Turning Point

by Lara Zielinsky

  Brenna knew it too. Noting his approach, she stepped from behind the prize table and listened as he spoke to her quietly. She frowned but nodded, then stepped to the center of the room and stood by the decimated food table. “Could I have everyone’s attention?”

  Cassidy smiled painfully. It wasn’t Jakes’ voice, but Brenna’s own rich contralto that quelled the mayhem of the room. The effect, however, was the same: All stopped and turned their eyes toward their leader.

  “Has everyone been having fun?” Cheers from the children filled the room. “I’m glad. But now, it’s time to say goodbye.” Moans and groans and some tears came.

  A pair of arms slipped around Cassidy’s thighs. A young boy had latched on. She dropped a gentle hand to his dark hair and brushed the tight curls, causing him look up. His chin pressed into her thigh muscle as he hugged more tightly. She asked, “Would you like a buddy to walk with you to the bus?”

  He nodded but said nothing. Cassidy guessed he was just about Ryan’s age and took his hand in hers, separating him from her legs so she could move. “Come on, Ryan,” she called out, drawing her son away from the abandoned game tables. He ran up and caught her other hand. The boys eyed each other around her hips. “This is my son, Ryan,” she said. “What’s your name?”

  “Isaiah.”

  She smiled and patted his shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Isaiah.”

  Walking toward the exit, she noticed all the others in the cast and even the executives found themselves in similar situations. She shrugged at Cameron, who was trying to prevent a little girl from climbing into his arms. One of the guest actors swung a boy onto his back, and Cassidy shook her head in amusement. Terry had a boy on the end of each arm. Both looked to be about eight and wore glasses, clearly very taken by the brainy member of the Time Squad. Finishing her survey, she turned her gaze to Brenna, who had a boy and a girl clasping each hand.

  The auburn-haired woman smiled back and started to lead the way out. “All right, everyone, to the bus.”

  Filled with sugar, the children skipped and dragged their companions along the set interiors. They bounced with enthusiasm through the Vortex set and scampered about, shouting to one another as they separated into a “good guys” and “bad guys” game.

  Cassidy stood amid the rest of the cast, arms crossed over her chest, watching the children run around, laughing and even cheering on her own son, as Ryan stood in the middle of the transversal platform and, clearly mimicking Susan Jakes, ordered, “Go!” She felt eyes on her and looked to the side to find Brenna studying her, a puzzled look on her face. Raising her eyebrows and nodding toward the melee, Cassidy expressed her amusement without words.

  Brenna shifted, and Cassidy, thinking she was going to push through the crowd toward her, felt a rush of anticipation. However, the other woman did not join her. Instead Brenna grinned and turned away. Holding her hands like a megaphone around her mouth, she ordered in a perfect “Jakes” voice, “At-TEN-SHUN!”

  Forty-three children ground to an instant halt.

  “Time’s up. Move em out.”

  Their wide eyes fixed on the transformed Lanigan, who suddenly appeared, with every gesture, to be the Time Trails leader. It startled Cassidy, who was surŹprised to realize that before now she was not sure she could have told the difference between the two. She was really getting to know the actress separate from her charŹacter. The revelation made her smile.

  The children quickly lined up and began marching like a drunken military plaŹtoon out the doors held open by Terry and Will. The line broke when the children spotted the bus idling. They raced to get seats.

  Snagging Ryan, who tried to follow the other children onto the bus, Cassidy spun around with him in her arms and almost slammed into Brenna. The other woman caught her before either of them could stumble. Cassidy complimented her restoration of order. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  “Commanders skill,” Brenna said with a grin. Cassidy felt the woman’s hand just barely brushing her own arm where she held Ryan securely against her hip. Looking at Ryan, Brenna added, “Jakes has taught me a few things over the years.”

  “You, too, hmm?” Cassidy smiled. She turned around to watch the last of the children escorted onto the bus by the volunteers. After passing blown kisses and hand slaps through the open windows, the cast members slowly trailed back toward the soundstages. Cassidy squared her shoulders and turned around.

