And loathe though she was to admit it, it hurt for her a little bit as well.
The next morning Cassidy laced up her running shoes and went for a run in the direction of Jordan Middle School, where she’d once been a proud Jaguar. When she reached the main entrance she put her hands on her waist and slowed to a walk, her neck suddenly on a swivel. As she set out to explore the outdoor areas of campus, memories from those two years of budding adolescence began to hit her from every direction.
There’s where my locker was in seventh grade.
There’s the water fountain where Kevin Tyson once said hi to me.
There’s the patch of grass where the popular kids used to eat lunch.
There’s the bench where Patti and I used to eat lunch.
There’s where they sold coffee cake and buttered French bread at the midmorning “brunch” break. I wonder if other schools called it brunch?
There’s where I had Spanish class both years. I wonder what happened to Mr. Bernal?
There’s where I tripped running to math and cut my lip. And no one stopped to help me.
It’s all so familiar, yet unfamiliar.
It was a shapeless blur of random recollections, but when she reached the science buildings, one specific memory from seventh grade catapulted itself high above the others:
The frog.
It was in Mr. Faulder’s science class that she’d first met Patti. The first week of school they were paired up to dissect a frog, but the moment the jars were unscrewed, Cassidy nearly passed out from the pungent odor of formaldehyde that quickly invaded her olfactory system. Patti had skillfully completed the dissection while Cassidy spent the entire class period with her nose covered by a napkin, trying not to gag, embarrassed by her weak constitution and hoping no one would notice she wasn’t doing any actual work. Patti never let on to Mr. Faulder what had happened, and a lifelong friendship was born.
When she’d had enough of adolescence alley, she headed back toward her parents’ house. Once she reached the busy intersection of Middlefield and Embarcadero, she trotted in place, waiting for the light to change. Red finally gave way to green, and as it did so the honk of an impatient driver’s horn startled her. She jumped high off the sidewalk into the crosswalk, and as she landed she felt a slight sting in the lower part of her left leg.
She kept up her pace, but the sting slowly grew into a sharp pain, and soon she was practically walking. She knew what the problem was, but she didn’t want to accept it because she’d had this injury before: Achilles tendinitis. For a runner it could be debilitating. Ice and ibuprofen could help, but the only surefire way to make it go away was to do the one thing a runner hates to do: stop running.
Damn it.
Cassidy’s parents were reading the newspaper at the kitchen table when she opened the front door. Her dad took off his reading glasses and set them down. “Why, good morning. How was your run? You were gone quite a while.”
She frowned and pointed to her lower leg, then opened up the freezer to get an ice pack. “It was good until I strained my Achilles.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Her mother gave her a sympathetic look. She knew how much Cassidy hated being injured. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll live.” Cassidy pulled an ACE bandage from a drawer, then sat down at the table and wrapped the ice pack around her leg. “I just need to give up running for a few weeks.”
“Can I make you some pancakes?” Her mother also knew how much Cassidy loved pancakes.
Cassidy smiled at her. “Of course. I will never say no to your pancakes. And could you get me a glass of water, please?”
Her mother jumped up and practically ran to the cupboard, clearly excited for the chance to reprise the role of Mom. “Of course. Have you picked out your outfit for your speech tomorrow? I was thinking of heading over to Stanford Shopping Center this afternoon, if you’d like to join me.” She filled up a glass and handed it to Cassidy.
Cassidy took a big gulp of water. “I have a dress already, but I’d be up for a little shopping.” Just a few days ago she’d hoped to be spending at least some of today with Brandon, but that clearly wasn’t going to happen. Maybe she could buy him a Christmas present? The holidays weren’t all that far off now.
As if reading her mind, her mother asked, “Any word from Brandon?”
Her dad glanced up from the newspaper but didn’t say anything.
“Not since yesterday. I guess that means no change. Although I haven’t checked my phone since before I left on my run.”
Her mom poured Cassidy a mug of coffee and handed it to her. “Do you want me to get it for you, sweetheart?”
“I’m fine, thanks, Mom.” She always felt a bit silly being addressed the same way she often addressed her nieces, but she would never let her mom know that.
“It’s such a shame what’s happened to his mother. Just awful,” her dad said.
Cassidy nodded in agreement, and the three of them absorbed the silence. Cassidy wondered what was going through her parents’ minds. They were both healthy, but it had to rattle them that someone their own age had fallen so ill so quickly. It had certainly disturbed her in a way she hadn’t expected. Yet another reason not to ask her mom to stop calling her sweetheart or angel. Or to ask her dad to retire kiddo, his perennial favorite. What would be the point of that? Her parents’ happiness was more important than her own hang-ups.
After a few moments, her mom broke the silence with a change of subject, much to Cassidy’s relief. “Maybe Patti would want to come with us today? I always enjoy seeing her.”
“Great idea. Let me finish icing my leg, then I’ll see if she can get away.”
Cassidy gave Patti a hug. “Thanks for coming. Does Roy hate me? This makes twice in one weekend that I’ve taken you away from him.”
