“Has he been keeping in touch with you?” Jack asked.
Cassie came back to the present and shook her head. “No, not at all.”
Though why hadn’t he? Sending her pictures of his child would have been in character for the Ron she remembered. A picture would have been proof that he had been right—that the inadequacy had been hers and hers alone.
“And you wish he had.”
“And I wish he had what?” she repeated. Suddenly she stopped, her mouth hanging open. “You think I’m still in love with him? Not on your life. The only feeling I have is regret. And not for what’s past, but for getting into the situation in the first place.”
Jack relaxed in his chair and took a long drink from his glass. Cassie sipped at hers but couldn’t bring herself to the same state of relaxation.
Jack gave off such feelings of strength. A quiet strength. A quiet competence. You could feel his self assurance, his belief in his ability to handle whatever came his way. You felt you could tell him anything and everything and he wouldn’t be shocked; he would just take care of it.
But there were some things that couldn’t be “taken care of.” There were some things that were best left buried. This time the facts carried too many hurts with them and there was no way she could talk about any of it without reliving all of them. She was still too close to the pain of just seeing a pregnant woman. To the instinct that made her turn and head in the opposite direction if she saw someone with a stroller approaching. To the torture of living in two-week cycles—fertility, defeat, fertility, defeat—over and over and over again.
She took a longer drink of her iced coffee this time and willed the past away. “We were just too young,” she said.
Jack nodded his head and folded his arms across his chest— telling her to go ahead, he had time.
“When you’re young you have such—” Cassie shook her head, feeling at a loss for words.
“Expectations?”
“Yes. Expectations.” She felt herself smiling. “Ron and I had different expectations. Different things we expected of the other.”
Jack nodded.
“Suffice it to say, neither of us met the other’s needs.”
“Maybe you guys were just too young.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Cassie nodded slowly. “I’m sure that’s what it was.”
“Maybe you’d like another chance?”
“No way.” The words came out fast and strong. At least, judging from his expression, that was how they probably sounded to Jack. Cassie was a little surprised herself at their vehemence.
“I mean, not with each other,” she said. “Time hasn’t made me into what he wanted, and probably hasn’t made him into what I want.”
“So both of you are ready to push on, then?” Jack asked. “Forge your own trails separate from the other?”
Her vision blurred and she saw Ron’s child. It looked like a boy, his soft face all smiles and interested in life around him. Ron had the family he’d always wanted, and he appeared happy.
Obviously, he had his life together, while all she was doing was running hither and yon. Her life was full of activity, but the bottom line was that all she was doing was treading water. But it was something she was very good at. That and keeping things to herself.
“Hey, that’s what I’ve been doing for the past five years.” Cassie slapped a big smile onto her lips. “Blazing my own trail.”
“Want to blaze some more by having dinner at my place tonight?”
Her smile tried to waver, but she wouldn’t let it. “I wish I could.” Tonight was too soon. The pain was too fresh and she would do something stupid like blurt out the truth. She frantically tried to come up with some lie.
“I promised my dad I’d go take a look at a house with him. He’s been wanting to start a bed-and-breakfast, and this great old house just came on the market.”
Jack frowned at her as if seeing all the holes in her story. Well, there was some truth in it. Dad did want to start a bedand-breakfast, and he did want her to take a look at this old house he’d seen, but not tonight. Anybody with half a life would have better things to do on a Sunday night than house shop.
“If you’re sure,” Jack said slowly.
“Hey, I am.” She smiled at him, digging up all the bravado she could muster. “I was just surprised to see Ron, that’s all. I’m fine now. In fact, I think we should go back to the show and get some of those wildlife sketches for your office.”
He just stared at her and she thought she’d gone too far. But then, after a moment, he finished up the last of his iced coffee and got to his feet. “Lead on,” he said.
And she did, just as a trailblazer should.
Cassie tossed the bread onto the water and watched as the swans daintily picked at it. “He had a kid,” she told them. “A little boy with big brown eyes.”
Juliet looked up at Cassie. The bird’s dark eyes were watchful.
“All along he said it was my fault we couldn’t have kids,” Cassie said. “I guess he was right.”
She tossed the last of her bread onto the water, and sank down on the log near the edge of the beach. “I just never wanted to believe it,” she murmured to the evening air.
Ollie came over and plopped down on the sand next to her, apparently tired of chasing ground squirrels. He eyed the swans briefly, then lay down. Cassie reached over and petted him gently, finding comfort in his steadiness.
“So now what?” she asked Ollie.
He sighed and closed his eyes.
She turned to the swans, hovering out of Ollie’s reach in the water. “What do I do now?” she asked them.
But they gave her no answer, either.
Cassie rested her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, watching as the birds poked in the water for food. Ever so slowly, they were easing back out onto the lake and away from her.
“Stay safe,” she called after them, although they’d never appeared to be in any danger since the time Juliet had been caught in the plastic ring. And the branches where that had happened were long since gone, cleaned out by some Boy Scout troop along with other debris one summer.
