by Ginger Scott
“Baby, I’m always evaluating. Always,” he says, winking. Cocky son-of-a-bitch. I love that about him.
“Oh yeah, me too,” I say, handing him a napkin. He has a giant splotch of sauce on his chin. “That’s going to put you at a C, maybe even a C minus.”
“What, a little sauce? Damn, you grade hard,” he says, wiping his chin. “That’s fine though. I like extra credit.”
“I bet you do,” I tease.
Things quickly slid back to natural with Ty. He told me about his visit with Kelly, and I feel terrible about what she found out. I can’t imagine being a young mother, newly married, and having a husband cheat. I think if Ty could find a way to take out both Paul Cotterman and Jared with one shot, and make it look like an accident, he would.
The threat of the lawsuit is wearing on me. It’s there when I wake up in the morning, dangling above my head, threatening to ruin my reputation, yet again. I call my dad every afternoon for an update, and it’s always the same. We’re still talking with his lawyers, trying to find out what leverage he has.
Leverage.
I’ll tell you what kind of leverage he has. He’s a young faculty member, decent looking, and charming with his female students. And if he smells weakness in any form, he goes in after it, for his own pleasure. He uses leverage for evil. And I’d bust his nose again if given the chance.
The latest worry was that he was thinking of pressing charges against me. He has doctor’s reports on his fractured nose. Suing me for breaking his nose. What an ass!
When my phone rings, I hold it and consider putting my dad off. I doubt he has anything new, and I don’t like having these conversations with him in front of Ty. But there’s also a part of me that’s holding on to hope that one of these times, one phone call, my dad will say it’s all over, that the case was dropped. That Paul is gone. That I get to play soccer without worry. That I get to be young, be in love, and just be me—just Cass. That was the plan all along.
I slide to answer, and hold my breath, ready to be debriefed on the Cotterman issue.
“Hey dad,” I say, through a full mouth.
“Ah sorry, pumpkin. Did I call during dinner?” He’s been calling me pet names lately, trying to soften our relationship. My blowup at dinner the night before Thanksgiving did a real number on my parents. My mom must have cried apologies to me a dozen times. My dad deals with things differently, just changing his behavior. What it’s really going to take is time…and lots of it.
“No, it’s fine. It’s just pizza,” I say, taking a big gulp from the soda bottle to clear my mouth. “So, where are we at today?”
“Things are looking good,” he says. I almost spit out the sip I just took, shocked. Things haven’t looked good in a while, since I gave Cotterman a bloody nose, to be honest. Good was not what I was expecting.
“Good. Wow. Really?” I say, turning to Ty and smiling. He gives me a thumbs up.
“We made an amendment to the original settlement, and Paul accepted,” my dad says. His legalese is a little vague.
“An amendment…and he…accepted?” I ask, still not sure what this means.
“Yeah, we changed the terms of the settlement. Really, there was no way he could not accept, Cass. He would have been a fool not to,” my dad says. Something about the way he says it, his phrasing, makes me itchy. So I push for more.
“Did we…pay him? Is that how we’re making this all go away?” I ask, and the silence on the other end confirms it. “Dad…did you give him more money? The man who tried to…ohhhh…oh my god.”
The thought of it all makes me sick, and I feel dirtier than I ever have before.
“You hit him, Cass,” my dad says, like that’s the only fact on the table.
“Yes, because he wanted to sexually assault me!” I bite back, tossing the rest of my uneaten pizza in the trash.
My dad’s sigh comes through loud and clear, and it makes my head hurt. “Cass, the law isn’t black and white like that,” he says.
“Like what, like, you can’t hit someone in the temple and kick them in the face so they don’t violate you? Black and white like that?” I’m pacing in a circle, walking my pattern in front of Ty until he holds my waist to stop me. My eyes burn, my head hurts, my world is spinning. I don’t understand any of this.
“Cass, the details, they’re what you say and what Paul Cotterman says,” my dad begins to explain, and I cut him off.
