by Shawn Inmon
Feeling even more confused and upset, Cassandra forgot about eating, got back in the Mustang and turned toward the edge of town. When she hit countryside, she kept driving, until all signs of Middle Falls were behind her.
After a few miles, she did a U-turn and drove back to town.
No sense in running from my problems. Wherever I go, they’ll be right there with me. If I learned anything last life, it was that. Wait. “Last life?” Is that what it was? Is this a whole new life, a whole new chance?
She drove back to the Collins Estate and took some pleasure in pulling up to it, seeing it glow in the afternoon sun.
It still looks like Camelot. I hope to never see it like it was when I sold it.
She walked into the tall entryway, then stopped and listened for signs of life. She heard Juanita, their cook, humming a song in the kitchen as she chopped something for dinner, but no one else.
She slipped her shoes off and ran barefoot up the stairs to her room.
She closed the door to her room behind her and leaned against it.
Cassandra Collins, this is your life. Now, what are you going to do with it?
Chapter Ten
Cassandra Collins hopped up onto her full-sized canopy bed, enjoying the spring in her young legs. She grabbed an oversized, furry pink pillow and held it against her chest. Then she drew her knees up and rested her chin on the pillow.
Let’s look at this logically. How many possibilities are there for how and why I’m here? Number one, I’m crazy. I don’t feel crazy, but I don’t know if crazy people ever do. Two, I’m relocated back in time to 1966. Crazy seems more likely than some sort of time travel, doesn’t it? What other explanations are there? Did God whoosh me away at the moment of death and drop me here because I have something new to learn? If that’s true, what exactly am I supposed to learn? Or, is this just what happens to all of us after we die? Are we destined to live our lives over and over?
She rubbed the fuzzy pink pillow against her cheek.
Whatever this is, and however I got here, everything feels real. This pillow is real. My Mustang felt wonderful, just like it always did. And, Mom and Dad. Those weren’t simulations, or robots. I don’t even think they could have come from my memory. They were too real, too human.
Cassandra jumped off the bed, went to her window, and looked at the backyard. Aside from a few divots in the grass, the workmen had returned everything to its pristine state.
Let’s start at the top. I’ve got a few decisions to make. To me, it feels like it happened decades ago, but here and now, Jimmy just asked me to marry him last night. He expects an answer, and he deserves one.
A small frisson of butterflies grew in her stomach.
I still love him. He was right when he told me he would be a good husband, even if neither of us knew what that meant then. But what was our life together? Safe and contented, but not challenging. Is that what I want again?
Do I want to walk that same path again? Our life wasn’t the life I wanted to lead. I spent my life wondering what it would be like if I had made a different decision. Now, I’ve got the chance. Can I pass that up?
Cassandra ran out of her bedroom, down the stairs, slipped her shoes on and hurried out to the Mustang. When she opened the car door, a blast of heat hit her in the face, another reminder of how alive she was, and how real her surroundings were. She turned the key, gunned the motor, and sprayed fine bits of gravel as she took off out of the driveway.
She turned left and drove to Starwood Estates. Of all the surreal experiences she’d had since she woke up, this was the most extreme. This had been the neighborhood where Jimmy had built their house. Where they had lived together the last ten years of their marriage. Where she had died.
Instinctively, she turned in the direction of her own home, but in 1966, Starwood Estates was smaller, and the street ended before she got to where her home had been. Seeing an empty field where her house should be made her take a deep breath and hold it for a long moment before letting it out.
Hands shaking, she backed the car up and turned toward what she had come to think of as Jimmy’s parent’s house. She pulled into an empty driveway.
Last time I did this, Jimmy was right here, washing his Corvette. So, it seems like as I change what I do, things around me will change, too. That’s good, I guess? If the rest of the world spun on unchanged, this would get boring in a hurry.
She parked the Mustang and walked to the front door. She knocked softly.
There was no answer.
Come on, Cassie. Have the courage of your own convictions.
She pushed the doorbell, which played a melody throughout the house. A moment later, she heard approaching feet. The door opened, and Jimmy was there.
He’s beautiful.
Unexpected tears sprang to Cassandra’s eyes and she hurled herself forward, burying her face in Jimmy’s chest.
He wrapped his strong arms around her and said, “Hey, hey! Cassie-girl, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head, not wanting to move.
When you died, I shut myself down, Jimmy. Blocked everything off. I can’t believe I’m listening to your beating heart.
Jimmy put a gentle hand under chin and lifted her face up.
“What could be so wrong that it makes you cry like this? Is everything okay with your parents? Grant?”
Cassandra nodded and hot tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Everything’s fine. I just didn’t...” she stopped.
I just didn’t expect to feel so much when I saw you again.
She took a deep breath.
“It’s just good to see you, you know?”
The confused look on Jimmy’s face showed that he did not know.
“Come on in. Mom and Dad are in the living room. We can go sit in the den if you want.”
Cassandra followed Jimmy past the living room and down into the sunken room with the television they called their den. As they passed the Colemans, Thelma glanced at Cassandra, then looked a question at Jimmy, who ignored it. Stan, reading a book, failed to notice anything at all.
