have to get used that.”

  After gathering her things, Amie shut down the computer and organized the files from a box on her desk, set on reviewing them first thing tomorrow.

  “Knock, knock,” a cheery woman greeted from the doorway.

  “Oh, hi. Carla, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Me and some of the girls are grabbing some dinner. We’d love to have you.”

  “Aw, nice. Where to?”

  Billy’s Bar & Grill. A Western Saloon-style restaurant fit with flat screen TVs on every wall playing ten different sports games. The mascot, a neon harlot, blinked and winked above a vast shelf of booze on the entry floor.

  The ladies of Adam & Hammer were escorted to a round table on the second floor by the railing. After quick re-introductions of who’s who and where from, Carla got to the heart of the matter.

  “So, how was it today? Working with the new boss?”

  “It was fine. I mean, I didn’t really work with her. Just sorted a lot of paper work and got her to sign on the dotted lines. Easy-peasy.”

  “Was she…nice?”

  “Sure. Socially awkward, but overall respectful. Why?” Sipping her drink, Amie narrowed her eyes at the ladies as they exchanged glances and nudges. “What? Something wrong?”

  “Well, not wrong per se.”

  “It’s just that,” Gina Vargas from Accounting cut in. “No one has really seen Caspar Adami in the flesh since that whole thing happened with her mom.”

  “Oh, yeah, she mentioned that—"

  “She did? What’d she say?” The three women leaned forward, their questions jumping at her like piranhas.

  “Just that her mother passed.”

  The ladies hummed, exchanging glances and nudges again.

  “Were those her exact words?” Daisy Wei from HR asked.

  “Well, no, but…what’s going on here?”

  Carla exchanged a glance and nod with the other two girls, then turned to Amie.

  “We think it’s only right that you know the full story.”

  Being the oldest in the group, Carla had witnessed the most and so took the lead on this briefing.

  The curious case of Caspar Adami began twenty-four years before she was born. At eighteen, a few months after her parents’ death in a car accident, Chea Adami had been attacked by some disgruntled business man. Brutally raped, to be sadly specific. Carla had been about sixteen at the time, so she vividly remembered Chea’s tragic fate being the talk of the hour at every dinner table. The man was caught and thrown in jail quickly, thank the Ancesti, but people said Chea was never the same. She went from creative, boisterous social butterfly to woodland shut-in. No one knew the rape had resulted in a pregnancy until she was signing the kid up for first grade.

  Gina jumped in. “Wait, didn’t she give birth in the hospital?”

  “No, I think she gave birth at the cabin,” Daisy answered.

  “Or was it in Sergeant Taylor’s car and then he drove her to the hospital?” Gina tilted her chin, trying to remember which version of the story she had heard recently.

  “Mm, no, Daisy’s right,” Carla clarified after a long sip of her drink. “My father worked at Cedar Grace at the time. He said she gave birth at home with the help of another doctor –the um, the Adami’s family physi
cian. And then Sgt. Taylor drove her and the baby to the hospital the next morning. So, a lot of people knew about the pregnancy right then and there, but no one saw the child for a few years after that.”

  “Not until she became legally obligated to sign her up for school,” Gina added.

  “Right. So…”

  From what Carla had observed as a teacher’s assistant at Cedamire’s K-8th public school, Caspar had been a normal child despite having far from a normal upbringing. She was polite, helpful, and skilled in ways that a lot of other kids weren’t yet at that age. She impressed teachers and managed to make friends, even though she never stayed in town too long.

  “Chea would pick her up practically before the last bell and whisk her back to the woods. And she wouldn’t come down on weekends to the park or birthday parties no matter how many invites she got in class.”

  But it was rumored that Sergeant Taylor put a stop to that. The man had still been a deputy back then, but he’d always made time to check in on Cas once she suddenly started participating in a bunch of after school activities.

  “They were involved, Desmond and Chea,” Gina revealed.

  “We think,” Daisy amended. “He’s never confirmed as much, but he definitely cared about her. Their families were close, the Adamis and the Taylors.”

  “Oh, come on, of course they were a thing.”

  “No! You think? After what she went through?” Carla asked, unconvinced.

  “Not like there’s a law against it. Besides, the trouble he would save that boi from, you don’t do that just for a friend.”

  “What trouble?” Amie inquired.

  That came later.

  Chapter Eight

  When Caspar got older, around middle school, somehow the truth about her conception got back to her. Most likely parents talking among parents, forgetting their kids were smart enough to grasp what was being said, and then those kids taking a nasty abridged version of whatever they heard back to Caspar.