Looking for Cassandra Jane (The Second Chances Novels)

by Melody Carlson

  “Yeah, Sara told me all about it in a letter last fall. That’s so cool, Cass. I’m really happy for you. I pray for you all the time.”

  I frowned. “You do?” Did he think I was some sort of troubled case to be in need of his prayers? And then I remembered how I’d told Sara we should pray for him—for his jealousy problem with Sky. “Well, we’re praying for you too, Joey.”

  He smiled again. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  “We’ve been doing this citywide outreach thing,” I said as I placed my bananas in the cart. “It’s really been great.”

  His brow creased slightly. “Yeah, I’ve been reading about it in the paper.”

  “Well, don’t believe everything you read,” I warned him. “You know how newspapers are all so worldly and carnal. They twist everything around to make us look bad just because we’re trying to serve Jesus.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, just pressed his lips together as if he was thinking hard about something. “You know, I think it’s cool you’re trying to serve Jesus, Cass. I really do.” He paused again, as if judiciously considering each word. “But I just want you to be careful.”

  “Careful?” I eyed him with suspicion. Who was he to tell me to be careful?

  “Yeah. I know how Sky seems like this really great guy and all. And I know he really seems to love Jesus too. But there’s just something about him that I think you should watch out for—”

  “Joey Divers!” I pointed my finger at him. “I can’t believe that you of all people would talk like—”

  “But, Cass—”

  I firmly shook my head. “Now listen, Joey. I don’t want to hear you slandering your brother in front of me.”

  “But you need to be careful—”

  “Joey,” I said warningly, “I’m getting seriously worried about you. I don’t like the way you’re talking about Sky. It’s unchristian-like.”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, Cass. Just one thing, though.”

  “Yeah?” Suspicion laced all through my voice.

  “Just make sure you’re reading the Bible for yourself and don’t let anyone else do your thinking for you.”

  I frowned. “Joey, since when have I ever let anyone think for me?” I thought about Sky but then reminded myself, That’s different.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, Cass. But just promise me you won’t. Okay?”

  I nodded. “Except when it comes to Jesus. We’re supposed to let him rule in us, you know. His mind is supposed to be like our mind.”

  “Yeah, well, just make sure you’re hearing from Jesus then, Cass.”

  I wanted to remind him that Jesus sometimes talks to us through others but instead I just said, “Sure.”

  “Well, I’ve got to get back,” he said. “My mom’s been under the weather lately and she was craving some fresh-squeezed orange juice this morning.”

  “Give her my regards.” I looked at him for a long moment, suddenly wishing things were different, that I had spoken to him in the old familiar way. But it was too late. I had changed—was changing. “And you take care now, Joey.”

  “You too, Cass. And be careful.”

  As I walked home I felt a little sorry for Joey that he couldn’t see what a great thing God had brought into my life. But looking back now, maybe I was just too afraid to think about what Joey was implying. Besides, I had other things to think about just then.

  I quietly put the groceries away back at the Glenn’s hoping to avoid any direct conversation with Mrs. Glenn. I’d been trying to lie low, hoping to appear more helpful and available around the house since I knew she was none too pleased with how much of my time and energy had been taken up with what they both now called my “Jesus freak group” during the holidays, especially since they’d done a little entertaining and had found themselves slightly “shorthanded” one evening last week. (In my opinion their form of entertaining was extremely wicked and carnal and quite honestly disturbing to my spirit). And naturally the more enlightened and spiritual I became the less and less I felt inclined to cater to their worldly and sinful ways, not to mention that of their friends! I’d performed my regular chores and, when it was required, some of the prep work for their parties as well. But afterwards I’d always just clear out, not showing my face until the next day when it was time to clean it all up again.

  Tonight was their big New Year’s Eve bash and Mrs. Glenn had informed me early on that she wanted me to stick around for much of the evening. “I don’t want you slipping off to your room tonight, Cassandra,” she warned me.

