by Lois Richer
“I know. Ty’s busy. So are you. Helping the needy. Great. Don’t worry, I won’t bug either of you.” He rose, sauntered to the door.
“Jack?”
“Yeah?” He scowled at her.
Cassidy pointed to the dirty dishes, watched as he carted them to the sink and dropped them on the washboard.
“Happy?”
“No. You’re old enough to understand that you can’t always come first.” She debated whether to say it and then decided a dose of reality couldn’t hurt. “I don’t like it when you act like a baby.”
“Well that’s how he treats me, like a stupid little kid who can’t blow his nose without help.” The last word erupted on a tide of emotion.
Though Jack wheeled away, Cassidy caught the sheen of hurt.
“I know it’s hard, honey.” She laid a hand on his shoulder, but he jerked away from her touch. “It won’t always be rushed like this.”
“Won’t it?” His glare oozed disbelief.
“Ty’s not avoiding you. Once he gets everything running smoothly you’ll have lots of time to do things together.” Cassidy stopped because Jack didn’t believe her, and, if the truth were told, she wasn’t sure she believed herself. Ty and Jack didn’t seem to connect on any level and she couldn’t figure out why. “Don’t be too impatient. Give it time.”
“Yeah. Sure. Sorry I took it out on you.” He offered her an apologetic smile.
“You can talk to me, Jack. Anytime. About anything.”
“Thanks.” But he didn’t hang around. “See you.”
“Later,” she promised. “With your lit homework.”
As Jack clumped up the stairs Cassidy realized that the neediest people at the Haven weren’t only those who used its facilities. It was time to get Ty and Jack doing something together. In her pocket, her cell phone jiggled against her leg.
“Hey, sis. How goes it?”
“Cassidy, you might want to sit down.”
“Why?”
“I just had a call from Dad. He wants to see us.”
A black tide of rage rushed across Cassidy’s brain, drowning out everything but a policeman’s voice from the past.
“Your thief was your father, Miss Preston.”
Chapter Seven
Keep asking questions.
Good advice, Ty told himself.
He glanced at the expectant faces of the family crowding his office on Friday afternoon and wondered why God had sent them. God knew his desperate yearning to be free of this mental paralysis that trapped him in a world where he relived the same horror over and over again.
“So what do you think?” the belligerent teen demanded.
“You tell me.” Tension stretched across the room the way static air portends a storm. “Your father is working two jobs to pay the rent. Your mom is taking every shift she can to put food on the table. Your two sisters are waiting tables to pay for their clothes. What’s your contribution?”
Ty listened to the kid’s outburst, then posed new questions to get the boy to see he didn’t require the wardrobe advertised by a basketball superstar. Finally the boy offered to take on some of the chores at home. The family left amid good-natured teasing.
Ty sagged with relief and glanced upward.
“Thank You, Father,” he whispered with heartfelt appreciation.
Outside his office, renovations proceeded in starts and fits. He thought he was immune to the noise until something shook the building and he was catapulted back to his nightmare. It took every ounce of remaining strength to push through the shroud of anxiety. Just like now.
Once alone, Ty scanned the room searching for escape. He grabbed the box holding his telescope and his coat. He was almost at the stairs when Cassidy caught him.
“How’d it go?”
“Fine.” He shifted the case, scrambling for a way to make his escape.
“I knew you could help them. You’re good at—that stuff.” She grinned at him as if he’d just won the lottery.
“Refereeing, you mean?”
“Yeah, that.” She chuckled at his feigned annoyance. “Or in your language, counseling. You have a knack for asking the right questions.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” No guile lingered in the silver depths of her gaze, no hidden meaning or pretended emotion. Cassidy seemed an open book.
Ty wondered why it was that whenever she was around him, the veil of the past dissipated and he became energized, connected to the present, whole. She only had to start talking and suddenly he began believing he could push past the immobilizing grip that swamped him and do something really worthwhile.
Was it because she was so wholly involved in the present that she had no time for the past?
“Where are you off to now?” she asked.
“The roof.” Ty knew she’d been up there a couple of times with Jack.
“You go up there a lot. Why is that?”
He shrugged. “It’s quiet. I don’t hear the building noise and I can think.”
“Oh. Nice day for it. After such a miserable January we deserve some decent weather. I noticed you added a couple of benches.”
“I thought we could use it as a kind of retreat. But I don’t want clients up there.” The words spilled out without thought; he couldn’t stop them. “It’s too dangerous.”
“The roof is totally enclosed.” Her forehead furrowed in confusion. “Isn’t it?”
How to explain this constant nagging dread?
“It’s not for use by anyone but you and me. That’s a rule, Cassidy.”
“Another rule?”
Ty held her gaze until she shrugged.
“Fine.” She didn’t blink, didn’t look away.
Ty itched to get away, to fight his personal war alone. But a faint shadow lingered at the back of Cassidy’s eyes. She wanted something.
“Do you need me?”
She didn’t answer immediately. Her brow lowered as if debating some internal issue. Finally she shook her head.
“No. Nothing urgent. The details for Jack’s party are in place. I talked to Boe. He’s spoken to some of the others. They’ll show up after dinner tonight. Okay?”