  “Where are you going?” Brenna asked.

  “To help clean up.”

  “I can do that. You should change and take Ryan home.”

  “We’re a team,” Terry said, coming up within earshot. “Besides, more hands get it done faster.”

  Brenna looked from Terry to Cassidy and back, then over his shoulder to Rachelle, Will, and Rich standing around expectantly. “Well, I guess that settles that.”

  “Commander’s overruled,” Rich Paulson teased with a grin.

  The actors and Brenna’s sons trooped back to the tent, grabbing trash cans from behind the set walls along the way.

  Cassidy set Ryan down next to the food. The tired boy was asleep before the group finished. Within an hour, the grounds behind the soundstage looked as though the party had never taken place. Props had been returned to the Property Department, and the tents were pulled down, bundled, and delivered to the catering truck. Tied trash bags stuffed the bins outside against the walls of the building in wait for the night cleaning crew. The tables — folded up, thanks to Rich and Terry — were stacked inside the soundstage against an interior wall, and everyone was given an assortment of the leftovers.

  Balancing Ryan on her left hip, Cassidy stepped into her trailer and put the bagged leftovers into her mini-fridge, keeping one caramel apple out for Ryan. CareŹfully she set the boy, still sleeping, on the far cushion of the couch. Then, with relief, she sat next to him and propped her feet over the arm, preparing to push off her

  shoes..

  “I told you that you should have taken them off.”

  The voice startled Cassidy. She hadn’t known anyone else had walked to the trailers. She distinctly remembered Terry and Rachelle heading for the makeup room, Brenna had not only come out to the trailers, however, but she now stood silŹhouetted in Cassidy’s open doorway. Surprising her further, Brenna reached out and, wrapping warm fingers around her ankle, tugged off Cassidy’s shoe.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Cassidy reflexively caught first one tossed shoe, then the other, as Brenna quickly removed them. Dropping her feet to the floor and flexing them, Cassidy bent over and rubbed her toes. “Thank you. Did you need something?” She started to rise.

  Brenna noticed Ryan on the couch then. She seemed to catch herself before bending over and stroking his hair. Cassidy froze, warily watching the other woman’s manner with her son and wondering what had Brenna so preoccupied. It seemed she might never learn when Brenna abruptly straightened and fidgeted.

  “You’re probably anxious to get home. It can wait.” Brenna turned to the door.

  “No. Go ahead and sit. I just need to put this up and change into something else.”

  “But…?” She glanced pointedly at Ryan.

  “I doubt he’ll wake up,” she assured.

  “All right.” Brenna stepped back into Cassidy’s trailer and closed the door. “I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Go ahead. Ask.” Brenna moved to the couch, and Cassidy watched her drape an idle hand over Ryan’s back.

  Ducking away to change, she heard the question, “Would you be interested in joining me at the next event?”

  Popping her head back out, she asked, “What?”

  “Well, I was just…You looked like you had a good time tonight. We…I thought…” She finished in a rush, “There’s an overnight camping trip in the mounŹtains the weekend before Thanksgiving.”

  Turning away to finish changing, Cassidy collected her thoughts. When she reappeared, she wore a gray
pullover sweater, jeans, and Nikes. “Don’t you have enough chaperones?”

  Brenna shook her head. “It’s not that. Not just that,” she corrected. “I…thought you and Ryan might enjoy yourselves.” At his name, Ryan stirred slightly. Brenna missed Cassidy’s surprised reaction as.she concentrated for a moment on gently rubŹbing circles over the small boy’s back. “He’s sweet, Cass.”

  “Ryan could come?”

  Cassidy’s response drew Brenna’s eyes back to her. She sounded shocked. “Of course.” What was so odd about inviting her son along on a camping trip? Cassidy continued to study her. Brenna had felt less scrutiny from the children patting her hips and asking why her pants didn’t have pockets. She shifted self-consciously and cleared her throat. “Um. Well?”

  Cassidy straightened her shoulders and leaned back on her palms on her writŹing desk. Brenna likened the posture to surrender. “Sure, we’d like to join the trip.”

