by Judy Duarte
And even if she hadn’t, even if there were options and opportunities she hadn’t yet realized, she was afraid she no longer had the heart or the guts to make the dream come true.
It was getting late—well after nine o’clock—and Craig was seriously thinking about turning in for the night. He and Daniel had been sitting in the family room, kicking back and watching a pay-per-view movie, a thriller that was actually pretty good, but Craig hadn’t been able to keep his thoughts from straying away from an all-star cast and a complicated plot.
Instead, he’d been thinking about how badly he’d like to move out of the Delacourts’ house, in spite of how hard they’d tried to make him feel welcome.
The church had promised to provide him with a small, two-bedroom house on Bayside Terrace, but the place was being remodeled by one of the congregants, a busy contractor who’d only been able to work on that particular project in the evenings and on weekends.
It wouldn’t be right to press either the guy volunteering or the church, but Craig certainly could offer to help the contractor get it done. He hadn’t done much construction work, but he was a fast learner, strong, and dependable.
He was also extremely motivated.
Outside, the engine of a car sounded, followed by the raising of the automatic garage door.
Apparently, Cassandra was finally home. She’d put dinner on the table earlier, then had gone to meet Darla Rensfield at a bridal boutique in San Diego.
When Daniel had questioned her about it, offering some cautionary advice about putting the cart before the horse, she’d disagreed. “Darla and I are just going to look at bridal dresses and get to know each other a little better. We’ll both report back to Shana. The store has a Web site, so she can look at some of the gowns we like, then she can make the final decision.”
Daniel’s only response had been a slight roll of the eyes that he probably didn’t realize Craig had noticed.
Now, as Cassandra entered the house, her hair a bit windblown and her expression a bit harried, Craig instantly sensed that something was wrong.
The woman who was usually well-groomed and in control blurted out, “My purse was stolen.”
“Did you call the police?” Daniel asked.
“Yes, I did.”
Her husband returned his focus to the movie, since the big chase was on and the climax was in full swing.
“Daniel!” Her voice came out as a shrill. “Did you even hear me?”
The man tore his gaze from the screen. “Yes, I heard you, Cassie. Your purse was stolen, and you made a police report. There’s not much more you can do now, other than cancel your credit cards.”
Her pinched expression suggested that he’d failed to give her the response she’d wanted. And when it became apparent that the movie held more interest for him than her dilemma, she blew out a frenzied sigh and plopped down in an overstuffed chair. “Thank goodness Daddy insisted we use that magnetic hide-a-key. Otherwise, Darla would have had to bring me home, and we would have had to go back for the car later.”
“Did you have any credit cards in your purse?” Craig asked.
“Fortunately, only one. I’d better call now and cancel it.” She reached for the telephone that sat on the lamp table beside her, then slowly returned the receiver to its cradle. “Oh, dear. This is so unsettling, I can’t even think straight. I need to go upstairs and get my list of important numbers.”
Craig decided now was the time to excuse himself, but before he could open his mouth, the movie credits began to roll, and Daniel said, “Oh, Cassie. I almost forgot. While you were gone, Claire Dawson called. She’d like you to give her a call tomorrow. She and Sam are having a couple of the attorneys in our firm over for dinner next week, and they’d like us to join them.”
“All right.” Cassandra turned to Craig. “Sam Dawson and his wife, Claire, are also new members of the church. I’m not sure if you’ve had a chance to meet them yet.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t.” If they didn’t have a teenager in the youth group or weren’t housebound or regulars at the soup kitchen, it wasn’t likely that he’d be meeting them anytime soon.
“Is Claire feeling any better?” Cassandra asked Daniel. “The last I heard, morning sickness was slowing her down.”
“She didn’t say.”
Cassandra faced Craig and explained, “Sam is raising his orphaned niece, a sweet little girl who reminds me a lot of Shana when she was that age. In fact, Analisa is so happy about the new baby that it makes me wish we’d had another child.”
When Cassandra returned her focus to her husband, as though hoping for some kind of reaction from him, he failed to take the cue.
Another awkward stretch nearly sucked the air from the room, but before Craig could fake a yawn and get to his feet, the phone rang.
Cassandra answered almost immediately, and her expression softened a moment later. “Hi, honey. I’m so glad you called. You’ll never guess what Darla Rensfield and I did this evening.”
She sobered. “You’ve moved up the wedding date? Oh, no, we aren’t going to have enough time to do things up right as it is.”
Cassandra listened a moment longer, then placed her hand over the receiver. “Daniel, Shana is coming home early. She wants you to pick her up at the airport tomorrow afternoon at four.”
“What’s all this about?” Now it was Daniel’s turn for a revolving set of expressions as he mouthed, “Is she … pregnant?”
Cassandra shrugged, then returned to the telephone conversation. “You’re talking about coming home in mid-semester. And your last one at that. Are you okay, honey? I mean, if you’re pregnant, we can work this out. No one needs to know, so it won’t ruin the wedding.”
As Cassandra’s gaze met Craig’s, a sense of “oops” crossed her face. Had she and Daniel forgotten he was in the room? That he didn’t need to be involved in this?
