by Mata Elliott
“Are you sure the clothes aren’t in the house?”
“I done looked everywhere. Trudy must’ve got my stuff when I was at my cousin’s girlfriend’s sista’s house last night, gettin’ my hair braided. I gotta keep that Iverson look, ya know.”
If Derek was near a mirror, Trevor imagined the teenager was looking in it—patting his head and grinning at himself.
“So can you take me shoppin’ today, Coach?”
Trevor looked at the time again. Following breakfast, Brandi was to be dropped off at a play date in the park, and Brittney had to be taken to a 10:30 dental appointment. Trevor prayed the dentist was running on time because he was scheduled to teach a twelve o’clock baking class at Seconds. At the end of the class, he would go back and pick up Brandi and drive both girls to Grace’s. She’d agreed to babysit after Penny phoned late last night and said she was feeling worse and didn’t want the kids to catch anything.
Neither did Trevor. Two kids sick at the same time—he’d been down that harrowing road twice last winter. All the hot soup in the world couldn’t replace what his children really wanted. Their mommy.
Trevor swung his feet off the bed. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he pinched the bridge of his nose, rushing his thoughts through the rest of today’s schedule, trying to find a spot for Derek. There didn’t seem to be one. This afternoon Trevor had a meeting with a potential client that he couldn’t cancel on again. And then he had to do laundry, or they’d all be staying home from church tomorrow. “We’ve got all week, plenty of time to figure something out. So don’t worry, okay?”
Derek didn’t answer right away. “Yeah, okay.”
Trevor disconnected, sorry he’d disappointed Derek, but he had almost more than he could carry on his back for one day. This single-parenting thing—well, he’d developed a new respect for it.
Trevor exhaled a gust that seemed to come all the way from his toes, then reached for his Bible and slid from the bed to his knees. He quickly searched for the familiar scripture that reminded him where his help for today’s challenges resided. Our help is in the name of the Lord, Who made heaven and earth.
Cassidy cringed and covered her mouth, smothering a scream as she walked into the kitchen and a ball of fur the size of a subway rat, wearing a red collar with a silver bell, skittered across her undressed feet.
“Don’t be alarmed, that’s just Poopie.” Odessa watered the small potted plants on the windowsill above the sink. “She’s with the Monroes. Poor thing was accidentally locked in the basement. Guess that’s why you didn’t meet her yesterday.”
Cassidy tightened her lips with a grimace. She was not a cat person. “That thing was in my room,” she complained. Cassidy had wanted to catch an extra hour of sleep, since Arlene, the senior center administrator, called last night and said a replacement volunteer had been scheduled, and Cassidy wouldn’t be needed at Caring Hands today. But the customary quiet of Cassidy’s morning had been shattered by a chain of meows coming from under the bed, as well as the brutal sound of Trevor singing in the shower. Right now the wannabe Fred Hammond was at the counter tapping an egg against a mixing bowl. He was dressed in slacks and a V-neck shirt that hung over his waist. Cassidy flipped him an antagonistic sideways glance before pinning a similar one on the short-haired feline washing its pink nose by the back door.
“You’re just in time, baby girl,” Odessa said to Cassidy, taking plates from an overhead cabinet. “Trevor’s making breakfast for everyone.”
Cassidy watched Trevor’s daughter follow Odessa to the table. The child was carrying a pink Barbie-doll car, most likely the one Cassidy had seen outside yesterday. Odessa put down the plates, smoothed her housedress as she lowered herself to a chair, and pulled the child onto her thighs.
“You’re the lady from the bathroom,” the child said to Cassidy.
The girl’s smile was contagious, and Cassidy smiled, too. “You must be Brandi.” She extended her hand. “I’m Cassidy, Mother Vale’s niece.”
“I’m a niece, too.”
Odessa interjected, “One who’s supposed to be helping me set the table.”