The den was carpeted in burnt-orange shag carpeting and there was a forest-green sofa and chair.
When I grew up with these colors, they seemed perfectly fine. But, coming back to them now, they are ghastly. What were we thinking?
Jimmy sat on the couch and patted the cushion beside him.
Cassandra sat, then they turned to face each other.
“Oh, Jimmy. I love you, but I can’t marry you.”
Chapter Eleven
Jimmy froze in place.
“What?”
“I know you would be a good husband. You’re honest, and faithful, and what every girl dreams of.”
“But not you.”
“No, not me. I’m sorry, Jimmy. If I married you, I would go through life being Mrs. Jimmy Coleman. And you know, that’s not bad. It’s just not what I want in this life. I hate that I am hurting you this way, because you don’t deserve it. If there was any other way, I wouldn’t do this to you.”
Jimmy sat back. His expression showed that he never believed this would happen to him. A future he had mapped out in his mind had just been erased. Cassandra could see that he had no idea what would fill that void.
“So, are we breaking up, then?”
Damn. Hadn’t even thought about that.
“If I’m honest, that’s not what I want. But I don’t know what else we can do. In a few months, you’re leaving for Portland State. I’ve been accepted at Berkeley, and I’m going there. We’ll be a thousand miles apart. I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t think it’s fair to ask you to wait for me.”
Jimmy nodded, still trying to assimilate, still looking like he was trying to find the license plate of the truck that ran him over.
“What if I had waited? What if I hadn’t asked you last night? Where would we be then?”
Now Cassandra was flummoxed.
Never considered that. If Jim
my hadn’t asked me the day before I got my acceptance letter, what would we have done then?
“I honestly don’t know. In a way, we’d be in the same place, but we wouldn’t be talking about it. This is probably better.” Cassandra’s tears, which had run dry as they had talked, began again. “I can’t believe I’m saying this to you. I think we should break up.”
I’d like to say, ‘Maybe, in a few years, if we find each other again, we can be together again.’ But that’s not fair to you, is it? No.
Jimmy’s eyes filled and overflowed. He didn’t try to hide his tears or his pain. He shook his head, still unable to believe that this was happening.
When he spoke, his voice was thick and quiet. “I thought this was going to be one of our happiest days. Now you’re leaving me.”
“I’m sorry. I hate doing this to you, but I feel like I must.”
And I’m not doing you any favors dragging this out.
Cassandra leaned toward Jimmy and kissed his soft cheek.
He doesn’t even need to shave yet.
She stood and hurried up the three stairs of the den and across the living room. She didn’t make eye contact with Stan or Thelma Coleman as she did.
Five minutes later, she was roaring down the county road in her Mustang. Her windows were rolled down and the Mustang’s speakers throbbed with music. KMFR was playing These Boots Are Made for Walkin’, by Nancy Sinatra.
Cassandra listened to the tough lyrics but didn’t feel tough herself. The song was a declaration of independence—from men, from the status quo, from a life left behind. And yet, Cassandra felt no exhilaration. She felt only sadness and the pain that comes with delivering a painful blow to someone you love.
She drove to the parking lot above Middle Falls once again.
My place of reflection, I guess.
There was a trail that skirted the hillside, so you were at eye level with the falls. Cassandra got out of the Mustang and walked the trail. At the bottom of the path, there was a picnic table, old, and prone to giving splinters to unwary hikers.
Cassandra sat on the table top and listened to the rush of the falling water. A moment later, her own tears joined in. This time, she let it all out. She sobbed and sobbed, until she felt like a dried-out husk, with no tears left to give.
She let out one last, shuddering sob, then wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands.
“That’s it, Cassandra Marie. That’s your breakdown. Now, time to get on with life.” Her voice disappeared in the roar of water.
Just because I didn’t tell Jimmy we can still maybe be together doesn’t mean we can’t, right? I may get to Berkeley, hate it, and come running home, looking for comfort in his familiar arms.
She never stopped to wonder if Jimmy’s strong arms would still be empty or not. In all the time she had known him, she had been the only woman he had ever loved. She couldn’t conceive of things any other way.
She drove to Kristen’s house. She didn’t bother to knock. Instead, she threw the front door open and said, “Daughter number two is here!”
Louise Paulson poked her head around the corner of the dining room. “In her room, Cassie.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Cassandra said. For just a moment, she couldn’t remember which door off the hallway led to Kristen’s room. She calmed her fear and the answer came to her. She pushed on into the room and found Kristen lying across her bed, listening to the 45 of Last Train to Clarksville.
Kristen rolled onto her back and said, “Aren’t these guys amazing? This is their first song, but I just love it. They’re called The Monkees. What a time to be alive.”
“Yeah, what a time,” Cassandra agreed.
“So, did he give you the ring?”
“He did not. I told him no, Kris.”
The same look of puzzlement that Cassandra had seen on Jimmy’s face now appeared on Kristen’s.