Patti waved a dismissive hand. “Oh God no. He loves hanging out with the kids on the weekends. He’s taking them bowling, his favorite sport. No one can hear them screaming in there, so when one of them has a tantrum, he says it’s like the tree-falling-in-the-woods thing.”
Cassidy laughed. “You chose well with that man. I hope you realize that.”
“I know, I know.” Patti turned and hugged Cassidy’s mom. “It’s great to see you, Mrs. Lane.”
“Patti, dear, you must start calling me Iris. I’ve known you more than half your life!”
Patti waved her hands in front of her. “No can do. That would be like calling one of my elementary-school teachers by their first name. I just couldn’t do it, even now. I’m sorry, Mrs. Lane, but it just has to be this way.”
Cassidy’s mom laughed. “You may change your tune about that when you’re my age.”
“Maybe, but I still can’t do it.”
Cassidy smiled at the irony. This was just like the way she felt about the nicknames her mother called her. Or was it the reverse? She knew it was something, and whatever it was, it made her grateful that her mother was standing there right then.
Cassidy pointed to the Starbucks entrance. “As long as we’re here, anyone want a coffee?”
“That is a question you never have to ask me,” Patti said as she opened the door. “Mrs. Lane, you order first.” When Cassidy’s mom stepped up to the register, Patti poked Cassidy in the side.
“Any word from him?” she whispered.
“He texted me right before we left the house. No change,” Cassidy whispered back.
Patti shook her head. “Brutal.”
Coffees in hand a few minutes later, the three of them set out to explore the mall. “Is there something specific we’re trying to find, or are we just wandering?” Patti asked Cassidy. “Just point me in a direction and I’m good. Being here without the kids is like a vacation, so I’d literally be happy strolling through the parking lot.”
Cassidy looked at her mom. “Anythin
g in particular we’re looking for?”
“I need to buy a gift for Mary Freeman’s daughter. She’s throwing a baby shower for her next weekend. I also need to pick up some socks for your father.”
Cassidy sipped her coffee. “Mom, that sounds absolutely thrilling, but I think I’ll opt for the parking lot over baby clothes and socks. And of course I have to stop by See’s Candies at some point. I love those chocolate lollipops.”
Patti gave her a look. “Are you joking? The butterscotch kicks the chocolate’s ass.”
Cassidy’s mom looked at her watch. “How about we meet at See’s at three o’clock? The lollipops will be my treat.”
“Deal,” Cassidy said.
As Cassidy’s mom turned to go, Patti put a hand on her arm. “Mrs. Lane, may I ask you a question?”
“Why, of course you can, Patti. What it is?”
“Are you interested in adopting a thirty-eight-year-old woman?”
She laughed, then pointed at Cassidy. “Did you hear that, my dear daughter? You might soon have some competition, so watch that attitude of yours.” She playfully flung her purse over her shoulder and strutted away.
“Your mom is so cool,” Patti said.
Cassidy smiled as she watched her mom blend into the other shoppers. “I know.”
“I wish my mom were a fraction of that,” Patti said.
Cassidy reached over and squeezed her friend’s shoulder. “I know.”
They headed over to Banana Republic, and as they were sifting through the sale rack, Cassidy remembered the other reason she’d wanted to come to the mall. “Hey, Patti, I was thinking I’d like to get Brandon something for Christmas. Do you have any ideas?” She tried not to feel anxious at the thought of him, but she couldn’t help it.
“He’s sort of a fancy guy, right?”
“Fancy? That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
“I mean he cares more about his appearance than, say, my husband does.”
“Oh, yes, definitely. Except for your wedding day, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Roy wear anything but a flannel shirt, jeans, and sneakers.”
Patti pressed a palm over her eyes. “I know, and God help him. Anyhow, maybe ask that banker friend of yours for ideas. What’s his name, Hollis? Hanover?”
“You mean Harper?”
Patti snapped her fingers. “Yes, Harper. Ask him. He sounds fancy too.”
“Good thought. Harper always looks put together. I bet he’ll have some good ideas.”
“I’d love to help, but I have zero experience shopping for men who actually care what they look like. Roy’s entire wardrobe is basically variations on the same order from the Columbia catalog.”
Cassidy nibbled on her thumbnail. “I’m not used to shopping for men at all.”
Patti turned back to the rack. “Call it a hunch, but something tells me you’d better get used to it.”
That evening, after practicing her keynote address one last time, Cassidy curled up on the couch and watched a movie with her mom. Just before bed she thought about sending another message to Brandon, who hadn’t texted her back since that morning. She reached for her phone, then changed her mind.
It was late, and he was probably exhausted.
Chapter Thirteen
AFTER THE KEYNOTE the next morning, Cassidy did her best to hold her smile as she signed books for the handful of women in line.
But she didn’t feel like smiling.
She felt like crying.
How had she gone off the rails like that?
Her speech hadn’t been a complete disaster—far from it—but it certainly hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped. She’d wanted to inspire the women in the audience to pursue their passion, but she hadn’t sounded passionate herself.
