by Mata Elliott
“We can talk in the hall.”
“Fine,” she agreed, and swirled to exit, the hem of her dress whipping about the calves of her legs.
“Three laps,” Trevor ordered. He lifted the whistle dangling around his neck and blew, signaling for the boys to start.
Outside the gymnasium doors, Cassidy fumed, “I don’t appreciate you going behind my back.”
Leaning against the cinder-block wall, he crossed his arms, clasping the clipboard against the big number 5 on his jersey. “What are we talking about?”
“The money you drained out of the reserves. I went to Pastor Audrey to discuss the possibility of using the funds for ACES. I was informed that the director of SAFE, whatever that stands for, had squandered the money on gym mats and basketballs.”
Trevor cleared his throat. “‘SAFE’ doesn’t stand for anything. It simply means we provide a wholesome and danger-limited environment for kids to play.” He talked much slower than she had. “And your facts are inaccurate. I did not deplete the funds.”
She threw her hip to the side and put a hand on it. “You barely left enough to purchase an adequate supply of pencils. Just how many basketballs does one team need? And what was wrong with the old mats? They had a few good years left.”
Trevor curbed his resentment and suppressed his urge to give Cassidy a few choice words. “As I understand it, your tutoring program, this sports camp, and the vacation Bible school are allotted the same amount of money. Funds banked afterward are up for grabs. It may not be the best way to do business, but that’s how it’s been done, at least up to now.” He paused for a second. “As for your questions about the manner in which I elected to expend the funds . . . well, that’s really none of your concern, now, is it?” Her lips parted to answer, and he realized she was raring to give him a good verbal beating, but he wasn’t ready to pass the microphone. “I don’t come snooping around your classrooms to see how much chalk is being wasted each day. Why do you need all those different colors? My grade school teachers seemed to do fine with basic white and yellow.”
Anger narrowed her eyes. “Under my supervision, not one inch of chalk or anything else is wasted. I run a very serious program, and I planned to use the money in the reserves to replace the library books we lost.” She hurled a glance through the square window at the top of the gym door. “My children come to work, not play. As you know, we’re preparing for the Interfaith Spelling Bee.”
Trevor peered through the same small glass at the top of the door. The boys had completed the laps, and most were playing with the basketballs he’d told them not to touch until later. The others were running about like jungle cats. He glanced at his watch. One of his assistants had car trouble and wouldn’t be in until this afternoon, the other called in sick with a stomach virus, and his teen counselors were not due in until midweek. He didn’t have another second of free time to donate to Cassidy’s grumbling. “It’s our first day of camp, and I have a long list of dos and do nots to cover, so if there’s nothing else?”
“Why are you here?”
“Excuse me?”
“Pastor Audrey had an appointment, so there wasn’t time for me to ask him, so I’m asking you: why aren’t you utilizing the recreation center down the street like last year? Coach Snyder said the boys loved being there.”
“I guess you haven’t heard. Mold was discovered in the building, so it’s off-limits.”
Her expression became suspicious, as if to suggest he had somehow planted the mold himself. “What about that church over on Greene? Coach Snyder and the boys used their facility one summer.”
“I know, but why pay to use someone else’s space when there’s ample space here?”
She answered with a question. “When was all this decided?”
“While you were away, I guess. Your assistant . . . uh . . . what’s her name . . .”
“Portia,” Cassidy answered.
“Yes, Portia agreed with me and the pastor that having the camp here shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Well, I disagree. Having the camp here is likely to be a problem. Listen to them.” She tapped her ear. “Your boys are absolutely obstreperous.”
The walking, talking dictionary had a know-it-all look in her eyes. Well, he hadn’t had as much college as she had, but he did graduate. And he knew the meaning of plenty of big words, though he had no idea what the twenty-syllable word she’d just flung at him meant.
A smile slinked across Cassidy’s lips. “It means—”
“I don’t care what it means.” Impatience roughened his voice. He was ready to return to the gym and restore order before someone got hurt. “We can talk later,” he said. “Give me a time, and we’ll meet in our office.”
