by Lois Richer
“I wasn’t—”
“Maybe doesn’t help when your sisters are crying because they’re hungry and you can’t find a thing in the cupboards to feed them, Ty. Maybe doesn’t put a present in your stocking on Christmas morning. Maybe doesn’t cough up the money you need to go on a school trip with all the other kids.”
Cassidy struggled to close the lid on the past.
“My father has not been part of my life since the day he broke into my home. I see no need to meet him now that he feels guilty.”
“But—”
Whatever he was about to say, Cassidy didn’t want to hear it.
“I’m not going to listen to his tales of woe and say that I understand, because I don’t.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t understand how any father could do that to his child and I sure don’t understand how a so-called loving God could let it happen.”
“You can’t blame God.”
“Isn’t He supposed to be all-powerful?” She glared at him, daring him to excuse God’s part in this.
“He is.” Ty sighed. “Cassidy, you have to see your father sometime.”
“Why?” She forced a smile. “That man was never a real father. He wasn’t there for me when I needed him. He abandoned us more times than I can imagine. He abused us and my mother.”
“And?”
“And now I’ve abandoned him. I’m free of him, and I intend to stay that way.”
Ty frowned. His fingers pleated then smoothed the soft wool of his pants. When he lifted his head, Cassidy glimpsed a shadow in his eyes and knew she wouldn’t like hearing what he was about to say.
“But you’re not really free. You’re carrying around this load of hate.” Ty held her gaze. “Sooner or later you’re going to have to forgive him so you can move on.”
Cassidy jumped up from her stool, winced as it crashed to the floor behind her. She’d trusted Ty, believed he’d understand. But he didn’t.
Why hadn’t she kept her ugly secrets to herself?
“Forgive him?” Harsh laughter exploded from her. “Is that what the Bible says?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
She shook her head. “I will never forgive him.”
“You’ll have to, if you want to heal.” The smug remark rolled out of his mouth as if he’d memorized it years ago.
“That’s a crock, Ty. Psycho mumbo jumbo you guys drag out to make people feel guilty whenever they talk about their real emotions.” Fury punched out the words. “Anger is an appropriate response. So is bitterness. I’m not going to pretend both of those, which I’ve felt for years, will be washed away if I hear him say he’s sorry. Facing him isn’t going to heal me no matter what your Bible says about it.”
He rose slowly from his chair.
“Has anger or bitterness helped you, Cassidy?” His quiet voice fell into the silent room.
“They helped me survive, push myself to make my dreams come true.”
“I thought Elizabeth did that.”
“She provided the opportunity. I grabbed it—who wouldn’t? But I made the most of it by focusing on what I had to do.”
Ty’s hand closed around hers as if to soften his next words.
“Is that why you push so hard here, Cassidy? Is that why you work twice as much as you need to, take on more and more? Because you’re over your bitterness? Because you’re past your anger?”
“I’m using them to spur me on. I thought you wanted this place to be a success. I thought I was helping.” She dared him to deny it.
“Oh, I’m not complaining.” Ty smiled. He looked so relaxed—so unaffected—by what she’d told him. “You’re making a huge difference here. And everyone appreciates it. But are you doing it because you’re committed to the Haven?”
“Why else?” She straightened the stool, glanced at the clock. Anything but look at him.
Ty tilted her chin so she had to look into his eyes.
“Or are you doing it because there’s a chance your father may come back into your life and you need to prove that you are worth loving? And you’re trying to show him how much he missed out on?”
She’d thought he didn’t understand—but how could he know that?
Cassidy grabbed a pair of pot mitts but Ty held her hands.
“Nothing’s going to burn so don’t pretend. There’s always been truth between us, Cassidy. Let’s not stop now.”
“Fine.” She laid down the mitts. “Say what you need to.”
“You’re blaming God as much as your father. But people are given a choice about their decisions. God can’t give us free will and then tear it away every time someone does something you don’t like.”
“He’s supposed to be a God of love,” she argued, furious at the lump that wedged itself at the base of her throat.
“He is a loving God. Loving someone doesn’t mean you force your will on them. It means standing back and allowing them to make their decisions.”
“Then what good is it to trust Him, to pray to Him, if He’s going to let bad things happen anyway?” She felt like a child saying it, but the question had haunted her for too long. “What’s the point?”
“The point is to trust God to see you through the bad times, to be there for you.”
Cassidy opened her mouth to respond, but a large crash overhead distracted them both. She glanced at Ty, saw that all color had drained from his face. His hand shook when he reached out to the counter as if to steady himself.
“Ty?”
Several minutes passed before he tore his gaze from the ceiling to glance her way.
“Yes?” Even his voice sounded faint.
“Should we go up and investigate?” No response. “You let Jack use the gym to paint the banner, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Something might be wrong. We’d better go up.”
“Okay.” But he didn’t move.
Ty’s behavior was so strange that Cassidy felt no compunction about grasping his arm and tugging on it to get him to move. But he reared back at her touch, blinked.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.” He turned toward the stairs. “I have a bad feeling.”
His feelings were right on.