She’d been distracted, a bit scattered, and very nervous.
Why was I so afraid to open up?
She’d planned to include elements of her personal story in her speech, to share the pain of the countless rejections she’d suffered while trying to get published. But when she’d looked out at the audience of strangers, she’d suddenly felt gripped by fear. If she told the truth—if she revealed how her self-esteem had nearly been shattered by the rejections and had in fact never completely recovered—if they knew how insecure she still was deep down, despite her outward appearance of success, would they think she was a fraud?
Would they stop believing in her talent?
Would she?
The fear had taken over, and almost without realizing it, she’d stripped down her speech and focused on the basic outline.
Find what makes you happy.
Go for it.
Don’t give up until you succeed.
She had sprinkled in a few personal anecdotes, but she’d stuck to the positives, not the negatives, nervously holding her true feelings close to her chest as she encouraged the audience to pursue their dreams.
Not revealing how scared she still was that her next book would be a failure.
That people would say she had no business trying to make up stories for a living.
That she’d never be taken seriously as a novelist.
That she needed to grow up and get a real job.
Although the speech had been perfectly acceptable, she’d kept to generalities, and as a result, in her opinion, it had come across as a bit…generic.
A bit bland.
A bit boring.
Because she was afraid to open up, she’d let herself down.
She forced a smile as she handed a signed copy of Montague Terrace to the last woman in line, who didn’t appear to notice, or care, that Cassidy had delivered a keynote address that was mediocre at best.
“Thanks for the inspiration,” the woman said with a smile.
Cassidy smiled back. “You’re welcome. I hope you enjoy the book.”
Afterward Cassidy sighed and began to collect her things. She just wanted to get out of there, to stop thinking about how she could have done better, and put it behind her.
“Hi, angel.”
Cassidy looked up and saw her parents approaching the table. She felt her jaw drop a bit. “Mom? Dad? What are you doing here?”
“We couldn’t miss your first keynote address,” her mom said.
“But I thought you had some important meeting with your insurance agent this morning.”
Her mom held up her palms. “What can I say? We canceled. We thought it would be best not to tell you, so you could focus on the audience, not us.”
Cassidy pressed her palms against her cheeks. “I was terrible. I’m so embarrassed.”
Her dad shook his head. “Hey now, kiddo, that’s not true at all. I was proud to see you up there.” She noticed a small tear in the corner of his eye, which he quickly wiped away with a handkerchief. She’d never seen him do that before.
Cassidy frowned. “I didn’t expect to be so nervous. I felt frozen up there.”
“You did look a bit uncomfortable, but you still did a good job, honey,” her mom said.
Cassidy shook her head. “Not good enough.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, kiddo. We’re proud of you,” her dad said.
Cassidy stood up and forced a smile. “I know you’re trying to be nice, and I love you for it, but it’s OK. I know I wasn’t very good.”
Her mom gave her a sympathetic smile. She knew. “Can we take you out to breakfast?”
Cassidy raised her eyebrows. “Pancakes at Stacks?” If anything could cheer her up, pancakes at Stacks was high on the list of potential candidates.
“Anything you want,” her dad said.
She nodded. “OK, let me go get my coat and say good-bye to the program coordinator. I’ll meet you there.”
She picked up her purse and headed down the hallway, the strai
n in her lower leg still slightly painful.
At least I didn’t break it.
For the first time in weeks, she felt motivated to finish her novel. It was time to snap out of her funk and just get to work. She’d been approaching the process as a burden as opposed to a privilege, but this morning’s subpar performance had reminded her that it was a privilege. I’m one of the lucky ones who get paid to write books. I can’t take that for granted. She certainly wasn’t going to make a living as a keynote speaker, that was for sure.
Despite how hard she’d worked to get here, sometimes she lost sight of how fortunate she was to be in this position, and she was grateful for the wake-up call.
As she walked she pulled out her phone to check the time.
She had four new text messages:
From Danielle: When are you back? I’m in some trouble. Not with the law, though. Come back! Did you rock your keynote? Of course you did.
From Patti: How did it go? I’m sure you were amazing. Love you lots.
From Tyler: Did you stink it up? Just kidding. I bet you knocked it out of the park.
From Brandon: Sorry for not getting back to you yesterday, was with my mom most of the day. I know you leave tomorrow, but unfortunately I have the boys tonight and have to work late in addition to everything else that’s going on, so I can’t do dinner. Will coffee in the morning work?
She smiled at the screen, grateful to have such good friends in her life to cheer her up. She was also happy to hear from Brandon, even though his message was laced with stress and sadness. Just seeing his name on the display made her stomach flutter.
She replied to all the messages and tossed the phone into her purse, then bade a quick good-bye to the program coordinator. As she made her way through the hallway toward the exit, waving here and there at conference attendees passing by, she tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter that her speech hadn’t gone so great.
She also rationally knew that she shouldn’t expect Brandon to think about something so trivial as a keynote address when his mom lay in the hospital, but she couldn’t help but wish that their timing weren’t so…crummy.
Cassidy Lane Page 16
