I looked right at him then, and suddenly I could sense how hard this whole thing was on him, how it would’ve been much easier to have just destroyed the letter. “Thanks, Daddy. I’m sure you did the right thing. And now, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to see the letter, and those other things, too.”
His smile was heavily laced with sadness. “I’d hoped you would.” Then he pointed to a small chest of drawers right beneath the window with several cactus plants neatly arranged on top. “It’s all there, in the bottom drawer of that old chest.” Then he slowly stood. “I’ll leave you to look at it as you like, but I’m feeling pretty worn-out just now.”
I went over and took his arm and helped him back to his room. And then I did something that surprised even me. I gave my daddy a hug.
“Thanks, Daddy,” I said again, and this time with more meaning. And I came very close to saying “I love you,” but somehow I just couldn’t do it right then. I couldn’t form those words just yet. Not without sounding phony, that is.
And I decided that if and when I first told my daddy I loved him, I wanted to mean it with my whole heart. And so I simply said: “Good night, Daddy, you take care now.”
Thirty-two
No one ever said there wouldn’t be any bumps on the road of life, and there’s no denying that my growing-up years had plenty of lumps and jolts and thumps to go around, and then some. This is not to suggest that I think I have somehow “paid my dues” and will consequently get off easy from here on out (because who’s to say what’s around the next bend anyway?) but I must admit that the following installment of my life story progressed much more smoothly than even I would’ve expected. Not that everything’s perfect, by any means, but maybe it’s just the contrast that makes it seem so good to me now.
Naturally, I was brokenhearted for a brief period after learning of the tragic circumstances of my dear mama’s death, but then as my daddy had predicted, it all began to make sense to me, over time. For you see, I finally began to understand that my daddy, while clearly a mess, hadn’t been after all quite the “evil man” that I’d imagined during all my painful growing-up years. And I finally began to see how he’d been hurting inside—badly. But unfortunately for him (and for me) he turned to the bottle for comfort back then. Now, thank goodness, he turns to God—and his family.
For you see, we are a family now. A real family, like I’d always longed for. In the same summer that I was reunited with my daddy, Joey Divers, once again, asked me to become his bride. And this time I took him seriously. I looked him right in the eye and said, “Do you really mean that, Joey Divers? Because I swear if you’re just toying with me, I’ll take that pretty cane of yours and just beat you silly!”
Well, he answered me soundly (in the form of a kiss) and of course, I knew he meant it, and I knew I couldn’t possibly say no this time. Because when in my entire life had I not been in love with Joey Divers? And how could I possibly manage to spend the rest of my life without him? To me, the one truly amazing thing in all this was that he actually loved me!
Fighting back my disbelief in the following weeks, I asked him over and over—was he absolutely, positively sure that he really loved me? Or was he just feeling sorry for me again? Because no matter how I loved him, I still didn’t want his pity! And I’d ask him if he was completely sure there wasn’t somebody else who would be better for him. Someone with more education? More brains? More class? But he would just laugh and say that the only one for him had always been and would always be Cassandra Jane Maxwell. And who was I to argue with a highfalutin Harvard-educated lawyer anyway?
My daddy got himself well enough to walk me down the aisle that fall. And I don’t even think the Diverses were too terribly embarrassed to, at long last, welcome me into their family (or at least not so they’d show it).
After a blissful honeymoon in the Florida Keys, Joey and I moved up to New York City where he joined an impressive law firm and I taught art in an alternative high school full of troubled kids who reminded me a lot of myself when I was their age. Joey didn’t disappoint his associates one little bit, and before long his name appeared right along with theirs in big, shiny, brass letters. And I went back to school for my counseling degree, which led me to become something of a pioneer in the field of art therapy (actually, it was God who did the leading). Before I knew it I was teaching classes to other counselors, writing grant proposals, and setting up clinics to help young people deal with their problems by expressing themselves through art. And I just totally loved it!