Paint sprayed across the floor, reaching well beyond the stretch of tarps someone had lain to protect the hardwood. Jack was trying to scoop up red and navy and white paint with minimal success.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Ty. Red and I were talking and then Boe came along and I forgot the cans were behind me and I tripped and—” He stopped, gulped.
Ty’s face blazed with anger. She needn’t have worried. He was back to normal.
“I can’t believe you let this happen. Look at the floor!” He grabbed a nearby roll of paper towel and began swabbing up the paint. “We have to get it off before it stains.”
Cassidy directed the three others to pull the corners of the tarps together so the paint stayed inside. Red raced to get a garbage bag from the supply cupboard.
“Go get a mop and a pail of warm water, Jack. Quickly.” She worked furiously to clean the paint off, but the old wood hadn’t yet received a new coat of varnish, so it absorbed the paint quickly.
“Here.” Jack dropped the pail too near Ty, whose beautiful trousers got spattered with water and a few droplets of the paint. “Oh, boy. Sorry, Uncle Ty.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Jack. I warned you to be careful. I told you that this floor—”
“Stop talking and keep working,” Cassidy said loud and clear as a rebellious look flooded Jack’s red face as he glanced toward his listening friends. “You can all help,” she told the group.
She splashed water on the floor, tossed them some towels.
“What should we do?”
“Use them like blotters. Don’t smear the paint,” she warned. “Just press a towel on and lift it off. Then start again.”
They worked without saying anything more, aware of Ty’s forbidding silence. By the time Red
and Jack hauled out two garbage bags of ruined tarps and sopping towels, the worst of the paint had been removed.
“It’s a mess,” Ty muttered, his lips tight with anger. “How could he be so careless? Such a stupid mistake to make.”
“Wasn’t it you who was preaching to me about the merits of forgiveness not long ago?” Cassidy snapped, glancing at the door. Jack could return at any time and she didn’t want him to hear this. “Jack didn’t mean to mess up. And there’s no harm done. Not really,” she countered before he could interrupt. “I heard Elizabeth say this floor should be sanded and resealed. Sanding will remove what’s left of the paint.”
I hope.
Even she could tell the red had absorbed too deeply.
“You’re always trying to shield him.” Ty’s anger glinted in the almost violet depths of his glare. “He’s not a child. You said he was old enough to help. I paid a lot for that canvas banner and now it’s trash.”
“I’ll pay for another one out of my allowance.” Jack stood in the doorway, his face red. Behind him, his two friends stood listening. “And I’ll make sure it looks great. I did a good job on that one, Uncle Ty. Until the paint spilled.”
“I think we should get a professional to do the banner.” Ty stared at the big spot as if that would make it disappear. “I’ll find somewhere else to cut back.”
Jack hung his head. “I’m sorry.”
“We all are, Jack. You’ve got to be more careful. You’ve got homework, don’t you?”
“Not very much.”
“I think you should get started on it. It’s time for Red and Boe to go home.”
“Is it okay if I walk them to the door?” Jack asked, his face telegraphing his hurt.
“Yes. But that’s it. We’re not having anyone visit tonight. Or tomorrow.”
“But we’re starting March break! I don’t have to worry about school.”
“Your English teacher told me you haven’t read the material for the next section yet. I think that will take some of your time.”
Jack stomped out of the room, letting the door slam closed behind him.
Cassidy glared at Ty.
“Why did you do that?”
He frowned. “Because he needs to concentrate on his studies.”
“You know what I’m talking about, and it isn’t school. Why couldn’t you have asked his friends to stay for dinner, let him have the evening with them? Why do you have to be so hard on him?”
“Hard on him?” Ty glared. “We just chucked about four-hundred dollars’ worth of paint, signs and tarps because Jack wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing. He’s got to learn responsibility. What happens the next time he goofs off and something happens?”
“Why do you automatically assume he’s goofing off?” She glanced at his pants, knew they were ruined. Add another hundred to his estimate of the damage. “Accidents happen, Ty. To everybody.”
“Of course they do. That’s why he has to be extra careful.”
“He’s barely thirteen. He probably feels awkward and uncomfortable most of the time. He’s trying to get used to life without his mother. With you. In a new school. You’ve got to stop pushing so hard or—”
“Or what?” Ty demanded.
He was furious with her.
“Tell me what else I should be worried about, Cassidy.”
“I didn’t say you should worry.”
A picture of Jack two nights ago when he’d sought her out before a cooking class filled her mind. He’d hung around, waited for everyone to leave so he could speak to her. His words still haunted her.
I think Uncle Ty wants me to go away from here. I think he hates me.
“I need to tell you something, Ty, but I have to get back to the kitchen. Can you come down there so I can work while I talk?’
He glanced around, shrugged. “Not much more we can do here, I suppose.” He followed her to the kitchen.
Cassidy checked the stew, pulled out the biscuit trays. She drained the potatoes and asked him to mash them while she put the finishing touches on the salad. Then when all was ready, she pointed to a chair.
“I need to tell you something. More of my ugly history, I’m afraid.”
He nodded, sat, waited.
