by Shawn Inmon
Each time he sold a property or business, instead of banking the proceeds, he would pour it into one of the remaining businesses. Those were like black holes, though—money went in, but nothing ever came out.
It was perhaps a blessing that Jamison passed away in 1999, before he had to watch the remaining pieces of his once-mighty business empire dissolve into bankruptcy. That task fell instead to Grant Collins, who, like many second-generation business-owners, had not inherited his father’s drive or instincts. He did his best, but his efforts were akin to rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic.
By 2010, the Collins family fortune was gone. The only reminder of the glory days was the Collins Estate itself. It was no longer the only home in the neighborhood, though. Over the decades, first Jamison, then Grant had sold off almost all the acreage, piece by piece. Eventually, the estate was encircled by nice, but much plainer, housing developments. From the air, the Collins Estate looked like a great white shark, with remora and pilot fish encircling it.
The financial failings of the Collins family did not impact Cassandra’s life much, aside from the emotional impact of watching the effect it had on her father, mother, and brother.
Cassandra had become a Coleman in more ways than just her last name. Where the Collins fortune had disintegrated, the Colemans flourished in the twenty-first century. They had turned the old Coleman Furniture building into a discount furniture location in the eighties, and the department store had little competition, as Middle Falls was too small to attract the competition that the big box stores would have brought.
Dorothea Collins passed away two years after Jamison. Jimmy’s parents died a few months apart in 2002. Cassandra’s brother Grant drank and ate more than was healthy. He joined the mortality parade in 2012.
That left Cassandra as the sole heir of the mess that was the Collins family affairs. She shut the old estate up for six months but realized that she couldn’t ignore it forever.
She finally hired a company that specialized in estate sales to come in and liquidate everything, from the furniture to the artwork, jewelry, and fine china. It didn’t raise nearly enough money to untangle the financial knots, but it did serve to empty the house out.
It broke her heart when she walked through the fine old house, which was no longer so fine. Grant hadn’t focused on maintaining it over the previous decade, and it had fallen into disrepair. When a 6200 square-foot house needs renovations, they don’t come cheap. The estimate on repairing the roof alone came to ninety-thousand dollars. Replacing the leaking pipes was almost as much. The paint job that the exterior so badly needed would have been seventeen thousand dollars. Even if she had wanted to ask Jimmy for the money, she couldn’t come up with a single reason to do so. The estate was her childhood, but there was no point in mortgaging their retirement.
Finally, she made the decision to let the house go. An out-of-state developer bought it, razed it, applied for a lot line adjustment, and built eight homes where it had once stood. It was the end of a glamorous era in Middle Falls.
Likewise, it marked the end of an era in Cassandra’s life. On the day the sale closed in 2015, Jimmy suffered a stroke. He lingered for a few weeks, then passed away. He had only been sixty-seven years old, and had been in excellent shape for his age. He was still playing racquetball at the club twice a week, and walking eighteen holes every weekend, but a stroke can strike anyone at any time.
Cassandra was bereft. She and Jimmy had never been able to have children, and although they had talked about adopting, they had never moved forward with it. When Jimmy died, Cassandra looked around at the devastation of her life and realized that aside from Kristen, she was completely alone.
Kristen’s life had not been as safe and steady as Cassandra’s. She had married a construction worker when she was two years out of high school. It was a bad, violent marriage. She got divorced before she turned twenty-one. She rode the marriage-go-round two more times before she was thirty-five, but gave up after her third divorce.
She had gone to work as a front desk clerk at the new hotel that went in on the edge of town in 1986, and she had been there ever since. By the time Jimmy died, in 2015, she had become a bitter woman who blamed the world for her troubles.
Cassandra did her best to stay friends with Kristen. But over time, the fact that they led such different lives, and traveled in such different circles, wore on Kristen, and she pulled away more each year. By 2015, their total communication had gotten to the point of exchanging Christmas and birthday cards, mixed in with an occasional call reminiscing about better days.
In January 2018, Cassandra’s life was limp and, as far as she could see, essentially over.
She sat in the semi-darkened living room of the very nice home Jimmy had built for them ten years earlier. She was watching a rerun of Blue Bloods on CBS. She looked directly at the television but didn’t even realize she had already seen the episode until it was nearly over.
Uh-oh. Might be slipping a cog.
Cassandra looked down at herself. She wore her comfortable gray sweat pants, warm wooly socks, and a red Christmas sweatshirt.
I haven’t been wearing this since Christmas, though, have I? I’ve gotten out of the house and moved around since then, right? And I know I’ve taken a shower since then. Haven’t I?
She glanced over her shoulder into the gourmet kitchen where she had once cooked wonderful meals for Jimmy. There were mostly-empty boxes of Totino’s Pizza Rolls and the remains of a few Weight-Watchers prepackaged meals piled on the counter.
Did I eat something today? Yesterday? I’ve got to do better. Get a grip on myself. If I lose it, no one will even notice, will they?
She picked up the remote and switched the channel to the shopping network.
I’ll order something and ask for a signature-delivery. That way, if I drop dead, maybe someone will find me sooner, rather than later.