But after about ten years in New York, both Joey and I became seriously homesick. And while we had maintained close contact with our parents, we knew they weren’t getting any younger, and so we decided that our first child should be born back in our hometown of Brookdale.
Our first child turned out to be twins, of all things! And so these days our time is mainly divided between two very active daughters, Joey’s thriving law practice, our church, my counseling center, our extended family, and our small farm (complete with horses, chickens, and a trout pond). And, of course, I still make time for my own artwork and a women’s Bible study that I’ve led for the past several years. But I honestly think one of life’s greatest thrills occurred for me just this week when one of my clients (a troubled adolescent boy named Shawn) found real help in the creation of a mural painting.
Shawn’s parents’ hostile divorce, along with a few other stress factors, had triggered a fierce rebellion and subsequent depression in him that had culminated itself in a very real suicide attempt that was narrowly averted by the Brookdale police. After his release from the state hospital, Shawn was sent to me for counseling and treatment. Subsequently, Shawn and I spent six very intense weeks painting an enormous mural that I had previously promised to the city library more than a year ago. It was to be of a stately looking Cherokee Indian chief (that I secretly imagine resembles my dearly departed grandfather whom I never knew). And at the end of our time together (a long, grueling stint of creation mixed with counseling) Shawn finally arrived at the place where he feels in control again. And even better than that, he actually believes that God has a plan for him, and wants to pursue a career in art!
But here’s what really sets this case apart. You see, his mother came to visit me at the center today. And I could see she was pretty uncomfortable in here. Up until today, she’d never set foot in the place. She’d simply drop Shawn at the door and then zip away in her faded, old, red Corvette. For Shawn’s mama is none other than old Sally Roberts! But today she just walked right into my center and stood there right in front of a group of “mentally challenged” kids who just stared at her hot pink miniskirt and watched with wide-eyed fascination as she apologized for the way she’d treated me back when we were kids, growing up. And then she graciously thanked me (with real tears in her eyes) for helping her son Shawn. Because the fact is, and I can see it now, she really loves that boy! Of course, I realize now that I still need to apologize to her for that time when I informed her that her daddy was cheating on her mama, but since she just signed up for my Beat the Blues Pottery Class, I’m pretty sure I’ll get the opportunity before too long.
I think it was Sally’s little visit to my center that finally convinced me that Joey’s and my dream has really and truly come true. We’re no longer just the ex-members of the Misfit Club who’ve taken up residence in Brookdale again, but now I really believe we’re a vital part of this community. And despite our crooked and seemingly small and insignificant beginnings (and because of the mighty grace of God) we have ultimately grown up straight and strong. And nowadays when the good folks of our fair town look upon us as we’re walking down the street, they might actually say what we’d always hoped to hear: “Yep, I remember when I knew them two, way back when.”
About the Author
Melody Carlson is one of the most prolific novelists of our time. With around 200 books published and sales topping 5 million, Melody writes primarily for women and teens.<
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She's won numerous honors and awards, including The Rita and Gold Medallion, and some of her books are being considered for TV movies.
Melody says, “My life is very full and I stay pretty busy with a packed writing schedule. But I'm grateful for the work I get to do everyday and it never seems to get old as I sit in front of my computer and tell the stories in my heart.”
Melody has two grown sons and makes her home in the Pacific Northwest with her husband. When not writing, Melody likes to travel, bike, camp, garden, and walk her yellow Labrador in the great outdoors.
Visit her website at: melodycarlson.com
Copyright
Looking for Cassandra Jane
Copyright © 2002, 2012 by Melody Carlson. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Greenbrier Book Company
P.O. Box 12721
New Bern, NC 28561
Visit our Web site at www.greenbrierbooks.com
First eBook Edition: July 2012
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Kindle eBook eISBN: 978-1-938684-10-4
ePub eBook eISBN: 978-1-938684-11-1
Apple iBook eISBN: 978-1-938684-12-8
Cover by Ken Raney
Looking for Cassandra Jane (The Second Chances Novels) Page 32