Cassie watched them finally swim behind some trees and disappear from her sight. There was such an emptiness inside her, such an aching void for the children she would never have. She felt as if she were hollow inside; just a vast nothingness filled with pain.
Her arms ached for the newborn child she would never hold. Her eyes ached with tears that would never ease her misery. Her heart ached for the bond a child created between a man and a woman.
Stay safe. That was what the swans had to do, and what she needed to do also. She needed to stay safe. And that meant stay careful. Stay alert. Stay apart.
Ollie stirred at her side and she bent over to hug him. Poor baby. It was getting cool and the bugs were starting to bite. It was time to go home. Even if she would be all alone.
Jack didn’t believe that Cassie was as okay as she’d wanted him to think. All through dinner he fretted about her and stayed distracted as he played endless games of old maid with the girls. Finally, after they were in bed, Aunt Hattie frowned at him.
“It’s not like your young lady lives in another county. And it’s not like nine-thirty is all that late.”
Jack stared out the window through the darkness. It was alive with the sounds of night. Just like the past was alive with the sounds of memories. But all he was conscious of was Cassie’s house across the way. The lights were on, but it seemed to have gloom hanging over it.
Maybe he could help see her through this time of trouble. And no matter what she said, her heart was having some kind of trouble.
“I wouldn’t mind checking on her,” he said. “We ran into her ex-husband today and she seemed upset.”
“Was he rude?”
Jack shrugged. “To be honest, he didn’t seem like anything. He was pushing his kid in a stroller and stopped for about two minutes to exchange pleasantries. I don’t kn
ow why she was so upset.”
Aunt Hattie made a face. “He had a baby in a stroller and you don’t know why she was upset? Jimmy Jack, I’m surprised you had sense to be born. No woman can see the family that could have been hers and not feel something. If nothing else, it makes a body pause some.”
“She said she didn’t care about him anymore.”
“Don’t matter if she wishes the man was roadkill. That baby could have been hers and her arms must be aching for loss of him.”
Suddenly he saw the truth of Aunt Hattie’s words and it seemed even more necessary for him to check on Cassie. His eyes sought her house through the night. The lights were on.
He would walk over. But first he stopped at the cabinet in the family room and pulled a few movies out.
It took him about two minutes to walk across his yard, two minutes of watching her shadow moving against the drapes. For a moment, he hesitated, wondering if she might have someone there with her, but then decided the hell with it. The worst she could do was throw him out and he’d end up watching Three Stooges flicks by himself at home.
“Jack?” She was surprised to see him at her door. “What are you doing here?”
He held up the movies. “Brought over some laughs for us.”
She frowned when she saw the movie titles. “Don’t tell me. Aunt Hattie and the girls threw you out and I had the only other VCR you thought you could use.”
“You don’t like the Three Stooges?”
“Name one woman who does.”
“What an attitude.” But she let him in. Other than Ollie, she was alone. “So does that mean you don’t want to watch these?”
“Only if I can make popcorn.”
“A real man never turns down popcorn.” He followed her into the kitchen and watched as she put a packet of popcorn into the microwave. “I should have brought us some wine.”
She made a face and pulled a bottle of wine from the refrigerator. “Just how many women have you rescued from the depths of depression before?” she asked.
“Who said anything about rescuing?”
“I see. This is just some meaningful Three Stooges anniversary and you wanted to share it with me.”
“You’re very suspicious.” And he was more than a little irritated with himself for letting his motives be read so easily. But she didn’t seem upset with him. “Supposing I was rescuing, would that be a problem?”
She just laughed and pulled the popcorn from the microwave. When she ripped open the bag, the kitchen filled with the rich buttery smell. “I think it’s sweet of you,” she said. “Not necessary, but sweet.”
Jack frowned. She was talking pretty big, but he wasn’t sure he bought it all. There was something about her eyes that said the world was not yet right. He wanted to take her in his arms, to hold her all night long and show her that happiness was all around her. Instead, he picked up the wine bottle and got two glasses from the cabinet.
“Come on,” he said. “Curly, Larry and Moe await.”
“Goody.”
But in spite of her statement that she didn’t like the Three Stooges, Cassie did her share of laughing over the next few hours. As they sat on the floor, their backs against her sofa and his arm around her shoulder, Jack could feel the tension slip away from her.
While a certain different tension was tightening in him.
“How about if I top off your wine?” he asked after he set the last tape to rewind.
She looked at the glass in her hand and then at him. “Are you trying to lead me down the garden path, kind sir?”
Her brown eyes were soft and glowing. Without guile—like a child’s. Knowing—like a woman’s. A hell of a combination, and it took a hell of a woman to pull it off.
“I won’t lead you down any path you don’t want to go,” he replied. But neither would he refuse to follow her, if that made sense.
After taking a sip of her wine, Cassie snuggled back down into his embrace. She was so beautiful. It was getting harder and harder to just sit here, holding her. There were so many things his hands wanted to do, so many ways his heart wanted to please her. So many—
“I think after having to watch these stupid movies, I should get a reward,” Cassie said.