  Brenna exhaled in relief, suddenly aware how much she had hoped for a posiŹtive response. “It’ll be fun and relaxing. We’re planning s’mores, campfire songs, and storytelling.”

  “Singing, hmm?” Cass smiled.

  “You have not lived until you’ve heard all fourteen verses to ‘I lost my poor

  meatball’ sung by a group of sleep-deprived kids.” Brenna chuckled.

  “Sounds like fun. It’s settled then.”

  Brenna opened the door as Cassidy lifted Ryan. The boy settled against his mother’s generous chest with a mumbled grunt. Positively endearing, Brenna thought.

  Chapter 8

  Thomas watched his mother at the stove stirring a saucepan of sizzling chicken strips. When the phone rang on the wall next to her, startling her, she stepped away from the food, caught his eye, and gestured for him to continue with the preparation while she grabbed the cordless handset.

  “Oh, Kevin. How’s Mount Clemens?”

  Recognizing his mom was speaking to her husband, Thomas glanced over his shoulder and watched her. She tucked the receiver between her ear and shoulder and fished in the silverware drawer for the flatware.

  “No,” she said into the phone. “You caught us at lunch.” There was a pause as she listened, fishing for the butter knife. Coming up with it, she spoke again into the receiver. “Yes, I know it’s late, but I had gardening to do.”

  She moved out of earshot to the dining room table, circling it and laying the settings while still talking. Thomas studied the chicken, moved it off the burner, and stirred the stewed tomatoes, checking the pasta with a quick taste. He moved to the cutting board, intermittently watching his mother while he chopped the salad ingreŹdients. His mom suddenly sat down at the table and grabbed the handset firmly off her shoulder. The raised volume of her voice made it possible for him to hear.

  “No. I told you I wouldn’t.”

  Uncomfortable, Thomas concentrated on his task, trying to ignore the converŹsation even as his mother’s voice lowered in volume but intensified in emotion. He stopped cutting and looked at the salad ingredients. The cucumber, his mother’s favorite addition, was missing. Leaning into the refrigerator, he found the hydrator empty. “Hey, Mom, there’s no cukes.”

  Silence greeted his statement. Returning to the cutting board, he looked into the dining room and saw her still sitting. The phone was on the table; it was her face that concerned him. She had it covered with one hand. The other hand rested against the tablecloth in a balled fist. “Mom? Are you okay?”

  She was still for a breath, then moved her hand away from her face and quickly stood, turning her back on him and walking down the corridor toward her bedroom.

  In that split second, Thomas realized his mother had been crying. He looked down at the phone she had abandoned on the tabletop. Picking it up, he found it had been turned off. A sizzling sound caught his ear. He returned the phone to the wall before finishing the meal prep. Just as he was placing the salad and three bowls on the table, James wandered in from the driveway, carrying his basketball under his arm.

  “Hey, bro. Where’s Mom?”

  “Her room. Help me finish here?”

  “Sure thing. She reading?”

  Thomas shrugged. He did not think so, but he decided against sharing his supŹpositions. James set the basketball down and collected the pasta bowl, taking it out to the table. When he returned to the kitchen, Thomas was pouring sodas. “Take the other two bowls. I’ve got the drinks.”

  James looked toward the bedroom hall. “Aren’t you going to call her?”

  Thomas shook his head. “I don’t think she’s too hungry.” Though James was only two years younger, Thomas recalled their parents’ divorce more vividly. The

  phone call worried him. When the three of them had left Mount Clemens two weeks earlier, he sensed something had changed between his mother and Kevin but had thought little of it. Now he was concerned. His mom did not cry. His silence tipped James. “Okay, so tell me what happened?” With a sigh, Thomas confided, “Kevin called. I think they had a fight.”

  Tucked where they were in the kitchen talking, Thomas and James did not see their mother return to the dining room. Settling into her chair at the table, she heard the end of their conversation. She acted surprised, though, when they came out with the glasses and the pasta dish.

  “Mom?” James sat in his seat on her right against the sideboard. Thomas took the seat to her left.