Cassandra didn’t die before her sterling silver earrings or coffee-table book about the Metropolitan Museum of Art arrived. She was still there to answer the door when the UPS man arrived. She had even showered within the previous seventy-two hours.
Death didn’t come to her quickly, like an overheated lover. Instead, it approached with the leaden inevitability that she took some comfort in. She had lost everyone she had ever cared about and there was a certain feeling of belonging in knowing she would soon join them.
Cassandra wasn’t sick. There was no illness eating away at her body, rendering her incapacitated. She had lost the will to live and her life was seeping away from her.
There were any number of times she could have turned that around—made a new friend, found a new interest, or just picked herself up and given herself a good shaking. She did none of those things.
She sat in her lovely cage, ordering trinkets she didn’t need from QVC and Amazon, watching Dancing with the Stars and Wheel of Fortune. She ate microwaved meals. Many nights, she slept on the top-of-the-line couch she’d had delivered from Coleman Furniture, because she couldn’t summon the will to walk up the stairs.
Finally, on a warm late-spring evening in 2018, Cassandra Marie Coleman, nee Collins, took her last breath.
Chapter Eight
Cassandra Collins opened her eyes. Sunlight warmed her face and made her squint against the brightness. She moved her head and saw something that, at first glance, was impossible. She looked up at a poster with the lyrics to The Sounds of Silence written on it in calligraphy.
As odd as it was, she knew immediately that she had written it with her own hand.
How much did I have to drink last night? I think I finished off that bottle of wine, but—this?
With a start, she realized someone was lying against her. Faster than she had moved in many decades, Cassandra jumped up out of bed and looked at the still-sleeping form of Kristen Paulson. Her hair laid in a tangled mess, splayed across her face. What added to the impossibility of the situation was that she was young. Not just younger. Young.
That’s Kristen, when she was eighteen. She looked around her room in a panic. And this is my bedroom. I was in this room not that long ago, and it didn’t look anything like this. What can be going on?
She sat on the edge of the bed, hard.
Kristen said, “Mmmmmph,” and rolled away, turning her face to the wall.
Think, Cassie, think. What’s happening?
That answer didn’t come to her, but she did get an urgent signal from her bladder and ran to the bathroom. When she had taken care of that emergency, she absent-mindedly washed her hands, then returned to her bedroom, where Kristen still slumbered away.
I’m in my bedroom, it’s exactly like it was, and Kris and I were having a sleepover. Yeah, sure. Well, there’s only one answer for it. I’ve slipped a cog. I’ve gone completely nuts.
Cassandra walked to her window and looked at the backyard. Long strings of white globes and white Christmas lights crisscrossed the yard. There was a small bandstand in one corner of the yard.
That looks like the day after my graduation party. In 1966. Yeah, sure, okay.
She left Kristen sleeping—it felt safer to not communicate with anyone—opened her door and slipped downstairs. The rest of the Collins home was as letter-perfect as her bedroom had been. Thick rugs, polished brass, cherry hardwood floors, it was all there.
In an odd way, Cassandra felt like she was walking through a museum.
The house felt empty. She sat at the kitchen table to think.
A moment later, Dorothea Collins appeared around the corner.
“Oh!” she said in surprise. “I didn’t expect you to be up so soon.”
“Mom?”
“Yes, of course, Mom. Where’s Kristen?”
“Umm—upstairs, still sleeping.”
Mom, you’ve been dead for a long, long time. I was with you when you passed. I was there at your funeral. How can you possibly be here?
Dorothea picked up a silver coffee pot and carried it to the table with her. She scooted a fine china cup and saucer toward her and poured a cup of coffee. A sly smile crossed her lips. She picked up another cup, poured, and set it in front of Cassandra.
“Here, why don’t you try some coffee.”
Good idea, unless you’ve got something a little stronger, like maybe some brandy from the pantry? Or maybe a shot of scotch from the decanter in Dad’s office?
Cassandra picked up her cup, took a deep drink and closed her eyes in appreciation.
The smile disappeared from Dorothea’s face. “Have you been sneaking coffee before you go to school?”
“What? No. Why?”
Oh, I get it. It’s like we’re replaying the scene where she gave me my first cup of coffee. I winced, she put cream and sugar in it. Another lesson for Cassie. Except that was fifty years ago, and I stopped using cream and sugar almost that long ago.
Dorothea shook her head a bit, getting herself back on track. She reached behind her and plucked an envelope off the small table behind her. She batted it against the edge of the table, contemplating, then slid it across to Cassandra.
The return address said, “University of California, Berkeley.”
A sudden flash of insight hit Cassandra. Oh, dear God. Is this what this is all about? Have I somehow been dropped into the critical moment of my life? Given a chance to change my mind? Surely not. That’s impossible. I’ve never read anything like that happening in real life.
Cassandra picked the envelope up and hefted it. “I guess they don’t need that much paper to say thanks, but no thanks, do they?”
Dorothea looked crestfallen.
I’m stealing your thunder, aren’t I Mom? I guess that’s mean of me, but I think I can be forgiven, since everything I’ve ever known seems to be crumbling into dust before my eyes.