Again, he wished he’d gone to bed when the idea had first crossed his mind.
Cassandra glanced at her husband and shook her head, mouthing the words, “No, she’s not.”
“Okay,” Cassandra said into the receiver. “I understand. At least, I think I do. You can talk to us about it more when you get home. I just hope this doesn’t jeopardize your graduation requirements.”
A frown furrowed her brow. “Okay, I’ll trust you on that. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Cassandra hung up the telephone, ending the conversation.
Still, the silence was deafening. And the walls and ceiling seemed to bow from the heavy tension.
Craig snatched his chance for escape. “If you’ll excuse me, I really need to go to bed. One of the shut-ins, Harry Stevens, is going in for a triple bypass at seven in the morning, and I promised his wife I’d sit with her during the surgery.”
“Goodnight,” Daniel said. “We’ll see you in the morning.”
Not if Craig could help it. He planned on getting up at five so he could slip out of the house and have coffee and breakfast at the all-night diner.
Moments later, as he closed himself into his room in the den, he felt a sense of escape. But it didn’t last long. Muffled voices from the living room seemed to murmur through the walls.
“I’m not happy about Shana leaving school,” Daniel said.
“Neither am I, but she says that she has everything under control.”
A testosterone-laced grumble erupted.
“We need to support her in this,” Cassandra said. “Besides, she said that Brad needs her. That it has something to do with all of his classmates getting law clerk positions and him being nervous about not having one.”
“Those with the highest grades tend to find positions the easiest.”
“Are you suggesting he’s not a good student?”
No response.
“Daniel? Is that what you’re suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything, Cassie. Just let it go.”
“You didn’t have a position for him, remember? He
certainly hinted at it during dinner.”
A stretch of silence was followed by, “I’m not going to bat for him, Cassie.”
“Why not? Daddy went out of his way to find a position for you.”
“That’s exactly why I won’t do it.”
“You, of all people, should be grateful.”
“Why? So that Brad can get stuck in a position that will make him miserable one day?”
“Stuck? Stuck? For goodness sake, Daniel. You’re a partner in one of the most prestigious firms in the county, if not the state. Are you suggesting that you’re stuck and miserable?”
“You know I never wanted to be a defense attorney. That I wanted to be a prosecutor.”
“We discussed that. And we decided that there was no money to be made as a prosecuting attorney.”
“No, Cassie. Actually, it was you and your father who had that discussion and came to that conclusion. And like a fool, I agreed. And even though I’ve tried to make the best of it, I still don’t measure up.”
“Daddy’s so proud of you. How can you say that you don’t measure up?”
“Did you ever stop to think that I don’t measure up in my own eyes, either?”
Craig stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, finally stilling the voices he didn’t want to hear. After a hot shower, he brushed his teeth, then returned to the den, where he was met with peace and quiet.
That is, until he glanced at all the baseball memorabilia on the bookshelf.
Would he end up as miserable as Daniel Delacourt one day?
“Mom?”
After a poke on the arm and a second “Mom,” Kristy shot out of the recliner with a start.
Jason, who was wearing his SpongeBob pajamas, stood at her side. “Sorry, Mom. Don’t wake up, but can I have some Lucky Charms for breakfast?”
She searched the dawn-lit living room, trying to get her bearings. She’d meant to stay awake all night, but obviously hadn’t. Raking a hand through her hair, she blinked her eyes a couple of times. “Sure, honey. I’ll get it for you, but I need to check on something first. It’ll just take a minute.”
“Okay.” He grabbed the television remote from the coffee table, then climbed onto the sofa and pushed on the power button.
“Turn the volume down, please. People are sleeping.”
“What people?” he asked, his focus clearly glued to the TV screen.
Since he didn’t have a follow-up question, she let the subject drop and tiptoed up the stairs, avoiding the squeaky step. She made her way to her grandfather’s old bedroom, only to find the door open and the bed stripped, the dirty linen folded neatly on the mattress.
Jesse was up already?
A check of the bathrooms, as well as the rest of the house—both upstairs and down—convinced her that he was not only awake, but gone.
As she neared Gram’s room, her grandmother called out, “Kristy? Is that you?”
She slowed her steps and peered into the open doorway. “Yes. I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“That’s okay. What time is it?”
Kristy glanced at her wristwatch, which she’d been wearing since yesterday. “Six-fifteen. Do you want me to help you to the bathroom?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Let me fix a bowl of cereal for Jason first. And I’ll be right back.”
Moments later, Kristy returned and helped Gram out of bed and into the portable commode.
“How’d you sleep?” she asked, as she pushed Gram to the bathroom.
“Better than usual, although I had the strangest dream last night.”
Once Gram was inside, Kristy stepped back into the hall and pulled the door shut to provide the elderly woman with privacy.
“That dream was so real,” Gram said, “but I know it wasn’t since I wasn’t the least bit afraid about having a bearded stranger in the house.”
Kristy, who was leaning against the wall while she waited for Gram to finish, straightened.
