Cassie's Hope (Riders Up) (22 page)

He exhaled through
pursed lips and said, “You’ve got your meeting with your girlfriends tonight.
That’s good. Perhaps we need a little break from each other. Damn, I want all
of this horse drugging stuff done so we can concentrate on where we’re going.”

Cassie’s skin
crawled as a wave of panic washed over her. The sooner they finished their
investigation, the sooner she’d have to sort herself out. Would Clint try to force
her to make some big decisions before she was ready? Her shoulders drooped. Trying
to keep any telltale sign of emotion from her voice, she responded, “Maybe a
little separation would be good for us. Things are tumbling awfully fast.”

The pain on his
face nearly crushed her. She placed her arms around him. Pressing her hands
against his neck, she rose to meet his lips. She brushed them lightly. He made
no attempt to deepen the kiss. Pulling away, she whispered, “I’ll miss you. But
we need a little space. How about breakfast tomorrow morning at The Country
Café near the track?”

“Fine. I’ll be
there.”

He stalked out the
door. She closed the door softly behind him, turned and leaned against it. Had
she made a mistake? Should she have insisted on sorting things out now and not
run the risk of them festering? They both would have to trust the process.

How many times had
she said that to other people having relationship problems? She needed more
time. But time was running out.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Cassie, I know you’re
in a quandary, but maybe we can start with a simple question,” Susan Jackson
said. “Do you love him?”

Wrapping her arms
tightly around her body, Cassie sat with a leg tucked under her on Traci Steele’s
love seat. It was Tuesday evening. She and her three friends sat in a circle in
the living room of Traci’s upscale Near North high-rise apartment overlooking
Lake Michigan. While her own living standard was considerably lower than that
of her lawyer friend, this was her life
—
urban,
sophisticated, sleek, cosmopolitan.

Not able to give
Susan a quick answer, Cassie stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows
overlooking the lake. She wasn’t ignoring her friends, and they knew it. They
honored her need for silence and space. Her situation with Clint and his kids
had been the focus of the evening. After a brief check in from everyone over
the soup and salad dinner, the group had turned to Cassie. This was her night,
and they were there to support her in any way she wanted.

She saw lights
blinking on a ship probably several miles out from the shoreline. She wondered
if it was coming or going.

Cassie turned to
face her friends. Each watched her attentively, but no one made an effort to
speak. They must look like a strange quartet to the outside observer. Susan. Prim
and proper Susan, dressed in a stylish pink and white pantsuit, as if she had
stepped out of the pages of a designer catalogue. Ashton. Ashton of the golden
hoop earrings and longish red fingernails. The dark skinned woman wore a
wraparound skirt and a silk blouse and there was always that ever present
captivating smile, as if she was aware of a secret and just about ready to
share it. Traci. High cheek bones, long tan legs. White shorts and an old
Harvard sweatshirt gave her an air of cool understated beauty, matching her
personality. And Cassie, herself, stood there before them in jeans, comfortable
riding boots and a baby blue tank top. What an odd assortment of friends. And
yet how right they were for each other. They’d cried together and laughed
together. They’d lifted each other up and were also quite capable of holding
each other accountable.

Taking a deep
breath, Cassie shoved her hands in her back pockets. “Okay,” she began, “it’s
not going to surprise you that I do love him.”

“Well, hurrah!”
Susan squealed.

“Good for you,
Cass,” Traci said.

“I’m glad you can
admit it to yourself,” Ashton chimed in, lifting her glass of wine.

“But now what?” Cassie
groaned, slumping back down on the love seat. “It’s one thing to love him. It’s
another to talk about marriage, which I know he wants. And it’s very much
another matter entirely to consider being an instant mother.”

“Ah,” sighed
Ashton, “we’re back to the old bugaboo of instant motherhood.”

“Yes.”

“But the kids are
so cute,” Susan said. “We all enjoyed them so much at the picnic Sunday. Sammy
is a delight and Lester is such a little man. How can you resist them?”

Cassie studied
Susan for a moment. It was less than two months since Susan had thought Dirk
Johnson was perfect for her. Now she was convinced motherhood was just right? “The
kids are great. They’re not necessarily the angels you saw at the farm on
Sunday, but they’re great kids. The problem isn’t them—it’s me.”