“You mean I could be lying, and maybe I came onto him and brought this trouble on myself. Just like I did with Kyle. That’s what you mean, isn’t it Dad?”
“Cass, I didn’t say that. Don’t put words in my mouth,” he says, defending himself. He’s fucking defending himself.
“No, Dad. If I put words in your mouth, they could never be as hurtful as the thoughts you have about me.” I hang up before he can say another word, and I throw the phone on my bed.
I should be elated. This is what I wanted—the Cotterman issue put to bed. But somehow all I feel is worse. My phone buzzes from his call, and I silence it.
“I need to shower,” I say, unable to look at Ty. I feel embarrassed, and I think I’m going to cry. If I can just make it to the shower, I can do it under the powerful spray of the water, and it will be like it never happened.
“Go ahead,” Ty says. “I’ll wait here. As long as you need.”
I know he will. And even though I want to send him away, more of me needs him to stay, to wait…even though it could be hours.
Rowe left her small basket here, and I use it to carry my towel and pajamas, to have a place to set everything on the bench just outside of the shower stall. I see why Rowe likes to shower at night now; it’s quiet in here. The sense of being alone is both comforting and frightening. But when you feel like I do right now—ugly, angry—the dark is welcoming, like a blanket.
The water does it’s magic, washing away any sign of weakness to come from my eyes. The warmth pounds my back and my arms and my chest, working my muscles, the steam opening my lungs. After about thirty minutes, I almost feel right again.
And then my vision
slides
to
the
right.
Everything. Doubles.
My world slants, and I trail my body down the wall to sit under the water.
The water can’t erase this.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
I wait for it to stop. It’s temporary. This has to be temporary.
Everything will fix itself. It has to.
You can’t pay off MS.
Ty
I plan on answering her phone the next time it rings. I planned it the moment she said she was leaving to shower. It’s impulsive. I’m good when I’m impulsive. It’s never failed me.
I don’t even let the ring finish when I press on the call to answer. And I know her father is shocked as hell when he hears a man’s voice answer “Hello, Mr. Owens.”
“Oh, I…I’m sorry. I…this is Cassidy’s phone, right? Who…who is this?”
“It’s Tyson, sir. I’m sorry this is how I’m meeting you. I really prefer to make an in-person first impression. This feels rude, so I do apologize,” I say, letting my accent come out thick. The Southern thing—it’s helpful when you’re trying to work an angle, trying to make a point. For some reason, people let you talk just a little bit longer when you say things with a Louisiana accent.
“Tyson. While it’s nice to finally speak with you, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to talk to Cassidy,” he says. He’s a lawyer. My impulsivity might not work as well as I thought.
“I know, sir. She left. She was…upset. I’m waiting for her,” I say, leaving it vague. I want to see if he worries.
“Is she all right? It’s late there. Where did she go?”
This is the response I want.
“She’s fine. She just went to the women’s showers. She needed some time alone,” I say, suddenly aware that it’s late, an
d I’m with his daughter in her room. Ah well, fuck it. Let him think what he wants. “I was actually hoping…maybe you and I could talk? Cass, she’s confided in me, about everything. And I was here…when you called the last time.”
There’s a long silence on the phone. Her father—he isn’t as bad as she thinks he is. He’s human. And I think he’s trying to do the right thing. He’s just stuck and doesn’t know how. And Cass is so hurt that she can’t unbury herself.
“I’m sorry, Tyson. I don’t know if I’m comfortable talking about this private matter, with you. I hope you understand,” he says.
“Of course,” I say. “Just…if I may…I know we haven’t met, and I’m not sure how much Cass has told you about me.”
“Very little,” he says, curtly. Ouch. That was…not nice. I shake it off, because, well, I’m used to being insulted.
“Okay, well, I’m sure she has her reasons,” I say. I know Cass wants to introduce me, on her own terms. And I know her sister beat her to it. So I don’t fault Cass for this at all. “I’ve been a paraplegic for a little more than six years.”