Cassidy drew back. “Our office?”
“Yes, the one down the hall.”
“That’s my office.”
“Our office,” he corrected. “Portia gave me her desk.”
Give up? No way. Cassidy lifted the nearest pencil and tapped it on the desktop as she brainstormed. ACES needed books, and right now that was synonymous with money, so she needed to come up with a way to raise money. Cassidy smacked the pencil on the desk. “It will take months to raise enough money to buy books.” She sprang from the chair. “I need some help here, Lord.” She crossed her arms and strolled back and forth across the room, the rubber bottoms of her sandals squeaking a steady cadence. With each step, her thoughts grew more intense, and she could feel the skin on her forehead tightening as she frowned. Suddenly, as if someone had lassoed her shoulders, Cassidy halted, spun, and marched to her desk. She grabbed the pencil she had been so hard on, and reached for a pad of paper to record notes. She had an idea. “Thank you, Lord,” she said, chuckling.
chapter sixteen
According to the radio announcer, the time was 4:10. Trevor backed from the driveway of his stone house. He had just left a meeting with the contractor in charge of remodeling the kitchen Trevor had set on fire as a result of leaving potatoes frying unattended.
During the short commute to Seconds, he thanked his Heavenly Father for helping him to find a day camp for Brittney and Brandi that came with van service. This meant he wouldn’t have to pick them up in the evenings, and until they moved back home, the girls would be dropped off at Mother Vale’s. After a long debate, she’d finally convinced him she was strong enough to assist and would care for them until he arrived home from work.
Trevor had showered earlier this afternoon in the men’s locker room at the church, directly after dismissing the SAFE boys. Now, instead of shorts and sneakers, he was clothed in slacks, a button-down shirt, and a pair of semicasual oxfords. He greeted Grace and strode to his desk. He landed in his chair, sifted through the mail, and held up the last envelope in the pile. It reeked of perfume, and he twisted his face, holding back a sneeze. He grabbed the gold-tone letter opener from the holder, sliced the flap of the envelope, and pulled out a photocopy of what appeared to be a newspaper article. Trevor muttered the headline, “Tilden U. Student Saves Lives.” He read on silently. Cassidy Beckett shared the dangers of drinking and driving at a local youth meeting. Beckett, driving under the influence . . . Trevor stopped. He felt his world tilt. Collapsing against the back of the chair as if he’d been punched in the chest and the breath knocked out of him, he let the information sink in.
Cassidy had been a drunken driver.
The statement became a deafening echo in his head, drowning out every other thought. Finally able to silence the offensive sound, Trevor flicked the newspaper clipping to the desk. His mind flared with images of the man serving time in a Pennsylvania prison for running down Brenda as she attempted to cross the street. Several scriptures on love and forgiveness came to Trevor, yet he stared sorrowfully at the desktop photograph of Brenda and turned his thoughts over to the article again. Perhaps the black print he’d just read wasn’t about the Cassidy Beckett he knew. Maybe, by some bizarre coincidence, there had been another Tilden student with the
same name. With a slight sense of relief, he lifted the article and focused on the date of publication. To his dismay, it matched the year Cassidy was a student.
Trevor unclasped the paper and tightly folded his hands on the desk. Questions raced through his mind. Would Cassidy drink and drive again? Were his children safe in her presence? How could Cassidy have done something as unthinking and unfeeling as driving inebriated? But, then, drunk drivers didn’t think, didn’t feel. They simply went on their merry, oblivious, selfish way, endangering lives or ending lives and devastating loved ones left behind.
Brandi dashed to Trevor before he could set his briefcase down. “Can we go, Daddy?”
He placed the leather briefcase on the floor and scooped up Brandi. “Can you go where, sweetheart?”
Cassidy and Brittney came all the way into the living room. “There’s a double-Dutch contest this evening at the recreation center around the corner,” Cassidy informed him. “I was about to call you and ask if the girls could go and watch. They ate dinner with me and Aunt Odessa, so they’re all set.”