“They’re classics,” he corrected. “And what kind of reward do you want?”
“I’m thinking.”
Her voice had a teasing quality to it that had been missing for a while and he told himself it was good that he had come. Never mind his growing hungers, she had needed him here.
“You know, this house is almost seventy years old.” She put her glass of wine on the coffee table, then moved away from him to lie on the floor. With her hands behind her head, the gentle swell of her breasts looked like two soft mountains, inviting him to rest his weary head on them.
“Oh, yeah?” Jack took a deep breath and tried to look at the television screen. He had no idea what was on. He couldn’t even remember what she had just said a few seconds ago. All he knew was the essence of her, the womanly presence that was so close.
“In the early-morning hours, it gets to creaking and groaning real bad.”
“Must bother Ollie,” Jack said. He felt her nearness, sensed the soft movement of her breathing. She was so inviting. So tempting. But he would be damned if he would take advantage of her in her emotional state.
“He’s used to it,” she said. “I’m the one that it scares.”
Jack turned to frown at her. It was hard to imagine her scared of anything, let alone a creaking house. “And you want me to stay?”
“Not unless you want to.”
All he did was blink.
“I’m not going to lock the door and keep you prisoner,” she said. “But neither will I throw you out in the street if you want to stay a little longer.”
She stared at him and Jack looked deep into her eyes. Folks said the eyes were the windows of a person’s soul. He didn’t doubt that at all. He just wished Cassie would pull her shades up a bit higher.
There appeared to be a lot inside there. Love. Pain. And everything in between. But he was finding it hard to make out what the pieces were and what they all meant.
She reached out and stroked the back of his head, causing him to lay his head down on those breasts, but only lightly. It seemed as natural as breathing.
“Sometimes it’s hard being alone.”
Her fingers picked up their stroking intensity and Jack could feel his breathing quicken. He was being pulled toward her. Like a positive ion to a negative, like a yin to her yang, like ketchup to a french fry. It was all so natural, a need implanted in the first living thing that was placed on this earth.
When her caresses slowed, he rolled over to his left—a little farther away from Cassie but where he could drink in the whole expanse of her beauty, from the top of her head to the bottoms of her feet.
Was she really asking what he thought she was asking? Or was it just his love-starved hormones sending fantasies to his mind?
He reached over and brushed a few errant curls back from her forehead. “I sense a certain tension in the air,” he said.
She frowned at him. “What are you talking about? I’m not tense.”
“You were earlier,” he said, and let his fingers run lightly over her arm. Her skin was cool and smooth, and sent sparks into his heart. “And I don’t think it’s all gone.”
“You think you can read my body better than I can?”
“I have powers,” he said.
She caressed his arm, from his biceps on up to his shoulder. “I can see that.”
“No, no. I mean real powers. A sensitivity. An ability to communicate at the most basic of levels.”
“You must be talking about your silver tongue.”
“It’s not silver.” He bent close, kissed her gently on the ear and then briefly flicked his tongue over it. “Silver is a metal, cold and unyielding. Mine is flesh and blood, moist and warm.”
“I see.”
He
r eyes were dark and stormy but he could discern no other emotion. No excitement. But she didn’t pull back, either. Jack bent down and put a moist trail under her ear and down her neck. A fire was growing in him, a need to do more than just touch her. More than just kiss her and play little word games. Then he pulled away again, looking into her eyes.
“I definitely see what you mean,” she said.
“The eye, ears and tongue aren’t the only vehicle of communication.” He slipped his hand under her T-shirt. Her stomach was firm and flat yet as his fingers gently caressed, then moved higher and higher toward the soft swell of her breasts. “The fingers are also key.”
They watched each other as he touched her. Her eyes were dark and moody, but still unreadable. They held secrets deep within; secrets that he desperately wanted to read.
“Where did you learn all these wondrous things?” Cassie asked. “Law school?”
“No,” he said, laughing. “The law is like silver—cold and unyielding.”
He kept moving his hand, slowly, very slowly; pausing often to listen, to feel, to absorb. Her breath had quickened; her skin grew flushed. Jack would have bet his life that buried beneath her tough exterior were vast pools of passion.
“Fingers can bring all kinds of joy.” He curved them slightly. “To all concerned.”
“You tickle me and you’re dead.”
“I wouldn’t think of it.”
He slipped his left arm under her head and, as she turned to face him, they snuggled into each other. It was comfortable and it wasn’t. It was too little, far too little to satisfy him. Without a word, they came to each other with their tongues, with their lips, with their fingers.
Their embrace was charged with waiting thunder, like a storm building to a crescendo. Lightning was about to flash, fire was about to consume them. Yet he couldn’t pull back. His heart was in her hands, waiting for her touch. He couldn’t breathe, his need was so great; yet, neither could he stop touching her, stop letting his hands roam all over her delicious skin.
A Father's Gift Page 14