“There was something very gentle and kind about him,” Gram added. “And his eyes were the prettiest shade of blue I’d ever seen.”
Eyes? Plural? Last night, one of them had been swollen shut. Had the swelling gone down with a shower and a rest?
“It’s amazing how the mind plays tricks on us, but the man was dressed in your grandfather’s clothes. In fact, he was even wearing the royal blue jacket that I’d given Stan on our last Christmas.”
Kristy hadn’t realized that particular jacket had any significance. If she had, she would have chosen another one from the closet.
“He said some of the weirdest things,” Gram said.
“Like what?”
“For one thing, it seemed as though he had some kind of divine message.”
The sci-fi tones of The Twilight Zone theme song seemed to play in Kristy’s mind. “Did he tell you he was a messenger?”
Gram chuckled. “No. In fact, he seemed too real for that. I’d expect a heavenly being to be … well, ghostlike, I suppose.”
“What did he say to you?”
Gram cleared her throat. “I’m finished.”
Like in finished living in this world? Kristy scrunched her face. “Excuse me? I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“I’m finished using the bathroom,” Gram said. “You can come in and help me back to bed now.”
Kristy released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, then went inside.
“He asked me how I was doing,” Gram said, “and I told him exactly how I felt—useless, a burden, and ready to die.”
Kristy emptied and rinsed the pot, washed her hands, then pushed Gram back into the hall.
“He told me I still had unfinished business on earth.”
“Well, I imagine that’s probably true.” Although Kristy knew there wasn’t much the woman was capable of doing anymore.
“He mentioned you, too.”
“Me?” Kristy cocked her head. “What did he say about me?”
“That my attitude is weighing down on you. That you need my full support right now, and not my complaints.”
What had Kristy said to Jesse? She couldn’t remember venting or discussing her grandmother.
Gram turned her head, glanced over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, honey.”
“About what?” The lack of support? The complaints?
“The more I thought about what the man had said, the more I realized he was right. I didn’t mean to make things any more difficult for you. And I can’t promise that I won’t be a burden in the days to come, but I’ll try not to be.”
“Thanks, Gram. Your apology is accepted.” Kristy thought about what Craig had told her, and tried using an honest approach. “He was right, Gram. As much as I sympathize with you and realize how tough your lot in life is, there’s not much I can do to make it better. And that frustrates me.”
“See? There’s one more reason it would be best if God took me home.”
“It’s obviously not time.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Gram blew out a weary sigh. “I’ll try to focus on what the man in my dream said.”
Did Kristy dare tell her that she hadn’t been dreaming? That the man who’d talked to her had been made of flesh and bone? That he was a vagabond, a pacifist, and possibly a psychic?
Maybe not. The message he’d given her had been clearly true—and maybe even divinely inspired.
“Jesse was right,” Kristy said. “You still have an earthly job to do.”
“Jesse?” Gram said. “Who’s Jesse?”
Truthfully?
Kristy wasn’t sure.
Chapter 12
On the way home from the airport, Shana Delacourt sat in the passenger’s seat of her father’s black Mercedes and gazed out the window at the scenery along northbound Interstate 5.
It had been a long, tiring flight from Australia, and while she’d told her parents and Brad that filing an incomplete on her courses at the university in Sydney wouldn
’t have any adverse effects, she was actually uneasy about the decision she’d made.
Her father turned on the blinker, then looked over his shoulder before changing lanes. “I still don’t understand why you came home without finishing that last term, Shana. Of course, your mother and I are happy to see you, but it’s not like you to leave something undone or to quit in midstream.”
Wasn’t it? There were things her parents didn’t know about her, things they’d failed to observe.
She shook off the heaviness that had dogged her from Sydney. “Don’t worry, Dad. I have enough credits to graduate.”
“That’s not my point.”
Maybe not, but that was about all she was going to admit to. Her loyalty ran deep, but so did her need for privacy, and she found it easier to offer her parents—and others—very little information. That way, it left no room for questions she didn’t want to answer.
“So why did you really decide to come home?” her father asked. “Was it just to plan the wedding?”
“Don’t you remember what it was like to be in love?”
He didn’t comment.
“Besides,” she added, “Brad misses me.” He also needed her, and since there’d been a time when he’d stepped in and had taken charge when she’d been scared senseless and had nowhere else to turn, it was only fair that she return the favor now.
“And you miss him?” her father asked.
There was more to it than that, but she sidestepped the question. “Brad’s concerned about our future, and I’m worried that he’s getting depressed. Some of the third-year law students already have clerk positions, and he hasn’t found one yet.”
“What’s his class rank?”
“I’m not sure.” She didn’t know the actual number, just that it was low.
And that didn’t surprise her. Brad had been footloose during high school and college, and his work habits had followed him to Cal Western School of Law. So now, as he faced the bar exam and the promise of a successful career lay just beyond reach, his irresponsibility had come back to haunt him. He needed to secure a law clerk position for the summer, and due to his low ranking, his options were limited.
Her dad reached for his Starbucks cup, which had been sitting in the holder, and took a drink. “The cherry positions go to those who are at the top of the class.”
