Mourning Becomes Cassandra (22 page)

“I’ve got to trash somebody’s heart tonight,” Daniel responded, deadpan. He sat back, looking like he was debating whether or not to let me sidetrack him. My wary expression must have decided him because he said, “Actually, I was going to ask you if you felt like playing a game of Scrabble.”

I stared. “Are you joking?”

“When am I ever not serious with you, Cass?”

“You mean besides all the time?” I felt relieved, at any rate, to hear the teasing note back in his voice. Before having this uncomfortable sex conversation, I would never have imagined I would welcome that sound. Scrabble was tempting, although it meant another hour hanging out with him. By his own admission he was no expert. A smile played around my mouth, which didn’t escape his notice.

“I thought you might be interested,” he said mildly. “You never do pass up a chance to crush me.”

A crash downstairs startled me.

Sitting back on my heels, I brushed stray hairs out of my face with the back of my rubber-gloved hand and listened.

Thumping, followed by laughing shrieks and giggling. Good Lord, please don’t let that be what I think it is.

It being my week, I had been on my hands and knees, scrubbing the floor of Daniel’s shower stall in the Lean-To, a bucket of soapy water beside me and a scouring pad in my hand. The towels and sheets were tumble-drying downstairs, but thankfully I had already made the bed. I say thankfully because, if I guessed right, Daniel and some girlfriend were dropping in for a lunchtime quickie. Please please please don’t let them come upstairs!

Getting noiselessly to my feet, I peeked around the bathroom door. Still downstairs. Could I possibly sneak out without being noticed? I couldn’t lurk in the bathroom and risk being found after having heard everything—should I hide in the closet? Under the bed? Picturing myself flat under the bed while they bounced around on top was too farcical, and heaven knew I never moved the bed to vacuum. All the dust under there might make me sneeze at an inopportune time, and being discovered under the bed sounded even more humiliating than being discovered in the shower stall. Nor did I want to be forced to hear the entire proceedings. At least in the closet I could shut the door to muffle the ruckus, but what if Daniel wanted to put on a fresh shirt after his exertions?

There was nothing to do but try to make my escape.

While the giggling and groaning and bumping around continued downstairs, I quickly and silently stripped off my rubber gloves and stashed them with the bucket under the sink. Slipping off my shoes, I stuffed them in the pocket of my apron and tiptoed out to the landing.

“Oh, Daniel,” someone moaned appreciatively. “Oh,
Daniel!
” Yeah, I thought, I’d like to Oh-Daniel him for putting me in this ludicrous situation.

Step by step I crept down the stairs. It sounded like the action was happening in the kitchen—unfortunate, since the only door in and out of the Lean-To was there, but fortunate in that a wall separated that room from the stairs. On the last step I peeped one eye around the wall, only to retreat a split-second later, my fist crammed in my mouth so I wouldn’t laugh out loud. From my vantage point, Daniel had his back to me—he was ripping off his button-down shirt but was otherwise still clothed, thank God—and he had deposited his long, lithe, fake-redheaded girlfriend on the kitchen counter, her leg hitched over his hip. In contrast to Daniel, she had hardly a stitch left on, though articles of clothing formed a trail back to the door, in case she should forget the way out. He was kissing his way down her neck while she growled and purred and whimpered like a one-woman children’s petting zoo. If they weren’t going to make it out of the kitchen, this was going to be a problem.

Dropping to a crawl, I scurried across the floor and hid behind the island. Although the door had shut behind them—the crash I’d heard, presumably—the lock wasn’t turned, and maybe if I waited for my moment I could zip out and close it oh-so-quietly. It only took me another ten seconds to decide that this woman was so darned noisy they probably wouldn’t hear anything if the ceiling caved in, and I’d better go for it. Scrunching my apron up around my waist I began squat-creeping toward the door and had just emerged from behind the island, reaching silently for the door knob, when I felt an insidious vibrating in the back pocket of my jeans. In that position, there was no way I could get my phone out of my pocket to shut it off before I heard the ringtone building: dah dah dah dah DAH DAH DAH DAH dah dah dah dah DAH DAH DAH!!! Stupid Beethoven’s
Ode to Joy
on my stupid cell phone that is only charged ten days out of any given month, and this had to be one of them? I slapped my hand over my pocket, but the sudden silence told me I needn’t bother. “Dah dah dah dah DAH DAH DAH DAH dah dah dah dah DAH… DAH DAH!!!” sang my phone again, enjoying my mortification.

“Are you planning on getting that, Cass?” came the dreaded voice. Cringing, I turned to look up at them. Daniel was leaning over the counter, bare-chested at this point, and the girlfriend peering over his shoulder, outraged. He was rather flushed, but I had no way of knowing if that was from his recent labors or embarrassment or anger or all three. Those piercing blue eyes traveled from my disheveled hair, swept back under a red bandanna, to my ratty World Vision t-shirt to my gingham half-apron with shoes stuffed in the pocket.

