“Well, you buying these?”
I handed the saleswoman the dresses. “Not without trying them on I’m not. You keep your dresses and I’ll just keep my money.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
On the way home, I told Papa about the baby.
Papa smiled. “’Bout time you said something. Your mama’s already told me.” I smiled, knowing I should have figured she would. “Told me too that you and Flynn been having some problems. Course she didn’t have to tell me that, long as you been away from him.” Papa looked at me for a moment, then back to the road. “Now, I ain’t ever met Flynn, but if you chose him, I figure your good sense was all I needed to know he’s a good man. He was mistreating you, I’d take a shotgun to him, but you say he ain’t, so you gotta figure a way for him to make whatever’s wrong, right. It’s been long enough, Cassie. Time you went home.”
“But, Papa, I am home,” I said.
“No, Cassie girl. This ain’t home no more for you. Your home is with your husband, wherever he is and where y’all make your family. If you’re gonna stay married to this man, you need to go home to him. Much as I’d like for you to stay here and in my care, it ain’t the right thing. Now, you’ll always be my baby girl, but you’re his wife now and your place is with him. Like I said, time you went home, back to your husband.”
I looked at Papa. They all had spoken.
Soon after, I took a train, segregated out of Jackson, and traveled through Louisiana, Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona, back to California, back to Los Angeles, back to my husband, back to Flynn.
CASSIE’S LOVE STORY
CHAPTER VI
(1950–1951)
It was evening when I arrived in Los Angeles. Flynn met me at the station. I was nervous about seeing him again, nervous about what I had to tell him. As we walked to the car, I took a deep breath knowing I would have to ride in the Mercedes. But the car Flynn led me to was not the Mercedes. It was a Pontiac. “Where’s the Mercedes?” I asked.
“Sold it” was all Flynn said. I asked nothing further. I was saving all my talking for later. Flynn opened the door for me, touching me for the first time, his hand on the center of my back, as was his habit whenever he helped me into a car. I fought to control my trembling. For a while as Flynn drove through the streets of Los Angeles we said nothing, even though there was so much that needed to be said. Then I realized we were not headed for the apartment and I broke the silence. “Flynn, where are we going? This isn’t the way home.”
“Are you sure?” Flynn returned. “As I recall, you don’t know L.A. all that well.”
“I know it well enough to know this isn’t the way to the apartment.”
“No, you’re right, it’s not. But I have something I want to show you—”
“Oh, Flynn, not tonight! I’m so tired! I just want to get home!”
Flynn glanced over at me. “You’re so eager to get there, once we’re there, what do you want to do?”
I looked at him. He was smiling and I knew he was teasing me. “I just want to sleep, Flynn,” I replied, feeling exasperated with him. “I feel like I haven’t slept for days. I don’t even want to talk tonight. I just want to sleep.”
The smile gone, he said, “Then that’s what you’ll do . . . as long as you sleep in our bed, beside me.” His eyes were on the street. I said nothing else.
When Flynn slowed the car, we were on a tree-lined street with deep lawns and deeper walkways. He pulled into a driveway and stopped. There were lights shining from the house. I looked at him and he nodded toward the house. “We’re home, Cassie.” Without giving me time to respond, he got out of the car, walked around, and opened my door. I just looked at him, then back to the house. Flynn took my hand as I stepped from the car and we walked to the front door. He unlocked the door and ushered me in. The front hallway was bathed in golden light. “Welcome home, Cassie,” Flynn said.
I shook my head in silent disbelief. Flynn led me through the house, first into a living room with a fireplace and bookshelves on either side of it. Our sofa and chairs were in front of the fireplace. On the wall opposite the fireplace, two sets of sliding doors opened onto a patio and a backyard garden. Then he led me into a kitchen equipped with a separate pantry room, then to a bathroom and a small room unfurnished except for Flynn’s architect table. The final room he showed me was a large bedroom that had its own bathroom. Our bed was in the room, and a vase full of yellow roses accentuated with blooms of baby’s breath was on the nightstand next to it. Also on the bed was the nightgown I had last worn when we were together. It was laid out newly laundered and pressed. I stared at the bed, beautifully made and waiting for us. Finally, I spoke. “What is all this?”