“What do you mean?”
Traci asked. “Spell it out. I’m failing to understand the dilemma here. You
love the guy. The kids are great. So you get married and live happily ever
after. And we hope you’ll continue to come to our group.”

“Oh, I’ll always be
part of this group, no matter what happens.” Cassie sat silently for a long
while, tugging on the hem of her tank top. When she looked up, her vision was
clouded by tears. She caught Ashton’s eye. “You remember when we studied
childhood development…the theory goes that a child will develop naturally and
well if it has a
good enough
mother.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’m
not sure that I can be a good enough mother.”

“What?” Susan and
Traci gasped in unison.

Ashton got up, sat
next to Cassie, and draped an arm around her. “You know, girl, I’ve known you
for some six years or so. You sometimes surprise me with what you have to say. I
admit I was a bit shocked when you left your job to go train that horse. I
supported you then, and I still do. But what you just said is the biggest crock
of bull that I’ve heard from you or anybody else. You’re a natural mother. I
certainly didn’t hear Lester or Sammy complaining. Where did you get this idea
of not being a good enough mother?”

“I don’t know. I
guess it’s always been there. And the kids only know me a little, and then
part-time. And they want a mother so badly, I doubt they’re the best judges.”

“I think you’re
wrong about that,” Susan said. “Kids may be the
best
judge. I always
thought I had good parents. Some of my friends thought they had poor parents,
and from what I could see they were probably right.”

Traci uncrossed her
legs and leaned forward. “Cassie, we’ve been friends for a long time—since
college. We’ve helped each other through a lot of thick and thin and I’ve never
had an inkling how you felt about motherhood. If we’re going to be helpful, I
think you’ve got to tell us more. We can’t just change your mind by saying
well
of course
you’d make a super mom, even though we know you would. So what
gives? Where is this coming from?”

“Well, what about
you Traci? Your mother died when you were young. How have you learned to be a
good mother?”

“I don’t know where
I learned it. I don’t even know that I will be a good mother, but not knowing
won’t keep me from trying if the right man ever shows up.” Traci stood up to
retrieve the wine bottle and fill glasses. “Is that what this is all about? You
didn’t have a mother through most of your childhood, and therefore you question
your own ability to be a mother?”

Cassie grimaced. “Your
mother died, Traci. Mine walked away—abandoned me and my father. How do you
ever shake that? Her blood runs through my veins. How can I be certain I will
do a better job? And I never want to do to a child what she did to me.”

“Wow. That is a
load,” Ashton said. “No wonder you’re shaking like a leaf. Maybe I would too,
if I had your experience. I didn’t. I was surrounded by loving parents and a
large extended family, but I don’t know if that’ll make me a better parent. And
when the time comes, I hope to share that role with a father. Clint strikes me
as a fine father, loving yet capable of saying
no
when necessary, and
doing so in a kind manner.”

“Oh, Clint is a
fabulous father. That makes it even worse. Maybe I won’t live up to his
expectations of a mother.”

“Your dad loves you
very much,” Susan said, with her own eyes tearing up. “I only knew your aunt
briefly, but she seemed to care for you a lot.”

“She did the best
she could. She never had any kids of her own, so I guess I was kind of the
experiment. We both learned together, I imagine. As far as Dad goes, I know he
loves me. And he’s probably taught me more about caring for living things than
anyone, but he wasn’t a mother.”

 “What about your
group home work?” Traci asked. “When I’ve been by there to see you, some of
them called you Mama Cass. And I doubt they ever heard of the
Mamas and the
Papas
. The kids seem to respond very well to you.”

“Don’t get me
wrong,” Cassie said sharply. “I’m a damn good kid worker. But that’s different.
I get to go home when the day is done. The kids move on with their lives. I’m
just a blip on their life screens. It’s a different level of commitment.”

“Ah, the
C
word,” Ashton chided gently. “I wondered when we would get around to it. Commitment!
Oh, my god, commitment. Yeah, parenting is a long term commitment—for parents
who stay together and for parents who split. But not for your mother. She just
ran away. Funny, usually it’s the kids who we think of as the runaways, but
your mother definitely was a runaway.