“You told him no—you couldn’t give him an answer right now?”
“No, I told him I can’t marry him. And then, I broke up with him.”
Kristen’s mouth fell open and her chin nearly touched her chest. “I don’t understand. The whole school voted you guys cutest couple. Everyone knew you were going to get married. It was a question of when, not if.” She gazed up at the ceiling. “Why, Cass? Why would you do that?”
“Because I got accepted into Berkeley and I really want to go there. I didn’t want him to be going to school up north, me going down south, and trying to still be together. So, I broke up with him.”
“You have been my best friend for thirteen years now. I never would have guessed you’d do this.”
“So, you want to hang out this summer? I don’t seem to have much of anything else on my calendar.”
Chapter Twelve
That wasn’t true, of course. Cassandra still had many things left on her agenda. For one, she had to tell her mother and father that she wasn’t getting married, and then break the news that she was going to school in Berkeley. Once the smoke cleared from that, she needed to find out where she was financially.
Was her dad bluffing about her having to handle everything on her own, or did he mean it? Would her mom be proud of her for standing up for herself or not?
And, she needed to fill out all that paperwork that had arrived in the mail from Berkeley and get that back to them.
She parked the Mustang in the garage and closed the garage door.
Will Berkeley want money right away? If they do, and Dad won’t help me, what do I do? I’ve got my savings, and that was supposed to be for school, but I was never serious about stashing money away there. Let’s be honest. I’ve never in my life had to deal with money. Dad gave me an allowance, then Jimmy gave me a checkbook and eventually credit cards. As long as I didn’t go crazy, he never batted an eye. I’ve got a feeling that’s about to change.
She took a deep breath and pushed into the house.
Not sure how I’m going to break all this to Mom and Dad.
She didn’t have to.
As soon as the door closed behind her, Jamison’s voice echoed through the house. “Cassandra? Come in here, please.”
She glanced at the kitchen table, suddenly hoping they were summoning her there. Kitchen table conversations were less-scary than come-sit-on-the-couch conversations.
No such luck—the kitchen table sat empty.
“Dad? Where are you?”
“We’re in the living room.”
Ah. We are in the living room. An ambush built for two, then. There’s no Internet in 1966, but word still travels fast. No sense in playing the innocent, ‘What’s up?’ card, then. Let’s get it over with.
Cassandra marched dutifully into the living room. Her father was standing by the massive fireplace mantel. A nine-foot-tall grandfather clock ticked ominously beside him. Her mother sat with her knitting in a chair at the side of the room, an observer, not an active executioner.
Jamison moved away from the fireplace and sat on one end of the couch. “Come in and sit down. We need to talk. You’re in the midst of making a huge mistake and I want to get you back on track before it’s too late.”
Cassandra sat obediently but turned and looked her father directly in the eyes.
You think you run everyone’s lives, Dad, and I guess you do to some extent. But not mine. Not anymore.
“Your mother received a call from Mrs. Coleman. She said you turned down Jimmy’s proposal.”
He didn’t stop to ask if this was true or not, but Cassandra nodded anyway.
Color rose from Jamison’s throat and into his face, but his voice stayed level.
“Cassandra, what were you thinking? Please tell me you didn’t do this because you’re still thinking of running off to Berkeley to go to school.”
Well, Dad, if you don’t want me to tell you that, I guess I can’t tell you anything.
Jamison saw the thought flit across her face and turned away, saying, “Gah.” He looked at Dorothea and shook his head in disgust.
Cassandra cleared her throat to find her voice.
“You’re right, Dad. I won’t argue with you. Jimmy will be a great husband and whoever marries him will be a lucky woman. It just won’t be me. I don’t want a life where I never have to worry about anything. I want to live, and grow, and see what life has to offer.”
Jamison looked at his daughter as those she might have grown a second head. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His complexion had turned brick red. Finally, he closed his mouth and stormed out of the room.
“Your father just wants the best for you, you know.”
The stealth attack. Or, good cop/bad cop.
“I don’t doubt that, Mom. And he thinks he knows what’s best for me. I guess he does, from his perspective, but that’s not my perspective.”
Dorothea’s eyes dropped to her knitting for a few long seconds.
“I can still fix this, you know. It’s not too late. Jimmy is heartbroken, but he loves you. He’ll come back around.”
“Mom, I already broke his heart once. I’m not going to put him through that a second time.”
Dorothea heard the conviction and the steel in her daughter’s voice. She put her knitting into a basket at her feet.
“When you’ve never wanted for anything, throwing it all away must sound romantic. But, not having enough to eat or pay your electric bill won’t be romantic at all.”
There it is. The steel fist inside the velvet glove.
“You’re saying that if I don’t marry Jimmy, but decide to go off to the school I’ve always dreamed of, then I’m completely cut off? That you and Dad won’t help me at all?”
Dorothea shrugged. “I know your father. He doesn’t like it when things don’t go his way.”
You’re good, Mom. Put it all on him and keep the blood off your hands. Might as well get it all out, then.