He doesn’t interrupt. I thought my words out while I was waiting for his call, and I knew I would share this and share it quickly. It’s hard for people to stop you when you lead with this line. It’s a perk of my circumstance. I’ve earned temporary patience. And I use it to my advantage.
“Stupid cliff-diving accident; dumbest thing I’ve ever done. Ruined my life. Or it could have. I thought it did for a while. But I had people in my life who saw me for everything but my disability, for everything beyond that stupid decision. They saw my potential. And they preached to me, pounded it into my head, day after day, hour after hour, until yeah…I saw my potential too. I’m getting my MBA. I’m sure Paige didn’t mention that. I graduated magna cum laude for undergrad, on a scholarship. School…it’s so easy for me, it isn’t even funny. I don’t have to study, because things just make sense to me. My brain is strong. My body is strong. I haven’t run into something that I can’t find a way to do. And you know why?”
I give him a second to answer, but he doesn’t. It’s okay—he hears me. I’m sure he hears me.
“Because when I needed people the most, my parents, my brother, my friends—they stood up. They were present. They didn’t go for easy. My mom, she could have thrown medicine at me. I was a teenager, and she could have forced me to take drugs to help me cope with depression, to find courage, to sleep, to not feel the never-ending firing pain from my damaged nerves. I was afraid of what drugs would mean. I didn’t want to take them. So she found another way. She led me through the hard way, and she didn’t stop until I came out the other side.”
“I train others with disabilities. I’m not sure if Paige mentioned this either. I train them because I like to see what happens when someone believes in themself. That’s how I got to know your daughter. I trained her. I trained her right into believing in herself. And you know what happened? She started to want things again. She started to dream.
“My god, Mr. Owens. Your daughter—when she’s running, pushing herself…when she’s in her sport, competing—she’s fearsome. I have never seen anything or anyone like her. And I love her. I haven’t even told her yet, but I do. I love her for everything she is, and I love her for how much she makes me believe in the possible. She’s defiance, in all of its glory. And I don’t really care that it isn’t my place to tell you this, but if you’re too focused on taking the easy route to stop, just for a second, and watch her…and see her as she is? I’m not so sure you deserve to be the one she runs to in the first place.”
I wasn’t expecting applause. Though, the slow-clap does pass through my mind and briefly amuses me. I’m pretty impressed with my own speech, and even if Cass’s father isn’t, I feel pretty good about everything I said. I’d say it all to Cass and mean every word. The silence lasts for a few long seconds, and eventually, I hear him swallow—perhaps his pride.
“If you could tell her that I called,” he says.
“I can do that, sir. You have a good night now,” I say, one more little cherry on top.
I put the phone down and grab the remote from Cass’s desk, flipping the television to Sports Center, and I wait for her to feel strong enough to come in and join me. By the end of the show, she’s here.
“Your father called,” I say. She rolls her eyes and crawls into her bed, patting the space next to her. I don’t elaborate, because I don’t want to freak her out. It’s not a lie. It’s omitting, a little. A lot. But I think this calls for an exception.
Chapter 26
Cass
Rowe’s coming back.
Paige left early.
The Cotterman issue is now a non-issue.
I have to admit, the positives are starting to add up. I was even almost looking forward to the holidays. Mom has been calling me every day. It was annoying at first, because I knew it was all about making her feel better. But I find I’m starting to actually look forward to her calls. We still talk about nothing. She doesn’t ask about Ty. I don’t talk about Ty. She doesn’t ask about practice. I don’t talk about practice. And maybe that’s okay—maybe I get to live my life separate from her knowing about it, and we get to meet in the middle, in the land of make-believe where I’m interested in the bead and textile expo.
She does try to ask me questions about Paige. She doesn’t like it when we’re fighting. And I don’t like feeling this way about my sister. But I’m having a hard time getting over this one. It’s always a matter of trust between her and me, and that bridge has just been burned so many times, I don’t know if I can rebuild it any more.