  “I have a prayer meeting—”

  “I don’t care. I need you on hand in the kitchen. At least until ten—you got that?”

  I nodded, knowing that any argument would only work against me. And I suppose I felt somewhat unwilling to rock the boat since I knew that this week would be my “payday,” and the amount they paid me was somewhat unpredictable and quite frequently based on the way they felt I’d “performed” in the days just prior to when the CSD check arrived in the mail.

  Initially Mrs. Glenn had balked at her husband’s idea to “pay” me but finally she agreed. Although she insisted they shouldn’t just hand over the entire check, and as a result the amount varied each month. But still it was better than nothing.

  I’d managed to accumulate a nice little nest egg in my savings account and at this rate I thought my chances of going to the university had improved greatly (plus I’d been keeping my grades up at school and even had hopes of scholarships). So in some ways my future was looking brighter than ever.

  All this I felt was thanks to the way Jesus was taking care of me now. As Sky would say,” His hand was upon my life and he was taking my ashes and turning them into beauty!” And so I cheerfully promised Mrs. Glenn that I would remain “on hand” until ten o’clock—at which time I planned to run on down to Sara’s, where my friends would be in the middle of an all-night prayer vigil for the city of Brookdale.

  I was stuffing celery with Cheez Whiz around nine o’clock when I first noticed the sickening sweet aroma of marijuana mixing with the acrid cigarette smoke that had already filled the air. I rolled my eyes in disgust as I continued filling the celery sticks with the bright yellow spread and sincerely prayed that Jesus would just make them all sick to death of their nasty and sinful ways.

  The blaring music out in the living room was so loud my head actually throbbed and as usual the house was filled with rowdy guests who acted more like teenagers than teenagers (at least the ones I currently ran with). I felt like a can that said Contents under Pressure, and the pressure seemed to be increasing by the moment. Still I just bit my lip and continued to pray—Jesus could get me through this. But when I noticed a guy huddled over the counter in a corner of the kitchen with a suspicious little pile of white powder, I knew I’d had enough.

  “You know that garbage is going to take you straight to hell,” I said loud enough to be heard over the din of music as I banged the enameled plate of stuffed celery right next to him and shook my head in obvious disapproval.

  He glanced up with a dark scowl, then slowly broke into a crooked smile. I’d guess he was pushing forty but like so many of the Glenn’s friends was trying to act younger. His hair was below his ears but slightly thinning on top and he wore a burnt orange turtleneck and bell-bottom jeans as if he thought he was still in college. Without blinking an eye he carefully scooped his powder back onto the piece of waxed paper, folded it, then slipped it into his pants pocket. “I thought you kids liked getting high,” he said, moving closer so I could hear him better.

  “Maybe some kids.” I turned from him to rinse my hands in the sink. “But not me. I’d rather get high on Jesus.” I dried my hands, then leaned against the counter, folding my arms and looking at him evenly, waiting for his reaction.

  “You one of those Jesus freaks I been reading ‘bout in the paper?”

  I forced a smile and stuck out my hand. “Yes I am, as a matter of fa
ct. The name’s Cass, and my heart belongs to Jesus.” This was the line I’d used on our recent door-to-door campaign.

  He grinned and shook my hand. “My name’s George, and I’d like to hear more about this, Cass.” He moved closer and I could smell alcohol on his breath. A little alarm went off inside me as I was suddenly reminded of my own daddy and I felt sorely tempted to just pull back and run the other away. But then I sternly reminded myself that this poor excuse of a man was just another sinner in need of hearing the good news about Jesus and how to be saved.

  “Really?” I poured potato chips into a big wooden bowl, then wadded up the bag and tossed it into the garbage.

  “Yeah, I think this sounds real interesting.”

  Suddenly I envisioned myself leading a repentant and kneeling George in the sinner’s prayer right there on the Glenn’s fake brick linoleum kitchen floor. I could just imagine Sky’s smiling approval as I told him and the others about the amazing conquest I’d made on New Year’s Eve. “Now you’re sure about this?” I asked him, remembering Sky’s words about not casting our pearls before swine—a warning he gave us about trying to talk to people who weren’t inclined to really listen to our views.