“When I was twelve, my dad disappeared. By then I was used to it and I’d hide what little money I could so that I could still buy milk and bread. But it ran out and pretty soon we were all very hungry.”
She hated saying it, hated going back, digging through the past, exposing the sordid truth. But Cassidy pressed on, because Jack was worth it.
“Eventually a neighbor noticed and called Social Services. They took us away from him and sent us to his sister.”
“That must have been a relief.”
“You’d think so.” She made a face. “It was horrible. Sure, we had enough to eat, we didn’t have to worry about somebody not being at home when we got out of school, but it was not an improvement.”
“Why?”
“She had rules. Thousands of them. I know she was only trying to protect us but they made us feel like we were always being punished. They also made us feel as if she didn’t care about us, as if she was waiting for an excuse to get rid of us.” Cassidy inhaled. “We felt like she hated us for interrupting her life.”
Ty studied her with a frown.
“You think that’s how I make Jack feel?”
She slowly nodded.
“I love Jack, Cassidy. And I don’t begrudge his presence in my life.”
“I know that.”
“Meaning you think he doesn’t.”
“He’s a kid, Ty. He learns by making mistakes.” She shrugged. “Yeah, they’re messy mistakes and are inconvenient, even annoying. But if Jack didn’t act his age he’d be pretty uptight and you’d be trying to figure out how to get him to relax.”
“You think I should let him be with his friends.”
“It’s a school break. He has to do something. What’s wrong with having the kids here, where you can keep an eye on them? You’ve got to cut him a little slack if you don’t want to alienate him. The last thing you want is for Jack to feel he’s in the way.”
Ty dragged his fingers through his hair, heaved a sigh.
“You’re right. I overreacted again. I guess because Elizabeth is asking about a grand opening date and I’m nowhere near ready for that.”
Cassidy opened her mouth, thought better of it.
“You were going to say something,” he prodded. “So say it.”
“You and Jack could do something together,” she suggested. “Something side by side so that if he gets off track, you can correct it before it goes too far. Just the two of you.”
“Any suggestions?” He didn’t look as if he relished the prospect.
“Red’s always bugging me about learning some recipes. Maybe this is the week to get a teen cooking class going. You can help with that.” She laughed at his gloomy face. “’Fraidy Cat. Better get out of here before I put an apron on you.”
He nodded but he didn’t leave immediately.
“Thanks for sharing,” he said quietly.
“If it helps, I’m glad I did. Maybe something good can come out of that misery.”
“Will you think about forgiving your father?”
“No. What he did was unforgivable.”
Cassidy bent over the oven door and pretended she was too busy to talk anymore.
But when Ty left, the room felt barren, lonely. Like her life.
Yet Cassidy couldn’t quite wipe out the memory of Ty’s hand on hers, sharing her pain.
Nor could she forget his words about forgiveness.
Or figure out what to do about them.
Chapter Nine
“This was an awesome idea, Cassidy.”
Enveloped in a thick white apron, Jack bore a smear of cocoa above his eyebrow, white icing on his chin and flour in his hair. And he’d never looked happier. Ty quashed a pang of envy, wishing he had the s
ame ability as their pretty chef to bring that joyful smile to his nephew’s face.
“They look good. How do they taste?” Ty poked one of the brownies with his finger.
“Eat it and find out.” Red glared as if he’d insulted her skills.
He tasted one.
“Very nice.” The words barely escaped his lips when the lights went out.
“Everybody stay put,” Cassidy ordered. “I’ve got candles here someplace.”
Ty barely heard the words.
“Not again,” he breathed as the horror gripped him. “Oh, please, God, not again.”
“Ty? Ty!”
A siren, feet rushing past. Someone calling his name.
“It’s okay. I wasn’t hit. I’m fine. I’m fine.” He repeated it over and over, willing himself to believe his own words.
“Ty, snap out of it. Come on. We’re all fine. It’s just a power outage.” A hand closed around his upper arm. “Sit down here. You’re safe. Nothing’s happened.”
That fragrance. He knew it. And the voice—quiet but commanding.
Cassidy.
He dragged out every ounce of self-control, shook free of the numbing stupor. Candles flickered all along the counter. The room was empty save for him and Cassidy.
“Jack?” he whispered, wiping a hand against his damp brow.
“He and Red are checking the doors. Mac is upstairs making sure everyone is all right.”
“No candles,” he rasped, his throat dry and rough as if he’d breathed in a ton of smoke. “No candles up there. Dangerous.”
“They have flashlights. Everything’s fine.”
He leaned his back against the chair and drew in cleansing breaths, waiting for the terror to dissipate. Once he was back to normal, he glanced at Cassidy. Her expression was grim.
“I think it’s about time you explained to me exactly what’s going on with you.”
“I don’t like the dark.”
“Don’t lie to me, Ty. Not anymore. I’ve asked you several times since I’ve been here and each time you either ignore the question or fob me off. Tonight you scared all of us. I want the truth.”
He licked his lips, searching for a drop of moisture to ease his parched throat. She must have noticed because Cassidy poured a glass of soda and handed it to him. Ty gulped it down. He was always thirsty after a panic attack.