The old and young went to collect the silverware, and Cassidy strolled to the refrigerator. She opened the door and removed a plastic bag stuffed with ready-to-eat carrot and celery sticks when someone came up behind her. Every inch of Cassidy’s body stiffened with awareness as Trevor reached around, returned the eggs, seized the milk, and stepped away without once uttering, Excuse me. For a homeless man, he was terribly presumptuous, and Cassidy couldn’t stand him! She shut the Kenmore with so much force the jars on the door jangled.
The way Trevor kept sneaking up on her—it had to stop. Cassidy fed the raw vegetables to a juicer, deciding she would surely speak to Trevor about his ghostlike behavior. Then she would present the topic of when Poopie would be relocating to a shelter. Cassidy consumed her breakfast beverage while Trevor helped Brandi stir the pancake batter. It suddenly dawned on Cassidy that he hadn’t offered her a word of greeting this morning, and for a reason she couldn’t label, it irked her. She smacked her glass on the counter. “I have yet to taste pancakes that are better than yours, Aunt Odessa,” she said, intent on insulting the source of her irritation, albeit indirectly. She stole a peek at him, but it was difficult to tell if he was offended, with his back to her as he tended the griddle.
“Well, the man can bake a cake better than I ever could,” Odessa said. “Don’t you remember me telling you about the dessert I ordered for the last senior citizens’ fellowship? That caramel cake was the talk of all the desserts served.”
Cassidy shrugged. She had a vague recollection of the conversation. “Since when did you start using bakery cakes?”
Odessa glared at Cassidy with shock followed by disapproval. Cassidy pretended not to notice as she strutted over to the small portable radio/cassette player sitting on the counter. Much to Cassidy’s displeasure, someone had altered the dial, and a local R&B station was about to play number three of the morning’s Top Ten. Cassidy’s gaze flitted around the room from person to person. Odessa didn’t listen to this type of music, so Cassidy figured the dial-changing culprit was Trevor. She grasped the button and returned the dial to the station of her choice. She liked R&B and smooth jazz and pop, too, but her mornings were reserved for classical radio, and she was not modifying her daily routine for Trevor. Assured he’d received that message, she took a victory walk back to the opposite counter, slapping her soles against the linoleum. She disassembled the juicer and at the sink washed the sections that could be submerged in water.
Odessa snaked up beside her and whispered, “Something ugly woke up with you this morning.”
The juicer cleaned and reassembled into a whole appliance again, Cassidy dried her hands with a paper towel. She tapped a short manicured nail on the countertop as she eyed the pancakes Trevor had piled on a plate. She’d only seen pancakes so perfectly round in television commercials. Cassidy shook her head, condemning the amount of butter Trevor was topping his pancake stacks with. After a few seconds, her vision settled on his hands. He had long fingers with rugged knuckles, and she could see that whether it was making a cake or fixing things around the house, Trevor was a hard worker.
He whistled an unidentifiable chord of notes, and she instantly looked up at his face and discovered him watching her, something soft and perhaps playful in his eyes. Entirely conscious of him yet in the same breath entirely self-conscious, Cassidy spun and trotted from the room, the house, with the hope that a few gulps of fresh air might calm her nerves.
Still gripping the screen door so it wouldn’t slam, Cassidy bounced to a stop to keep from stepping on a girl, larger than the one inside. She was sitting cross-legged on the porch floor, several neat rows of cards spread out on the welcome mat. Cassidy gently released the door, and it closed with a dull thud. “Hello,” Cassidy said as the child below placed a card on what was obviously the beginning of a new row. She did not return Cassidy’s gr
eeting. Not ready to close the book on this girl yet, Cassidy crouched beside her. This one had Trevor’s square jaw, flat forehead, full lips; Brenda’s eggnog complexion, brownish black hair, and ginger-brown eyes. “Umm . . . WNBA trading cards. I have some myself.”
Uncertain eyes studied Cassidy. “You collect WNBA cards?” The voice was much raspier than Brandi’s flutelike pitch.
“Only September through June.”
“Huh?”
Cassidy laughed aloud at the quizzical expression on the child’s face. “From my students,” she hinted, letting the riddle dangle in the air.
“You’re a teacher,” the girl concluded, scrunching her face as if she’d bitten into a detested vegetable.
