Casey's Courage (24 page)

At another time, there would have been laughing, teasing, and talk about boys and parties. That is, if what she’d heard about girl sleepovers was true. Her life had never included a relationship with girls.

Making herself a bed on the couch in the big living room, Casey stretched out, allowing her tired muscles to relax. One-by-one, the girls returned wearing borrowed PJs. They sat near the fire to brush their hair dry while they talked with Casey.

She searched her brain for answers to their questions about why bad things happen; death, Heaven, fear, bargaining with God and a myriad of other serious concerns. Sometime after one in the morning, one of the girls said, “I’ve been so scared all day and now I feel so sad. I should be happy that we are all going to be okay, but right now I really just want to cry. I guess I’m just a big baby.”

“Then that makes two of us,” Casey said quietly. “I wasn’t even in the accident, but I’ve been struggling not to cry for hours. I guess the adrenaline ran out after the scary part passed. Now I feel sad and bone-tired.”

On impulse, she started talking about the cat she’d brought in from the cold that morning. By the time she finished, tears flowed freely. Young sob-soaked voices talked about the things that had scared them the most that day. Finally quiet settled over the group.

Exhausted and knowing the girls were too, Casey said, “We better get some sleep before people start showing up in the morning.”

Paige who seemed to be the natural leader of the group said, “Do you think it be would okay for us to drag mattresses in here and sleep together by the fire?”

“Sure, just be careful not to mess up something we can’t put back in shape in the morning,” Casey said.

With mattresses side-by-side and the fire burning low, a soft, sleepy voice said, “Let’s pray together before we go to sleep.” A murmur of assent rippled along the mattresses.

“What a perfect way to end the day. Would you go first?” Casey asked.

Every girl had her say to God. As the last one became quiet, Casey prayed, “Our Father, thank You for Your mercy and grace. While we know we have free will, we ask that You guide our decisions. Help us use the life You’ve granted us for good always. Amen.”

A chorus of soft “amens” came followed by “good-nights.” Silence fell. In minutes, sleep reigned amongst the teens. When Casey finally closed her eyes, her young roommates lay snuggled together like baby puppies, sound asleep.

Door chimes woke Casey the next morning. The deputy sheriff stood on the porch with a satisfied look on his face.

Casey’s husky-voiced “Good morning” set him talking.

“Morning, Ma’am, I have everybody’s stuff from the van.” He gestured to a mound of bags, coats, and a jumble of other things stacked on the porch. “Several volunteers and I went down expecting to spend the day gathering up bits and pieces all over the mountain side. But we ended up finding what we could either still in the crumpled van or within a few yards of it.”

He held out an official-looking bag to Casey. “All the purses and wallets are in here. If the girls could identify them and sign off that everything is intact or, if not, make a list of what’s missing, I think we’ll have this all cleared up.”

By the time he stopped to catch his breath, the sleepy haze had left Casey’s brain. “Give me a minute to get the girls awake.” But the girls were already standing behind her, unconcerned they were in pajamas. They were wide-awake and overjoyed to see their belongings.

The morning moved in fast-forward from that moment on. Ms. Heath and Marcy had been airlifted to the hospital in their hometown so they could be taken care of by their own doctors and be among friends and families. By noon, Casey had received sincere handshakes and thanks from parents, teary hugs from departing girls, and a quiet ‘thanks’ from Dr. Grant, who asked if she had a phone number where he could reach her.

Weary and eager to be alone, she prayed nothing happened on her way home this time. At the convenience store located at the intersection where her road came into the highway, she pulled in, filled the Jeep with gas, then bought cat food and kitty litter before making her way back up the snowy road and driveway. Not allowing herself to go inside the house until she had everything cleaned and hanging on the wall just like she found it the day before, she felt fatigue and pain set in.

She found the cat no longer stretched out flat on its side but curled into a comfortable ball, sound asleep and breathing easily. Replacing the sawdust with kitty litter and putting a bowl of food and another of water near the wicker basket, she spoke to the sleeping feline.