  “Yeah, tell me more.” He leaned forward with what I felt was sincere interest and without hesitation I launched myself right into God’s plan for salvation. I kept one eye on the kitchen clock as I paced myself in telling the gospel message—so as not to be overly late for tonight’s prayer vigil. I wound it all up at just a quarter till ten. “And so you see, that’s about all there is to it,” I said with a satisfied, maybe even smug, smile.

  “That simple, huh?”

  I nodded, then glanced at the clock. Not wanting to show up at the prayer meeting smelling like French onion dip, I still hoped to take time to scrub off the effects of playing scullery maid all evening. “The rest is up to you, George—’cause you’re the only one who can choose which way you’ll go.” Then despite my hurry to be done and out of there, I forced myself to wait one more full minute, just in case he wanted me to pray with him or something.

  “Well, thank you for telling me all that,” he said, his face just inches from mine. “It’s been right interesting.”

  “Okay, then if you’ll excuse me I’ve got to get ready for a prayer meeting we’re having tonight.”

  He chuckled. “You goin’ to go pray for us sinners, are you?”

  “You bet we will.” I nodded with spiritual pride and confidence, then waved as I ducked down the stairs to my quarters below. In the last month or so I’d actually grown to appreciate my little windowless dungeon and in some ways it had become something of a sanctuary from all the noise and din above, although I could still hear the loud beat of the bass thumping from the eight-track stereo system just above the ceiling of my bedroom. Just the same it was relatively quiet and peaceful down there, and I sang happily to myself as I quickly showered, a feeling of spiritual pride rising in me as I mentally replayed the words of truth that I’d so boldly shared with that poor sinner George upstairs. It would be fun to tell the group tonight—maybe we’d even say some special prayers for George’s salvation.

  But when I came out of the steamy bathroom and turned the corner to enter my bedroom there was George, sitting as bold as you please right there on my little twin bed, a big Cheshire cat grin playing across his pudgy face almost as if he thought I might’ve actually been expecting him.

  I felt my heart slam like a rock against the inside of my chest, but I tried to remain calm as I pulled my skimpy pink towel more tightly around my body. “Please leave!” I said in what I hoped was a persuasive tone, although I could hear my voice trembling like a little girl about to cry.

  “Aw, now don’t you be sending me away so soon, angel girl,” he said. “I just wanted for us to do some more talking about all this God and Jesus stuff.” He patted the bed beside him. “Come on over here and tell me more.”

  “Not now!” I spoke loudly and with more strength, moving slowly back toward the bathroom where I knew there was a lock on the door.

  But just as I turned to run he leaped up and grabbed me by the arm. I screamed as he pulled me toward him.

  “Dear Jesus!” I cried, the words no more than a hoarse whisper, “Dear Jesus, dear Jesus, save me! Send your angels to protect me!”

  What actually happened directly after that prayer is little more than a fuzzy blur in my memory, but this is what I think may have happened. I suspect that when George heard me utter that prayer, something in him suddenly lost interest in the horrible sinful act he was about to commit against me. And after a few unimaginable, horrifying, and humiliating seconds, he released his death hold on my neck, backhanded me across the face, and shoved me away. As I tumbled to the floor I grabbed the blanket for cover, and clutching it toward me, cowered in the corner until he finally stumbled back up the stairs, cursing all the way, slamming the door behind him. Still in a shocked state of horror and disbelief I whipped on my jeans and sweater and without any shoes dashed out my back door and across the frozen lawn and then ran and ran until I reached Sara’s house. I pounded on her door, crying and screaming hysterically, until she finally came and opened it up. I then collapsed in her arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

  I don’t remember telling Sara exactly what happened, although I must have. By then I felt so exhausted and confused and hurt and humiliated it was hard to think straight. And to be perfectly honest I suppose I even wondered if I might not have brought the whole atrocious thing upon myself. Was it something I’d said? The type of clothing I had on? Perhaps in some way I’d enticed that horrible nasty man down into my room and I didn’t even know it. I kept those troubling thoughts to myself—between me and God.