I have one more final. Ty left for home with his brother yesterday, and Nate gave me a letter to give to Rowe. He told me not to read it—which was probably not wise. I don’t think I would have if he hadn’t made it so off limits. I steamed it open in the shower room, but you can totally tell I butchered the envelope. I think I’ll just admit it to Rowe. She won’t care.
The words in his letter…they were everything I want Ty to say to me in so many ways. Those boys are special. And I hope he and Rowe can figure things out.
I’ve been waiting at the window for an hour for the cab to drop Rowe off. I used to wait for my grandparents to show up on the holidays like this, my chair pulled right up to the windowsill and my face pressed on the glass. The thought makes me smile, so I breathe frost onto the window glass and draw a heart with Ty’s name in the middle. I feel silly and childish after, so I pull my sleeve over my wrist and erase it.
When the cab pulls up and Rowe steps out with her small bag, I slide my chair back from the window and step up on my bed and start jumping. I’ve missed her, more than I thought. And seeing her face when she walks into the room almost makes me cry.
“Yayyyyyyyy!” I actually scream when she comes in, like a child waiting for the fair to come to town.
“Uh…yeah. Yay,” she says, looking at me like I’m a weirdo. Okay, maybe I’m a little overexcited. I’ve been alone for a full day, and the halls are empty, and it was getting to me. I’ve studied for my sign language final so much that I now feel qualified to teach the course.
Once Rowe gets settled in, we go to the dining hall, which is also empty, like a scene from The Stand. I fill my plate, I’ve been carb loading, probably from all of the running and workouts I’ve been doing. I tend to stress-eat, and finals, along with everything else, have been stressful.
“So, I’m officially on the team,” I tell Rowe, and she smiles, happy for me, but still not quite herself. She’s mourning her old boyfriend, and I think she’s also mourning her relationship with Nate. I hope she gives him a chance.
“I guess that means you’ll be pretty busy this spring?” she asks.
“Not any more than I have been. Instead of workouts, we’ll have games. Soccer isn’t like baseball and football. Women’s sports, we sort of get the shaft,” I say. I want to ask her if she’ll be here next semester, but I’m afraid to open tha
t door, so I just take her interest in my schedule as a sign that she will be.
She turns her attention to my overstuffed tray of food, picking on my lack of healthy choices, and when she jokes with me I can see glimpses of my Rowe. It almost feels like that first week of school again. The campus is empty, and Rowe and I nervously make our way back to our room, spending the rest of the night watching TV.
It’s nice not sleeping alone. Last night—without Ty, without anyone—was hard. I don’t think I ever fully fell asleep. The dorm hallways are full of strange noises at night, the creaking of the heating pipes, the echo in the hallway when someone shuts a door from far away. Even the sounds from the outside creep into the inside when nobody is around. I started to focus on the chirping crickets and the occasional car driving by.
We’re watching one of those reality shows on MTV; I’m not even sure which one. There’s a lot of yelling and relationship drama. It’s funny how that’s not how it looks like in real life, yet this is supposed to be reality. I turn my head to Rowe and imagine her standing on a table, drunk, and telling Nate off like the girl on the TV is right now, and it makes me laugh to myself.
No. Not reality at all.
“Have you talked to him yet?” I ask her, and she just shakes her head no. What I want to do is pull out Nate’s letter, show it to her, fawn over it, and watch her heart melt just like I know it’s going to. But I can’t, not until tomorrow. I promised Nate I wouldn’t give it to her until her finals were done.
Nate poured his heart out in his words to her. I cheated and read some of it to Ty over the phone. He made fun of Nate, called him a lovesick puppy, but I think it’s only because he was uncomfortable hearing his brother’s honesty. I get it. Guys don’t do chick flicks, and Nate’s letter—it’s one big-ass chick flick. I wish I made a copy of it I love it so much.
“I don’t know what to say. Everything is all…I don’t know…messy?” Rowe says.
I understand messy. I’ve been in what Ty would call one messy fussy fuss for weeks. But my mess…it’s kind of over. And I’m starting to appreciate the fact that my dad put an end to it, even if I don’t like the way he put an end to it.