“You’ve got the right idea. Sleep away a dreary, snowy day. You’ll find me in that king-size bed if you need me.”

Armed with an apple and crackers, Casey lay back in a bathtub full of the hottest water she could tolerate. Letting the aches seep out of her body, she munched on her snack until the water cooled. Deep-down pain still persisted so she rummaged through her unpacked belongings and found her prescription pain medication. Washing the tiny gray pill down with water, she grimaced at her reflection. “I know I’ve handled worse pain without taking a pill, but I’m tired of being brave and capable. I want to sleep and sleep and sleep.”

Through the afternoon and all night she slept, oblivious to the tears that dampened her pillow. Late the next morning, she awoke to the unblinking stare of the marmalade cat sitting on its haunches at the foot of the bed.

Casey stretched, enjoying the absence of pain. “Is it all right for me to call you Lazarus while you’re here with me? It seems fitting.”

Casey wiggled out from under the covers, pulled on the heavy satin robe that matched the gown, and poked her feet into matching slippers.

“I hope you appreciate this fine attire. I bought all this stuff planning to impress Tres. If you hang around, you’ll hear a lot about him, so brace yourself. But for now, let’s go find something to eat. I’m starved. How about you?”

By late afternoon the clouds departed and a mild south wind warmed the air. The snow had disappeared like magic, leaving rivulets of water trickling down the mountain. Casey padded out onto the deck to watch the sun paint the wispy clouds. She watched the shades of pink, orange, red, yellow, and gold dancing in slow motion across the western sky until the sun dropped behind the horizon. Purple twilight set in. She wandered back into the house to find Lazarus stretched out on the warm carpet in front of the fireplace.

“I noticed you declined my invitation to go out on the deck. Are you remembering how cold you were out there?”

Before the end of that week, Dr. Grant called. After the amenities, he said, “As you know, I looked you up online the other day. Curiosity led me to read more about you and found out you are a certified counselor.” He didn’t give her time to respond.
“
We have a tremendous need
for
counselors
here. I do as much as
I can, as do most of the other pastors, but the need far
exceeds what we can do. We do grief counseling, marriage counseling, family counseling, and personal counseling that deal with everything imaginable with ages ranging from as young as five and going up into the seventies. I
understand you’re here for a vacation, but thought you might be willing to give a few hours a week to help us out.”

A lifetime of training to be nice to ministers put Casey in a bad spot, but she said, “Dr. Grant, I would be a poor counselor at this time. I’m here trying to get my life back on track after an accident that’s taken months to get over. Besides, I’ve had no practical experience—just lots of academics and a short internship.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Then this would be a great opportunity for you to get experience in a variety of areas. Never hurts to have something to add to your resume. Why don’t you come and sit in on a few sessions with me and see what it’s like in the trenches?”

Casey knew she had the time and also knew there were lots of hours in the day, hours that needed to be filled with something other than thinking and grieving about the life not-to-be with Tres. Probably more out of selfishness than desire to help others, she agreed to visit a few of the preacher’s sessions.

Casey’s intern work had been with college students, dealing with career plans, broken romances, financial difficulties, and such. When she found herself in the church parlor on a satin settee, being introduced as Dr. Mason to a group of ladies ranging from fifty to seventy years in age, she knew she was in trouble.

Dr. Grant relaxed in a wingback chair. “Dr. Mason is here on vacation but I persuaded her to visit with us today. Maybe she’ll bring us some fresh insight.”

The church secretary came to the door looking anxious. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Dr. Grant, but there is a man on the phone who says he must speak to you right now.”

He got up out of the chair. “I’ll try not to be too long.” He looked at the older women. “Please make Dr. Mason feel welcome.”

Nobody spoke as he left. Casey sensed discomfort in the room and knew she should try to relieve it, but wished she could leave with him. She decided honesty was the best policy here. “I don’t know about you but I always feel awkward in situations like this. Dr. Grant didn’t tell me what you’ve been discussing. Have all of you lost a loved one?” Casey wondered if that ‘emergency’ call had been a put-up deal. She had a feeling she’d been outfoxed by the good pastor.