“What does it look like?” said Flynn. “It’s our home. It’s where we’re going to live.”
“But . . . how did you do it?”
“Well, have to admit it’s not quite all ours yet. It’s only leased for now, but if you like it, it could be ours. It’s called rent to buy, but it’s only if you like it.”
I looked around the room. “Like it? I love it!”
“Then that’s all that matters. It’s ours.”
Flynn came to me and, cupping my chin in his hands, gently held my face. “When you wrote saying you were coming back, I just wanted you to come back to a promise I made to you, that I’d give you everything I possibly could, everything you wanted, and from the beginning, I knew you wanted a house of your own.”
I was awestruck by all Flynn had presented to me. I pulled away from him and simply gazed around the room. I looked at the bed, so perfectly made, everything so elegant, sunlit sheets already turned back over a golden comforter, fluffy pillows in bright yellow pillowcases, flowers. “You did all this?”
“Some of it. Some of it Justine did.”
“Justine?” I questioned. “I’m surprised about that. I never saw her place looking this good—”
“Well, Mrs. Hendersen had a hand in it too. She brought the ladies from her house to help.”
I laughed. “Then that explains it.”
Flynn smiled. “She’s a romantic.”
I gently touched the edging of the comforter. “Well, it’s just beautiful.” Then I touched the petals of a rose. “You chose these?” I glanced at him for his answer.
“You always loved yellow roses,” he said.
I sat down wearily on the side of the bed. I still had on my coat.
“I know you’re tired, Cassie,” Flynn said. “Why don’t you just get changed and get into bed.”
“I’m so tired I don’t even feel like changing.”
“You’ll feel better if you do.” Then unexpectedly Flynn kneeled down and gently took off my shoes and set them beside the bed.
“I suppose you’re right,” I said, standing again. “I think I’ll shower too.” I picked up the gown and went into the bathroom. When I returned, Flynn had pulled the covers back for me. I lay down. Flynn lay beside me. He held me and we slept.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
As the morning sunlight poured into our new bedroom, Flynn sat up and leaned against the headboard. “I know I was wrong, Cassie, not to tell you everything, but you and I both know I was never unfaithful to you. I just was embarrassed to tell you about the car. That means nothing now.” He was silent before he added, “Faye found out I was working in San Bernardino and she followed me there. I never slept with her.”
Pulling the covers with me, I sat up too and took him in. “I know.” I thought of the weeks without him. “But you should have told me. Main thing is, you finally got rid of the car.”
“Well, it wasn’t worth it to me to try to hang on to it.” He smiled wryly down at me. “Especially since I couldn’t get you to ride in the car with me.”
I felt somewhat guilty. “Do you regret selling it?”
“No,” he answered. “You ought to know that it was Faye who bought it.”
I thought of the irony of it all. “So, now she’s driving around in your car, the car you drove me in?”
Flynn shrugged. “Least I have no further ties to her. You do believe me, don’t you, Cassie?”
I was touched by his confession. I was touched by his nearness. “Yes,” I softly answered. I laid my hand on his chest and met his eyes. “Flynn . . .” I waited a moment, then said, “Flynn . . . I’m pregnant.”
Flynn was silent.
“Did you hear me?”
Flynn chuckled. “You think I didn’t already know that? You think I didn’t see your fat belly?”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
He smiled that golden smile. “I was waiting for you to tell me.”