“Thank you.” The tic of warning twitched at Ty’s jawline. “I wish Jack had some friends other than gang members.”
“You make it sound like Boe’s all about chains and tattoos. He’s not that bad.”
“Really?” He glanced out the stairwell window. “The cops were here today. There’s been some vandalism in the area. Again.”
“That’s hardly new.”
“Exactly what I mean.”
Cassidy’s smile died.
“Have any of them done something to make you believe they’re behind this latest incident?” Silver sparks flared in those expressive eyes. Her lovely mouth slanted down. “Do you have even a morsel of proof that any one of those kids Jack hangs around with is involved in vandalism?”
“No, but you only have to listen to that girl.”
“Red?”
“Who else?” He made a face. “She’s a poster child for problems.”
“She’s trying to change things the only way she knows how. You’d better not say anything against her to Jack,” Cassidy warned. “He’s infatuated with her.”
“Give me some credit.” Ty shifted the case to his other arm, impatient to forget about his failure as a standin father. “Thanks for your help with the party. I’d intended to do more, but—”
“Those people needed to talk to you. It’s no big deal.”
She said the words she thought he wanted to hear, but she wasn’t finished. Ty waited, knowing Cassidy would say whatever was on her mind. She’d never been shy about that.
“I’m sure you’re squeezed for time, but I wish you could do something with Jack. He wants to be part of things here.”
“Isn’t he helping you out a couple of afternoons a week?” It had been one of his stipulations in allowing his nephew to jam with his �
��band.”
“With me. Yes. What he really wants is to be doing something with you.”
Ty couldn’t suppress his sharp burst of laughter.
“Right.”
“It’s true. He’s lonely. He feels left out. You and I are always busy but Jack stands on the sidelines, watching us and feeling useless.”
“I’ve suggested plenty of ways he could help.”
“Help you?”
He pretended to think about it. “Well, no.”
“That’s what Jack wants. The Haven was his mother’s idea. He wants to help you make it succeed, but he can’t do that if you don’t include him.”
“Cassidy, he’s mad at me all the time. He hates it when I talk to his friends. He breaks the curfew I gave him. Exactly what would you like me to include him in?”
“Something. Anything.” She met his glare with her own.
Ty closed his eyes, raked a hand through his hair and sighed.
“I’ll try and come up with something we can do together. Okay?”
“Yes.” She grinned. “It could be fun.”
“Yeah. Fun.” With a rebellious almost-teen who thought his uncle was a basket case. Oh, yes, fun was tops on the list. “Anything else?”
Cassidy cast a speculative glance at his telescope case.
“Irina asked me to remind you about her friend coming, in about an hour.”
The groan almost escaped him. But Ty choked it back. He set his watch’s timer, thanked her and ascended the stairs to the peace of the roof.
Ty closed his eyes and inhaled the cool air, letting it wash his soul clean. Then he got to work setting the telescope into position. Though cloudy now, the sky was supposed to clear off before evening. Perfect conditions to check out the constellations.
Ty considered asking Jack to join him, but tossed the idea. The kid already thought he was a very uncool nerd. No way would he be interested in seeing Mars or a new nebula Ty thought he’d found.
Finally satisfied that everything was ready, Ty pulled the cover into place.
When night fell in Chicago, morning would be breaking half a world away. The sky would flash with fire as explosions dotted the landscape. If he closed his eyes, if he relaxed even for a moment and opened his mind he would be back in an instant, seeing…
His watch’s alarm shook Ty free of the blackness. He returned to his office to listen to another problem. But in its deepest recesses, his soul begged for healing, for a chance to be free of the fear that he was not in control.
Cassidy studied Jack’s face as he caught his first glimpse of the guitar-shaped cake she’d baked and decorated. She began singing “Happy Birthday.” The kids remained mute. Thankfully, Ty’s smooth tenor quickly joined in.
“It’s awesome.” Jack couldn’t quite smother his grin. “Thanks, Cassidy.”
“You’re welcome. You’d better blow out all those candles before they light the place up.”
He did, missed one and blushed in the shamed embarrassment of youth, daring a sideways glance at Red before quickly looking away.
Cassidy set down a stack of plates at his elbow.
“Cut away,” she said with a smile.
“Is it the same cake you made before?” Red eyed the big knife Jack wielded.
“A little different. More fudgey. You let me know what you think.”
While Jack passed around slices of his birthday cake, Cassidy poured two mugs of coffee and handed one to Ty, relishing the shared moment.
“Thanks.” He sipped. “Who’s the giant with the red cap?”
“Walter Something. He’s Jack’s latest friend.” She smiled her thanks when Red set two pieces of cake before them. “Why?”
“Just wondered if he’s going to cause problems.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Someone used a pick on the fire door in the gym last night.” He studied each face as if searching for the culprit.
“It happens.” She didn’t want anything spoiling Jack’s birthday. “You can’t stop everything. We do the best we can. If something goes wrong, we pick up the pieces.”
“I do not need to pick up any more pieces, thank you.”
Cassidy knew him well enough to interpret the darkness in his glare as anger.
“Your sister didn’t die because you didn’t stop it.” What could she say to help him?