“Are you a runaway,
Cassie? Have you ever run from anything important in your entire life? How many
daughters or sons would have run from your father as hard and fast as they
could when he asked them to take a leave of absence to help him chase a long-held
dream?

“How many folks,
including social workers and many a mom, would have run away from sixteen year
old Janice when she got pregnant, thumbed her nose at the system, and told
everyone to bug out of her life? You hung in there. She wasn’t able to drive
you away. And in the end you were a huge help getting her out of the projects
and into a situation where she could make something out of life for herself and
for her daughter. You helped her become more than a good enough mom. So what
are you running away from? That’s what I want to know. And I’m prepared to sit
here as long as it takes to find out.”

Cassie nodded and
stood. Again she walked to window. All she could see now was driving rain. It
had its own beauty, but she longed for that late night view of the familiar
harbor lights. Ashton was right. She was running, or at least in danger of
running.

Her childhood hadn’t
been terribly unhappy. True, there was a lot of traveling from place to place. Her
father could have left her behind, but he didn’t. He’d kept her with him as
much as he could and had provided well for her needs. And her aunt had kept a
home for all of them. She was never one Cassie felt comfortable confiding in,
but then not all mothers probably were, either. She’d always been able to talk
with her dad. And he usually had a good listening ear. When she was down, he
would always find some Irish tale to cheer her up. When she was elated, he
usually found time to celebrate with her. And when a horse won, he would twirl
his little girl about as if the best possible thing in the world had just
happened for both of them.

There was no
question that she’d had an inadequate mother, regardless of what her dad might
now say. Even so, she’d grown up in a far from inadequate family. She’d been
taught values and resiliency, how to dream and how to work hard, how to laugh
and how to love. Maybe it was time to name the beast and move on.

She walked back to
join her friends. With her hands clenched at her hips, she said, “You’re right.
I’ve been running. Running away from myself, as if that’s even possible. I
am
scared of being like my mother. But you’ve helped me see that’s not inevitable.”
A trace of a smile crossed her lips. “It may not even be likely.

“So I’ll quit
running. I’ll try to turn around and face it, whatever that means. But I’m
still scared. And I don’t know what’s going to come of all of this. But you’ve
given me much to think about.” She paused. “Thanks. Thanks for everything.”

As was their
custom, her friends quickly surrounded her in a circle hug. Tears were matched
with laughter.

- o -

By mid-morning
Wednesday, Clint sat in a comfortable chair on the O’Hanlon farmhouse porch
swapping stories and dreams with Tug O’Hanlon. Cassie had called him just
before midnight Tuesday, after picking up her phone messages on her return from
Chicago. “Raul asked if I can come in first thing in the morning. They just
found Daisy and pumped her stomach—she tried to kill herself. I think I’d
better go. This could take most of the day. Can we do breakfast Thursday
instead?”

So they’d agreed to
meet at the track kitchen for breakfast the following morning. He didn’t
question her decision at all. He would have done the same. Seldom had the group
home staff called during her leave, but this was one of those exceptional days.

Clint regretted
that it had to be on his time. He also was uneasy about the strained words they’d
exchanged the day before. He usually thought of himself as a patient man, a
very patient man. But he’d recently discovered that jealousy could flow very hot
through his veins. He’d never felt that way about any woman, not even his
children’s mother.

Although he enjoyed
talking with Cassie’s father, he didn’t like being separated from Cassie for
even a few hours. Soon he’d be going back to the ranch, and then all they would
have would be the telephone and e-mail. He fidgeted, wondering how she was
handling the trauma of her day.

“So you think if we
bring in some of the California breeding lines, we’ll strengthen our foals?”
asked the older man, scrunched up on the edge of his seat.

“Given the breeding
history you’ve told me about, it should,” Clint reasoned, dragging his
attention back to the white-haired man across from him. Discussing horses would
at least provide a welcome distraction from worrying about Cassie. “The Pulpit
and his lines should add some vigor to your foal crops. Could give you some
interesting nicks in the future.”

Sipping his coffee,
Clint leaned back and glanced with approval at the greenery of the yard and pastures
stretching out from the dull red barn. “If you’d want,” he offered, “I could
represent you at the Barretts Fall Sale in October. There’ll likely be some
fine yearlings and well bred broodmares coming through the ring there.”