“That’s right . . . third grade. Sometimes I have to take cards from students when they have them out at the wrong time. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I lost some of my cards to my teacher because I took them out during a spelling test.” She looked back to the cards in her grasp before refocusing on Cassidy. “My name’s Brittney.”
Cassidy smiled. “I’m Cassidy.”
The budding of a smile appeared at the corners of Brittney’s lips, but she herded it back before it could bloom.“You signed once for Kidpraise.”
“Yes, when Brother Simpson was out of town.” Lately, Cassidy had been thinking about becoming a regular children’s church staff member. The congregation was swelling with parents of young children, and the Kidpraise Ministry was in need of workers. Cassidy had talked it over with Dunbar, and he thought it would be a good place for her, too.
The child’s voice pulled Cassidy away from her rumination. “Where’d you learn how to do sign language?”
“Right here in Germantown . . . at the Pennsylvania School for the Deaf.”
“Oh.” Brittney’s voice became close to a whisper. “I don’t like Kidpraise anymore.”
Cassidy knew children well. They usually didn’t unearth things they didn’t want to talk about. “Why?” she asked.
Brittney pumped her shoulders, a shadow too old for someone so young clouding her eyes.
Cassidy understood. There were dark things from her own past she couldn’t bring into the light. She lifted one of Brittney’s cards. “I played basketball in ninth grade.”
The child stuck her fingertips between two rows of her cornrows and scratched her scalp. “How come you stopped?”
Cassidy gave Brittney her card back. “My grades were slipping, and my aunt told me I needed to devote more time to studying. I couldn’t imagine giving up my piano lessons, so I came off the team.”
“My dad played in high school, too. He’s good. We used to play together all the time.”
Brittney suddenly seemed depressed, as before, and something unexpected and maternal arose in Cassidy. She wanted to take the child into her arms and rock as much of the sadness away as she could. Another moment, and she would have, but Trevor appeared at the door.
“It’s time for breakfast, Brittney.” Trevor cleared his throat. “Cassidy?”
“Oh . . . no, thank you,” she answered, speaking to him politely for the first time as she glanced up at him through the screen. It was hard to see his eyes, but she could tell that his face was stiff, like something was heavy on his brain. She might be wrong, but she sensed that his dour mood had something to do with Brittney. She faced the girl, but out of the corner of her eye, Cassidy watched Trevor’s leather loafers turn and move away. “We’ll talk some more another time . . . if you want to, Brittney.”
Brittney was slow to consent. “Okay,” she finally muttered, and this time she let her smile grow wider.
chapter eight
The smile beaming from her date’s face was all it took to encourage Cassidy to quicken her steps so she could get to him faster. She leaned over and covered him with a hug. “Oliver Toby,” she said in greeting, happiness highlighting both words.
“How’s my sweetheart?”
“Perfect.” She smiled down at him, then dabbed his baggy cheek with a kiss. They talked for a long while, then Cassidy helped him stand. She kept her hand locked on his elbow until he was steady and had firm control of his walker.
“I’m sorry about your library,” he said. “If I had the money, you know I’d give it to you.”
“And you know I wouldn’t accept it.” Confidence pumped through her. “Everything’s going to work out. My pastor will surely understand how critical the situation is and give ACES permission to use the children’s summer fund.”
The path leading to the rear of the Serenity Home for the Aged was smooth and direct, and they stayed on the paved trail until they came to a garden that looked and smelled as if it had been sent from heaven. Oliver Toby, still a gentleman at the age of ninety-two, waited for Cassidy to take a seat on the wrought-iron bench before he bent and began the slow descent to the place beside her. Oliver Toby had once been a client at Caring Hands. But when his son and daughter-in-law divorced, and his son moved into a small apartment, Oliver Toby was placed in a nursing home. Adored by the staff of Caring Hands, he was given a big party his last day there, and Cassidy promised she would visit him at least once a week here at his new home. They settled on Wednesday afternoons.