“Yes, that’s likely,” Dorothea said, coolly.
Cassandra held her hand out, waiting for Dorothea to hand her the letter opener shaped like a cutlass. Again, Dorothea looked at her strangely.
Cassandra ignored her, slit the top of the envelope and shook the folded papers out onto the table. She opened them and read the first line. Congratulations, Cassandra Collins, you have been accepted...
Everything since she had woken up had been surreal, but this moment—sitting at her kitchen table with her mother, reliving this crucial moment—was the most mind-bending of all.
She hadn’t heard her father approach, but in an instant, he was there. He picked the papers off the table, leafed through them for a moment.
This time, Cassandra knew better than to look to him for approval.
“Going to an out-of-state college is expensive. Now that Johnny Coleman has asked you to marry him, there’s no need for that. Your mother and I had thought you might have to go to college to meet the right boy, but now he’s presented himself right here at home.”
You’re nothing if not predictable, are you, Dad?
Chapter Nine
Cassandra went back to her room and found Kristen still sleeping. She sat on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on her shoulder.
“Kris, time to wake up. I need to take you home.”
This more adult approach to waking her up did the trick. Kristen opened one eye and stared balefully at Cassandra.
“Who are you, and why do you suddenly sound like my mother?”
Well, that could be a problem. How do I manage to sound like an eighteen-year-old when I’m not even close?
“Sorry. Just a little tired from last night, probably.”
Kristen stretched, long and loud. “So. You gonna take me with you when you talk to Jimmy?”
Jimmy! Of course. He’s alive again, too. Everyone who died is back now. What do I do about him, exactly?
“I think I can handle Jimmy on my own.”
“You’ll call me, though, won’t you? It might just kill me if you don’t call me.” Kristen took in Cassandra’s expression. “You are going to say yes to him, aren’t you? He’s the cutest boy in school, captain of the football and the baseball team. And, I know this doesn’t matter much to you, Princess Cassandra, but his family is well-off, too.”
Cassandra nodded her head, contemplating. “You’re right. He was a good husband. A good man.”
Kristen kneeled on the bed and looked at Cassandra closely. “You okay, Cass? Did you hit your head? You said he was a good husband. He asked you to marry him last night. What’s going on with you?”
A small shudder ran over Cassandra, giving her gooseflesh. She snapped back. “Nothing.” She made her best attempt at a dazzling smile. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Come on, though. Nothing’s going to happen until I get you home.”
“Yes, mother,” Kristen said, slipping off the edge of the bed and searching for the change of clothes she had brought with her.
Cassandra stood up. That’s new too, isn’t it? I just stood up. No effort. No sore back. No aching knees. My body is young again. I feel strong, not old and used up. I could get used to this.
She drove Kristen to her house in a modest development not far from downtown Middle Falls, then pulled away.
Where to now? I need someplace to think. Someplace to figure things out.
A memory flashed through her mind—herself as a young woman, sitting and overlooking the Middle Falls.
Nope. Not going to repeat everything I did last time.
She let the Mustang take her where it would, turning left and right completely at random while she tried to get her bearings in 1966 Middle Falls. Eventually, she found herself in front of Artie’s Drive-In. A sudden rumble in her stomach convinced her to turn in and park. A sudden panic overtook her.
Do I have any money? Did I carry money around with me? I don’t even remember. I think I miss my debit card.
She dug through the small white purse she had grabbed without even thinking of it. Inside, she found lipstick, a compact, and a wallet with her driver’s license and thirty-two dollars inside. She glanced at the order board and figu
red that a full meal would come to less than two dollars. She went inside and sat down.
Cassandra was surprised to see Veronica McAllister sitting there, eating a hamburger, pretty as you please. Veronica had been the first of her friends and family to die, when she had killed herself in 1979.
“Ronnie!” Cassandra burst out, taking two steps toward her.
Veronica’s head snapped toward her. A tentative smile touched her lips, there was immediate recognition in her gaze, but she seemed to consciously cover it up.
“Sorry?” Veronica said.
“Ronnie. It’s me. Cassie Collins.”
There’s so much I want to say to her. Not to leave again, like she did last life. That hurt so many of us who loved her.
Veronica looked non-plussed, as if caught on the knife’s edge of embarrassment. “I’m sorry, you have me at a disadvantage.”
Cassandra narrowed her eyes at Veronica. I know she recognized me. Why is she acting like she doesn’t know me?
“Cassie Collins. Jimmy Coleman just asked me to marry him. We’ll be sisters-in-law.”
A flicker passed over Veronica’s face. “I think you’ve got me confused with someone else. I’m not married.”
That stopped Cassandra cold. “You’re not married to Jimmy’s brother, Danny?”
A kind smile, tinged with sadness, but Veronica shook her head. “No, I’m sorry, I’m not. I know him, though. I think Danny’s wife’s name is Julie, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry,” Cassandra said, backing away. “I must have you confused with someone else.” She turned and hurried out the door.
So not everything is the same here. Veronica didn’t marry Danny. Maybe that means she’s found a different path in this life. I hope so.