At that, I smiled too and snuggled close to him, my head against his chest. “Well, now you know,” I said. Flynn tilted my face upward and kissed me.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Before Christmas I lost the baby. I was devastated and so was Flynn. The holidays came and went. The days that we had looked forward to with such hope and joy were now all emptiness. In the days and weeks of 1951 following our loss, Flynn’s love was all-enveloping. His love became the other half of me. I poured out every thought to Flynn. I held nothing back. I cried a lot, and my sadness washed over us both. Once, Flynn softly said after one of my crying spells, “You know I hurt too, Cassie. I lost our baby too.” I couldn’t seem to get over it, and as time passed, Flynn said maybe I should go back to Mississippi, go home to be with Mama and Papa and Big Ma or maybe go back to Toledo and be with my brothers and Dee and the girls. He said he wanted to keep me with him, but maybe I should go home to heal. But I chose not to go. Flynn was now my home.
Flynn coaxed me out of the house, got me to leave the comfort of that warm haven. On the weekends, he began taking me with him to the park basketball court, and I sat watching him play basketball with the other young men gathered. Other times he got me to play with him one on one. I hadn’t played basketball before I met him, but I enjoyed the game and I was pretty good at shooting baskets. I was good at shooting pool too, and we began spending some of our Saturday afternoons at Jake’s Place, the local pool hall. We also spent more time with the Peñas at their home. On Sunday mornings Flynn persuaded me to dress for church and he even went with me. On warmer weekend days we walked along the sands of Venice Beach. I didn’t swim, but Flynn did. Sometimes he stripped off his shirt and dove into the cold waiting water. He wanted me to go with him. He wanted to teach me, to make me unafraid of the water, but I wouldn’t go. Instead I sat on the beach and waited, watching his strokes, his perfect form. Once when he came out of the water, he plopped onto the sand beside me and, despite my objections, pulled me against his wet body and enveloped me in his arms. “Warm me up,” he said.
I laughed and tried to pull away.
“Un-unh,” he said. “I’m not letting you go. Ever.”
He kissed me.
I leaned my back against his chest and we gazed out at the azure sky against azure water. “Papá Miguel is thinking about getting a boat,” Flynn said. “A motorboat. Maybe I’ll go in with him to buy it. Maybe that way I can get you out onto the water.”
“You don’t have to buy a boat,” I said.
“I want you to sail with me. I want you to enjoy the water with me.”
“Okay, if Señor Peña buys a boat, I’ll sail with you. But I’m not going in the water.”
“I won’t let you drown. Trust me. I’ll always take care of you.”
I turned to face him. “I do trust you, Flynn. You’re my beautiful, absolutely gorgeous husband! You’re my love! Sweetheart, I trust you with all my being!” His lips were waiting, and as always I was drawn to kiss him. I closed up tight against him, my breasts against his chest. I put my arms over his shoulders and clasped my hands behind his neck and succumbed, kissing him long, then I pulled away and got up quickly from the sand. “But you’re not getting me in that water!”
Flynn too jumped up, and I ran away laughing. He caught me, picked me up, carried me to the water, and I screamed. “Don’t you throw me in there!”
He laughed. “I promise I won’t let you go.”
And he didn’t. He didn’t throw me in, but he carried me into the ocean until he was waist-deep and I was wet as well; then, laughing still, he brought me back to shore. I pretended to be angry. He pretended to care that I was. He put me down and we walked back to the car, drove back to our little house, and spent the rest of the day loving each other. We talked about having another baby.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Señor Peña bought the boat. I persuaded Flynn not to take on the debt, not right now with my not working. Despite that, we knew we were always welcome on the boat, and in April, during one of its early voyages, Flynn and I were on board, along with Jorge, Justine, and J.D., with Señor Peña at the helm. Señor Peña christened the boat for the second time in honor of Flynn and me, then we set sail on a crystal-clear Saturday morning.
“To mi amado hijo Flynn and his beautiful wife!” Señor Peña proclaimed, saluting us with morning champagne. “To them, the beauty of love and family!” He took my hands. “There will be a time for children, Cassie, the greatest blessings of life. In the meantime, just enjoy young love, being together, and then the children will come.” Now he laughed. Everyone on board did.