Trevor’s eyes bored into her as if he were trying to see through to her bones, and not meaning to, Cassidy squeezed the hand Brittney had linked with hers. After what felt to Cassidy like an eternity, Trevor’s gaze lowered to his older daughter but soon returned to Cassidy.
“You’re only going around the corner?” Trevor’s tone was unusual. Even when they argued as they had this morning outside the gymnasium, his voice had not been as hard.
“Yes,” Cassidy answered. “I’ll bring them directly home after the competition.”
Once again Trevor regarded Cassidy with prolonged contemplation. “All right,” he said. “Just be careful with my daughters.”
Cassidy blinked. Because the girls were listening and observing, she managed a gentle reply. “I’m always careful when it comes to children.”
Cassidy and the little Monroes walked to the intersection and crossed the street. The children raced to the next corner and waited for Cassidy to catch up with them. Cassidy walked slowly and wondered what was up with Trevor. Perhaps he was more annoyed with her than he had let on at the church. She had confronted him again this afternoon about the noise the SAFE boys had been making. And at that time, she also told him, in not the kindest of tones, how she caught two of the SAFE boys teasing some of the smaller ACES kids. But as Cassidy latched onto Brittney’s and Brandi’s hands and they moved across the street, she felt there was something else that had made Trevor study her with so much concern. The children darted ahead, and Cassidy’s hands and neck and back pumped out cold sweat as she immediately thought the worst.
Trevor knew.
Somehow Trevor had found out about the baby.
He knew what she had done to her baby.
chapter seventeen
I’ve written several suggestions,” Cassidy said, attempting to redirect the conversation and keep the reason for the meeting in clear view.
Mother Almondetta continued with her own agenda. “In my day, women knew the importance of getting married and starting a family. Nowadays young ladies want to work and make money. They wait until forty to settle down, then rush and try to have some babies.” She grunted. “It’s a shame how mothers are sticking their kids in day care all day. Then when they come home from work, they’re too tired to play with them. They put the kids in front of the television for hours and expect them to have some sense. Modern women, what’s wrong with them?” Almondetta looked at Cassidy.
Cassidy decided it was best to reply so they could move on with the meeting. “There’s nothing wrong with modern women. We simply have a different perspective. Today’s woman understands she can have both a career and a family. There are many women at our church who have both.”
“What about you two?” she asked Cassidy and Yaneesha. Her tone had the prick of a thorn. “Why aren’t you married?”
“Marriage isn’t for everyone,” Cassidy stated.
“It’s for me. That’s why I don’t wear no ring on this finger. I don’t want nobody thinkin’ I’m unavailable.” Yaneesha raised both hands but only wiggled the finger where a wedding band traditionally went, the only one of her fingers without a ring on it. “When I do get married, I want to stay home. Let my man work and take care of me and his babies.”
Cassidy expected Almondetta to be smiling after that statement, but the church mother wore a look identical to the one Cassidy often gave students when they were wasting time during class. Cassidy lifted her pen and pointed toward her notes. “I created a list of gifts we could buy our seniors. As you’ll see, each item is practical as well as economical, so we shouldn’t have any problem staying within our budget.” She studied Almondetta and Yaneesha. “I’d like to have your input.”
“I have to use the bathroom,” Yaneesha said, and pushed away from the table.
Mother Almondetta didn’t have her wig on, and the few strands of hair on her apple-shaped head lay straight against her scalp. Cassidy’s gaze slipped away from Almondetta’s head and down to her eyes. Almondetta’s stare was blank. “Would you like to see the list?” Cassidy tried again.
Almondetta clasped her throat. “What I’d like is some water. Would you mind?”
“Of course not,” Cassidy said before laying down her pen and leaving the terrace.
“Bring the cake that’s on the table. The two of you got here early, and I didn’t have time to set out the refreshments.” Cassidy opened and closed two drawers before finding a knife large enough for the cake. “And look there in the fridge,” Almondetta continued. “Since you don’t eat cake, I bought you grapes. You eat grapes, don’t you?”