“We’ve all lost our husbands in the past year,” one of the ladies said.

“You’re probably dealing
with
feeling pretty miserable at times. What’s the one thing you seem to miss the most about your husband?”

One demure, gray-haired lady cleared her throat. “There are so many wonderful things, it would be impossible to pick out just one.”

The rangy, rawboned woman with a braid down her back spoke up. “I don’t know that I can think of one thing I miss the most, but I damn sure know what I don’t miss is Henry’s flabby body parts pressed up against me with his hands pinching and poking and groping like we were hormone-crazed teenagers. I know his mind played tricks on him so I probably shouldn’t say such things, but he made me sick.”

A soft-spoken, faded, tiny woman with a halo of white hair framing her face, said, “Oh, Vida, I can’t believe you said that. You’ve never in all the time I’ve known you said anything but how wonderful Henry was.”

“Well, he was wonderful in lots of ways, but he always had sex on his mind. Maybe it was because he was out with the cattle breeding so much of the time, but I couldn’t even give him a little kiss on the cheek without him grabbing my backside or a boob and wanting to make out.”

“Well, he was one handsome cowboy,” the woman Casey remembered as Nell said. “Kind of like the pictures you see on those romance paperbacks.”

“My Henry was handsome but not much in the romance department. Got most of his learning in the pasture, if you know what I mean.” She hesitated. “But he was a good provider. Can’t fault him there.”

Casey may as well have been invisible as the ladies became engrossed in their discussion.

“George was really special in the romance department,” Nell said. “But he didn’t have any money sense. We both worked our fingers to the bone for forty years. He always said he’d take care of the finances, but when he died, I got the shock of my life. He’d lied to me about everything. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to pay off all the debts he left.”

“Oh, Nell, will you have to sell your home?” the demure little lady said.

Casey didn’t try to redirect the discussion. The women were interacting and sharing about things that had been on their minds but had not said aloud before. Sex and money, taboo subjects usually, once said aloud got a good airing for almost an hour.

When Dr. Grant returned, the discussion shut down, like someone had turned off a faucet. Casey sensed that discomfort in the room again, but for a very different reason. The women were embarrassed about what they had said.

“I’m afraid we got side-tracked and wasted most of the time on ‘girl talk.’ I didn’t realize until just now that you had an agenda typed out for us to follow,” Casey said as she picked up a typed list he had placed on the table beside his chair as he left.

“That’s all right. I’m sorry I was so long. Maybe ‘girl-talk’ was not a bad idea. I don’t see as many tears as we sometime have. Is there anything special we need to spend the next few minutes discussing?”

The woman who had talked about her Henry said, “I’d like to ask Dr. Mason back. We’ve enjoyed having her.” A ripple of agreement went around the room. One or two of the ladies grinned at her in a conspiratorial manner. Thus began Casey’s volunteer counseling work in a place where she had come to hide.

By the time the next snow came two weeks later, Casey had established a regular schedule for going to do counseling sessions with several different groups. But her favorite group was the grieving widows, who were no longer grieving in silence, but were sharing openly and helping each other get their lives back together. The most challenging sessions were with young women who had been abused by a husband or a boyfriend.

She also had settled into a comfortable relationship with the house and the cat. Her laptop and reading therapy machine were set up on the desk in the office area on the mezzanine. A small bedroom and bath were upstairs but most of the area was open office space that looked out over the living area downstairs. The walls were lined with bookshelves loaded with a wide variety of books—books she had never before had time to read—mysteries, romances, travel logs, how-to’s, inspirational, and so on. She’d even found some books her absent host had written, graphic with short sentences. Casey decided she could use them for reading practice after doing exercises on the hateful machine that recorded her every digression and false start. She told herself, and Lazarus, a racy book might be exciting enough to make her read longer and give her more practice. She said lots of things to fend off the seemingly purposeless future that stretched out in front of her.

Her damp pillow almost every morning told of tears that came at night, when her defenses were down. But each morning brought new resolve. She explained the situation to Lazarus after she had paced the floor for what seemed like hours one day.