It was a glorious morning. The sky was clear, brilliant blue and cloudless. The waters were calm, and we sped far from shore before Señor Peña stopped the boat, threw down the anchor, and announced it was time for the fishing to begin. Fishing rods were in holders fixed to the stern, and Señor Peña insisted I take a rod and give it a try. I was feeling a bit queasy being on the water and I really didn’t want to stand near the boat’s edge with a fishing rod in hand, but I got up anyway and went over. I didn’t want to spoil the morning with my complaints. As I reached for the rod, Flynn, always so attuned to my feelings, met my eyes and said, “Cassie, are you all right?”
I managed a smile. “I’m fine.”
“How’s your stomach? First time on the water, you might feel sick.”
“I said I’m fine, Flynn. Now give me the rod.”
Flynn smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”
Flynn handed me the rod and I took it, expecting the feel of it to be the same as when I fished back home on the Rosa Lee, but the swaying of the waters gave it a different feel. I don’t know how long I stood there, just holding on to the rod, before Señor Peña advised me to sit in the chair in front of the holders, but to keep a steady hold. “Once you feel something tugging, that’s when you’ll need to jump into action. Then your work begins!” He laughed, and I sat down, waiting for a tug on the line.
While I waited, Flynn and Señor Peña and Jorge swapped stories about fishing in Mexico when Flynn and Jorge were growing up. Both of them had taken up rods and were waiting for a bite, but neither Justine nor J.D. wanted anything to do with fishing; they both felt seasick. I still felt the queasiness myself, but I fought it as I held on to the rod and the boat began to rock.
By now the weather was changing. The bright sunshine that had ushered us onto the water was gone, and dark, ominous clouds were gathering. A wind had kicked up and it looked as if it was going to storm. Señor Peña said that there had been no forecast for rain. It was supposed to be a sunshiny day, all day. He figured the clouds would pass. Yet still the clouds gathered and darkened.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Justine announced.
“Then stop drinking the damn champagne!” J.D. admonished.
“That’s the only thing keeping me from throwing up,” retorted Justine, and, champagne bottle in hand, went over to the side of the boat and leaned over.
“Don’t get so close, Justine,” Flynn warn
ed.
“Oh, I’m all right. Just go on with your fishing.”
“Justine, you want a rod?” asked Señor Peña. “You want to give it a try now?”
“You kidding? Naw, I just want to get off this damn boat.”
Señor Peña chuckled. “That’ll be soon enough. The sun will come out soon and all this will pass. For now, just try to settle back and enjoy the water. You lie down there on the seat. You’ll feel just like a baby being rocked to sleep.”
“Well, this baby feels like throwing up, so I best stay right where I am, case I do.”
Flynn said, “Looking down at the water, Justine, will only make it worse.”
“What I tell you?” Justine quipped irritably. “You tend to your wife. Let me tend to me.”
“Have it your way,” Flynn replied, then turned to J.D. “Why don’t you go stand with her?”
“Ah, shoot, man, naw. I’m sick to death myself,” said J.D.
“Maybe you’d better take a bucket then,” advised Señor Peña as he waved over to Jorge to pass an empty bait bucket to J.D.
I felt a tug on the line and jumped up. It had just begun to rain. Excited, I ignored the rain as I watched the line tugged downward. I tried to reel it in, but the tension was too great. I cried out to Flynn. “Help me!”
Flynn slipped his rod back into its holder and quickly came over. “Keep a firm grip on the rod, Cassie,” he ordered as he stood behind me. He wrapped his arms around me and placed his hands over mine.
Señor Peña came rushing over. “If it’s a big one, you might be in for a long fight.”
“Could be,” said Flynn. His hands pressed down upon mine as I reeled in my catch.
“Flynn, you’re hurting my hand!” I protested. “Why don’t you just take the rod?”
“Because,” he said, “it’s your catch, Cassie.” And he kissed the side of my face. I turned to look at him. He was smiling that glorious, golden smile down at me.
All the Days Past, All the Days to Come Page 22