“My brother did.”
He’d talked about Donnie before. Cassidy hoped he would tell her more.
“I told you he ran away from home?”
She nodded.
“He got in with the wrong crowd, started using drugs. Eventually he was living on the streets, even under an abandoned cement bridge.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose as if to ease his stress. “On Donnie’s birthday, at Christmas, Easter, Gail would ask around till she found him. She’d make sure he was all right, buy him a meal, give him warm clothes, that kind of thing. She’d beg him to come back, but he never would.”
“He died around here?”
Ty nodded.
“New Year’s Eve. Gail had taken him some gifts from us. He hawked them all for drug money, all but a sweater I sent. Donnie loved the color blue and that sweater was a vivid electric-blue. Somebody wanted it, there was fight and he was stabbed.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Ty.” Her heart ached for the misery flickering through his eyes. “But it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known.”
“Maybe not then. I was just a kid. But I know more now. Jack is the spitting image of Donnie. I take precautions with Jack because I won’t lose him, too.”
His rules. That’s why. Cassidy’s heart ached for him. She wanted to tell him that rules couldn’t stop tragedy, that it happened in spite of the best-laid plans. But Jack’s birthday wasn’t the time to get into it.
“Things happen, Ty. Nobody can stop all of them.” She pasted a smile on her face thinking of how she’d prayed for a happy family and God’s nonresponse. “Come on. Jack’s finished his cake. Let’s give him his gifts.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” His lopsided smile tugged at her heart.
“Sometimes it’s good to talk about the past. It helps let it go.” Liar. No amount of talking would ever free Cassidy from her own ugly past.
Shopping wasn’t her forte but Jack seemed to appreciate her gift card from a skateboarding shop.
“Thanks.” Jack hugged her quickly, cheeks reddening at the whistles and catcalls.
“You’re welcome, sweetie.” She caught Ty watching them.
Jack enthused over the small trinkets the other kids gave him, laughing freely at their jokes about his music as he unwrapped extra strings for his guitar, a pick, CDs. But it was Ty’s gift that rendered him speechless.
“It was your uncle Donnie’s. He never used it much. I thought perhaps you’d enjoy it.”
Jack carefully lifted the small remote-controlled airplane from the box. He trailed a fingertip over the wingspan, touched the bright red cockpit. He looked at Ty, hopeful.
“Will you teach me to fly it?”
“Sure.” Ty glanced at her, grinned.
Her heart gave a bump of joy for his happiness.
“Cool.” The other kids crowded around to admire the plane. Jack joined in but every so often his gaze slid to his uncle as if he was seeing him in a new light.
Cassidy wanted to cheer. At last, something they could do together. Maybe flying that plane would forge firmer bonds between them.
For once Cassidy wished she believed in prayer.
For the past two weeks, Ty had told himself that if he just got through today, this hour, he could have an hour on the roof with the stars. But for the past two weeks, he’d managed only half an hour of pure solitude peering through his telescope.
He was overstressed and he knew it.
The flashbacks happened more frequently now, spinning him out of the present and into the chaos he’d try to leave behind. He seldom slept more than a couple of hours at a time and he couldn’t focus. Th
at’s why he was constantly on edge, waiting for another disaster.
Cassidy had no such problem. She glowed. Ty caught himself waiting for a chance moment to talk to her, to watch her, to bask in her joy.
She started a community cooking class, which quickly blossomed into three to accommodate women working different shifts. The kitchen hummed with activity from early morning to late at night. Her students sang her praises loudly and clearly.
Which was great, but the more they came, the more they sought Ty’s help on parenting, or job difficulties or something else he felt utterly incompetent to answer. So he did what he’d been trained to do and kept asking questions until his clients discovered the answers they needed.
At least God had answered that prayer. So far his clients seemed satisfied and no one seemed to notice that he struggled through, losing his focus, mistaking names, sweating.
But his prayer for healing had not been answered.
He had to get his post-traumatic stress disorder under control or risk impacting his ability to help. That’s why he was down in the kitchen—to corner Cassidy, to get her to head people off before his entire calendar filled up with people looking to him for help.
He’d been here twice—both times she’d been on the phone, adamantly refusing to meet someone. Though curious, Ty didn’t pry, and besides, if she asked for his help, he wouldn’t have any answers to give.
“Cassidy? Are you here?” he called.
The kitchen seemed unusually silent for four in the afternoon. Two pots gently bubbled on the stove, a huge bowl of Mac’s favorite bread pudding cooled on a sideboard while the oven wafted a robust tomato aroma that set his stomach growling.
Apparently she was out.
Ty turned to leave, heard the steel door in the stairwell creak open.
“Come on, lean on me. It’s not far now.”
Ice chilled his veins as two figures entered.
Jack, his face bloodied and his clothes torn, hung on to Cassidy, his breathing harsh. Cassidy’s black hair lay mussed against her cheek. Her ski jacket was ripped at the pocket, her calm smile replaced with tight-lipped fury. As if to emphasize that, a smear of dark red dashed across her chin.
Blood.
For a moment Ty got sucked into the past, a cross somewhere between Donnie’s last moments and the never-ending nightmare of war.