  She grasped their hands, smiled, and dropped her head. “Grace?” Thomas offered the prayer, though she could tell he was still studying her.

  “Thank you, Lord, for the fullness of your bounty. Amen.”

  “Amen,” she echoed, as James did the same. Thomas did not let go of her hand immediately. Brenna squeezed his hand, then tugged hers free, picking up her fork. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  “Anytime, Mom.”

  “Were you planning to go out tonight?” She looked from one to the other, wonŹdering what they would say.

  As James started to respond, Brenna caught a quick head shake from Thomas that silenced him. Thomas drew her attention and filled in quickly, “No, Mom. What would you like to do?”

  Touched, Brenna almost relented and excused the boys to their own fun, but then she remembered the upcoming camping trip. “Why don’t we go get some more things for the campout?”

  “Hey, that would be cool,” Thomas agreed.

  She smiled. He had been excited about the trip since agreeing to take some of the adults and older kids up into the ridge for a guided climb.

  “So where do you want to go?” Thomas asked. “I need a few more things for the climb anyway.”

  “There’s a new warehouse-style store on Riordan Avenue.”

  James was surprised. “That’s all the way into Alameda.”

  “I know.”

  “Oh, okay. Sure, whatever,” James recovered.

  “You don’t have to go,” she allowed.

  “Maybe we can take you out to the movies on the way back,” Thomas suggested.

  Brenna smiled tightly at Thomas’ concern. He had obviously overheard more than she’d thought. No typical teen would offer to take his mother out to a movie. She grasped his hand. “Maybe we’ll just rent something.”

  Lunch was finished quickly, and the dishes put in the dishwasher before the trio piled into the SUV. Thomas asked to drive. Brenna kissed him and laughed. “Not on my life.”

  Thomas was smiling as he slid into the front passenger seat and buckled up. Clearly he thought his mission had been accomplished.

  “So what stuff do you think we ought to get for the kids to do?” she asked as they left the neighborhood and merged onto the highway toward Alameda.

  Cassidy studicd her son, asleep beside her, as they lay on her bed for his afterŹnoon nap. The radio played softly an ahe lightly rubbed his back with one hand and read script pages in the lamplight. His copy of Where the Wild Things Are lay across the covers just beyond her right hand. Putting down her script, she reached for the colorfully
illustrated book, lifted it, and studied the cover for a long moment.

  Opening the pages, she perused the pictures, but her mind wouldn’t stay on the fanciful monsters, instead drifting constantly to the woman who had presented the gift. Then there was last night’s unexpected invitation to go camping.

  Lightly brushing her fingers through Ryan’s hair, she murmured, “Camping, huh? I think you’ll like it. Certainly you’ll have a lot of fun with the other kids.” She leaned back, looking at the ceiling. “I wonder if Brenna will bring her sons.”

  She wondered if the teenagers found camping fun. She thought about the last time she had ventured into the mountains. About eight years earlier she had gone on a winter ski trip to a Denver cabin with a group of college friends. She remembered spending most of the slope time on her rear end, pride damaged more than anything else. The nights had consisted of keeping warm under blankets that barely covered anything. Efforts to keep warm had led to other interesting pastimes.

  Maybe she ought to call Misty and catch up.

  Mentally cataloging her camping supplies, Cassidy realized she would need several things. A glance toward the clock revealed that it was only one-thirty. Maybe she could cut Ryan’s nap short at two, drive to the new Sports Warehouse on Riordan, and pick up what they needed. Until then, she decided, she could read the latest script. She wasn’t in any frame of mind to memorize lines, but at least she could give it a read-through and get a feel for the overall picture. After last week’s surprise, Cassidy was leery of her character taking on anything else right away.

  A while later, satisfied that Chris Hanssen was back in the realm of standard sci-fi fare, she reached the closing scene and set the script aside. A glance at the clock prompted her to wake Ryan. “Come on, buddy,” she whispered. “We’re going to get you some camping things.”

  “Camping?”

  His green eyes blinked open, and she smiled, kissing his cheek. “Yes. Do you remember Ms. Lanigan?”