Cassidy smiled and called out, “Yes.” She placed a pitcher of ice water, three glasses, the cake, and a bowl of grapes on a tray and exited the kitchen. “The woman in the picture in the hall looks so much like you. Is she your daughter?”
Almondetta pressed a cloth napkin over her lap. “She’s my daughter. That picture was taken the day she graduated from medical school,” Almondetta said as Cassidy filled a glass and passed it to her. “She’s a surgeon now, too busy and big-time to stop by and say hello.”
In an attempt to lessen the gloom surrounding Almondetta, Cassidy smiled. “I appreciate the grapes, but you didn’t need to go to the trouble of buying them for me.”
“As grown as I am, I don’t think I need no young girl like you telling me how to spend my money.”
“That’s not what I was trying to do.” Cassidy sliced cake for Almondetta. “What I was trying to say was—”
“Where’s Yaneesha?” Almondetta interrupted.
Cassidy glanced at the terrace door. It was taking Yaneesha a long time. “I’ll make sure she’s all right.” Cassidy moved to stand, but Yaneesha rushed back in.
“Umm, cake,” she exclaimed, and reached for the knife.
By the end of the meeting, nothing of substance had been determined. A stress headache activated, Cassidy arrived home and went straight to the piano. One hour of playing effortlessly became two.
Cassidy slid her fingers from the keys, dropped her foot from the pedal, and the music left the room as Trevor entered, wearing a serious expression on his face and balancing a pizza box on a flattened palm. The children scampered in behind him.
“This is for you,” Brittney said to Cassidy, and she handed over a drawing. “I did it while we were waiting for the pizza.”
Cassidy held up the picture and smiled. “It’s gorgeous, Brittney.”
Brandi jumped in place. She used both hands to hold her own drawing by the top edge. “Look at mine. I made it for Grammy. Do you like it?”
“I love it, and I’m sure Grammy will, too.” Silently, Cassidy gave God praise. Her aunt hadn’t had any more tired spells and was back to a full routine of attending worship services, visiting the sick and shut-in, and nurturing her garden. Odessa had promised she would go to the doctor if she felt the slightest bit ill, and this put Cassidy’s nerves at ease.
“Go wash your hands,” Trevor instructed the children as Cassidy lowered the lid of the piano. The artwork in hand, Cassidy offered Trevor a half-there smile and hastened to leave the room and the tense air between them, which remained as thick as the unrelenting humidity they’d been dealt today.
“Truce,” he said, stopping her.
“What?”
“I want to call a truce. I’m tired of the tension.”
“You’re the one that’s been moody lately.”
“You’re right,” he acknowledged. “I received a piece of disturbing mail earlier this week . . . and it’s been on my mind.”
Conflict rolled across Trevor’s face, and Cassidy was tempted to ask questions. She opted against it and glanced at the pizza box, remembering a time when she could eat six slices of pepperoni pizza in one sitting.
“You’re welcome to eat with us.” His expression softened some. “Half of this pizza is topped with healthy mushrooms,” he added as incentive.
Cassidy replied politely, “No, thank you.” Refusing to break bread with the Monroes had much less to do with her practice of healthful eating and much more to do with the noxious fumes escaping the box. She resisted making an ugly face at Trevor’s dinner so she would not offend him, but the urge to throw up grew stronger with each intake of breath. Eager to leave the room before she puked all over Trevor’s shoes, she gasped, “Really, I’m not hungry. Maybe some other night, okay?” Trevor nodded, and Cassidy refused to breathe, an attempt to thwart nausea as she rushed away from the pizza smell.
The scent of the bath oil the girls gave him for Father’s Day lingered on his skin, and Trevor swatted at the bee that insisted on coming close as he waited on the front porch for his mechanic. Several years ago, Brenda had locked her keys in the car and was stranded in a deserted shopping mall parking lot. Horace “Hulk” Hudson happened along, and with the assistance of professional door-opening tools, he had Brenda safely behind the wheel of the car in less than sixty seconds. Brenda took one of Hulk’s cards, and later that evening Trevor called him to extend thanks and inquire about payment.