  The next thing I knew Sara had taken me up to her bedroom, wrapped me up in a warm, fuzzy blanket, and gone to get help. I wasn’t exactly sure what kind of help she meant to fetch. The police? Her parents? What? And I remember sitting there shaking uncontrollably and just wanting the whole dreadful business to go far, far away—to be completely gone. Or maybe I could just disappear instead.

  “Oh, Jesus,” I prayed, “can’t you pleeease just come and get me right now—just take me home?” But to my dismay, before Jesus removed me from the planet, Sara returned.

  I was relieved to see she’d brought neither her parents nor the police. (Apparently her parents were out partying at the Elks Lodge and it never even occurred to her to call the police.) Instead she had Sky in tow, which in its way was humiliating enough.

  He sat down next to me on Sara’s fluffy pink bed (the kind I used to fantasize about having) and looked into my eyes. “Are you okay, Cass?”

  His words felt like a sword that just cut right through to my soul, and I felt tears of shame filling my eyes. And I was too embarrassed to return his gaze. Had Sara told him of the humiliation that had befallen me? And if so, what would he think of me now? Did he know that I had just minutes ago been struggling with a man who’d been intent upon having sex with me? (It’s strange to think of this now, but the word rape never even entered my mind just then.) All I cared about at that moment was: What did Sky think of me? Did he think I was a horrible sinner?

  “Cass,” he said again, only this time he lifted my chin with his hand and forced me to look into his clear blue eyes, “are you okay?”

  Tears were spilling down my cheeks now and my chin trembled as I shook my head. But still no words would come.

  “Sara says that someone tried to hurt you.”

  I nodded my head vigorously.

  “She said a man tried to take advantage of you in your bedroom. Is that right?”

  I could feel my face twisting with emotion as I nodded again.

  Sky’s brows drew together and he exhaled loudly. “Poor Cass.”

  Those two sympathetic words just made me crumble and I began to sob all over again. “I don’t know what to do,” I cried. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Sara was sitting behind me now, stroking my
hair and telling me not to worry and that Jesus was going to make everything okay. Sky was still frowning. It honestly seemed that he was as troubled by all this as I was, and that was somewhat comforting.

  Finally he spoke. “Cass, did this man force you to fornicate with him?”

  Now I wasn’t entirely sure what that word meant, but I strongly suspected it had to do with sex. And as far as I knew I didn’t think I’d actually “had sex.” Still I wasn’t totally sure about this word. “I—I don’t know for certain what you mean,” I said. “But if you mean am I still a virgin—well, yes, I think so.”

  Sky let out a sigh of relief, but Sara said, “You’re kidding, Cass, you’re still a virgin?” I looked at her from the corner of my eye and nodded stupidly. Then she laughed, sort of nervously, like she wished she hadn’t said that.

  “Still, what that man did was wrong and sinful,” said Sky in a stern voice. “Do you want us to pray for you, Cass?”

  I wasn’t exactly sure why he wanted to pray for me (I mean it seemed they should be praying for that awful sinner George) but I just nodded and sat there in silence as the two of them “covered me in prayer.” And the fact is, I truly did feel better when they finished and even said a hearty “amen” myself.

  It did seem like Jesus was healing me and making me clean again, just like Sky had asked him to. Now I wasn’t exactly sure about the how or the why of it, but I did feel something positive happening inside. And I began to feel hopeful that what had happened to me that night (as horrible as it seemed) might not, after all, turn out to be the end of the world as I knew it.

  But then I’d been wrong about these sorts of things before.

  Fourteen

  Sara and Sky agreed that I should not return to that “den of iniquity” (the Glenn’s New Year’s Eve party). Sky decided I would spend the night at Sara’s following our prayer session.