Whenever Oliver Toby spoke, his voice was low and casual—his standard tone and tempo. Occasionally, a tremor passed through his words, a sign that his vocal cords were not as strong as his mind. There was nothing wrong with the former college professor’s brain. “What’s our word for the week?” he asked.
“Pietistic.”
He stalled for only a moment, then his head swayed from side to side. “Too many people like that in the world.”
“I give up.” Cassidy breathed deeply. She thought for sure she finally had a word he wouldn’t know the meaning of.
The old man chuckled, and Cassidy offered her friend a grin. He was about her height and more bone than meat. His coarse hair was white, and his wrinkled skin was a tad darker than brown sugar. An avid wearer of sweater vests, he had on a blue one with a gray stripe across the chest.
“Have you considered what we talked about the last time?” His fond gaze was that of a father who without question wanted the best for his child.
Rather than answer, Cassidy pretended to be interested in the birdbath and the sparrow fluttering around it. When she looked back at Oliver Toby, he was staring forward. During Cassidy’s last date with him, they’d sat in this same area, and he shared that he’d been blessed with a sense that showed him when a heart was obstructed with adversity. She remembered his words.
“You have a heavy burden,” he said. “I don’t know what it is, but it hurts you, child.”
She sat as rigidly as the larger-than-life stone figures, replicas of squirrels and bunnies, positioned throughout the flowered garden. As much as Cassidy loved and revered Oliver Toby, she couldn’t find the courage to tell him about her pain or even acknowledge that his assessment had been accurate.
She couldn’t find the courage today, either. Oliver Toby seemed to know this and said softly, “Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain thee.” Cassidy read and studied her Bible regularly and knew that scripture well; but completely relinquishing the burden of her past to God was a step she didn’t feel worthy of taking.
Romans 8:1 immediately penetrated her thoughts. There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus. Another scripture whispered, As far as the east is from the west, so far hath He removed our transgressions from us.
Yes, Lord. Cassidy silently acknowledged God’s Word as truth, yet couldn’t fully accept that the verses were for her.
She remained quiet for the rest of the visit, and Oliver Toby did not push her to speak. Close to the dinner hour, they walked back to the two-story L-shaped building. Cassidy escorted Oliver Toby to the dining room, and when he was comfortably seated, she kissed his forehead.
He folded his hand around hers, and the inside of his age-roughened palm gently scratch
ed her skin. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I simply want to see you walking in the freedom God has called you to.” He set a kiss on the back of her hand.
Cassidy swept her blue feelings away behind a big smile. “I’ll see you next week.”
The following evening Cassidy dialed and waited for a member of the Purdue house to answer the phone.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Shevelle.”
Shevelle Tapp was Emma’s granddaughter, and every summer since Shevelle was ten, she came from her home state of Delaware to visit with the Purdues. Naturally, Cassidy and Shevelle had played together, and their bond of friendship had endured into adulthood. “What’s going on?” Shevelle asked, and the women conversed for several minutes.
“So would you like to go to Little Curly’s tonight?” Cassidy asked. Shevelle loved seafood. “My treat,” Cassidy offered.
“I’m going to the movies with my cousins tonight, but tomorrow night would work.”
“Sure, but we’ll have to make it late. I have a ministry meeting at six.” Their talk drifted to the subject of Nigel, Shevelle’s husband. He was a marine stationed overseas and would remain there for at least four more months. Nigel and Shevelle had been through a lot of tough times during their young marriage, yet they seemed to still love each other as much as they had on the day they said their vows. It was refreshing to know a couple who loved God and each other. Cassidy often prayed that one day Lena would find a strong-in-the-Lord man like Nigel.
“Hey, Cassidy,” Shevelle said as the conversation began to wane, “the Word says we have not because we ask not, so I’m going to put this out there. It’s last-minute and all, but do you think you could watch Nile tonight?”
Cassidy’s heart quickened. “Watch Nile?” she repeated with a tremble in her voice.
“I would ask Nana and Papa, but they’re going to that revival over at Full Joy Fellowship. It’s going to be a packed house, and Nana and Papa don’t need the stress of taking care of Nile if she starts crying or something.”