Wordlessly, I rose to my feet with my back to them and dug my trilling phone from my pocket. Nadina. I quickly switched it off. “Excuse me,” I croaked. Before anyone else had to think of something to say or do, I was out the door and across the deck without a backward glance.

“Dude, why do you look so thrashed today?” Nadina demanded, when she met me outside the school a few hours later. I was still in my housecleaning get-up, minus the gingham apron which was stuffed in my purse, having fled the Palace as quickly as I could yank a coat from the closet and pull my shoes back on. I hadn’t had the presence of mind to grab some leftovers on my way out, so my stomach was growling, but it had seemed more urgent at the time just to get out of there.

I didn’t know why I felt so perturbed, but I had been walking the big gravel loop at the park ever since, trying to figure out what my problem was. To be sure, it was awkward being an unwilling witness to other people’s sexual shenanigans, but Daniel could hardly be upset with me for it, since I had just been innocently cleaning his place, and I’d never before known him to pop in midday for a tryst. Besides, before my stupid phone exposed me, I had been trying to sneak out for the dignity of all.

Was it because I had somehow expected something different from him, after our conversation Friday night? This troublesome question had halted me in my tracks, my third time around the loop. Of course I hadn’t imagined Daniel would hear my opinion on the meaning of sex and suddenly have his eyes enlightened, but, to be honest with myself, I had hoped it might make him reflect just the tiniest bit. Since that clearly wasn’t the case, I guessed the lack of “house guests” the entire weekend must have been merely the product of Kelly’s continuing stomach flu, rather than any growing awareness on Daniel’s part.

And, while I was being honest, I had to admit that my thoughts kept flitting back to what I had seen. It had been, what, nearly seventeen months now since Troy had died? And it wasn’t like we had been having tons of sex before then because I was usually exhausted from my day with Min, but occasionally was still more often than never. Daniel’s bare chest came to mind again, and I blushed scarlet. Did I really need to have that picture in my mind? It would be so easy to go there, to let physical attraction override my better judgment—to do exactly what I had told Phyl was foolish. Even easier for me to do it than Phyl because Daniel kept his polite distance from Phyl, while baiting me seemed to be one of his favorite pastimes.

By the time I headed up the hill to meet Nadina, I had resolved that I would avoid Daniel for the time being, giving the images of the morning time to fade until I could be sure of behaving rationally.

“Oh, I had to leave the house in a hurry,” I answered her vaguely. “I can’t always look drop-dead gorgeous. What were you trying to call me about earlier?” Although the day was overcast and lowering and we had no Benny with us, we fell into step and headed toward the lake.

“The best, Cass!” Nadina crowed. “You remember stupid Blaise, my Petco manager?” It was unlikely I could forget the horny-clawed Blaise, whose eleventh hour entrance had cut short our unpleasant scene, and I nodded briefly. “She says that this Saturday I finally get to help out at the dog training class!”

Stopping short, I gripped her arm excitedly, and such was Nadina’s good mood that she permitted it. “Finally! That’s great, Nadina. They are going to be so blown away by your skills. Does Blaise do the training?”

“Her?” she scoffed. “I don’t think she knows which end of the dog is the front. Nah, it’s some perky chick named Katie. She’s hella full of herself ʼcause she’s volunteered at the friggin’ SPCA since she could walk, or some b.s. like that, and she annoys the hell out of me, but I’m dying to do this.”

“And you’re going to be cooperative and do what Katie says, right?” I prodded. “Even if she gets on your nerves and bosses you around?”

“Y-e-e-e-s, Cass,” groaned Nadina. “You’re supposed to be my mentor and encourage me, not nag me all the time.”

“I am encouraging you, you idiot. I’m encouraging you to be your best self. You’re the most gifted person I’ve ever seen with dogs, so don’t screw up this opportunity just because perky Katie makes you want to slap her.”

She giggled. “Most people make me want to slap them. I even want to slap you sometimes.”

“That’s called being a teenager.” On such a day the waterfront park was deserted, but we sat on our usual bench. “How are you going to swing this dog training thing, if you’re also supposed to start working at the ice skating rink?”

“It’ll work. I close on Saturdays at the rink, so I don’t have to be there until 3:00, and the dog training is in the morning. You wanna come skate?”

“Sure, I’ll come skate,” I agreed. “How about the Saturday afternoon after Thanksgiving? Speaking of which, what’s this about you and your mom going to Ohio? What’s in Ohio?”

“My great-aunt Sylvia.” At my questioning look, she added, “It’s my grandpa’s younger sister. She’s always hated my mom and talked lots of trash when Mom left me with Grandpa and Grandma to live, so my mom was all pissed and cut her off, and they haven’t talked for years. But a few weeks ago Sylvia called out of the blue. Who knows why, but she invited us to come out for Thanksgiving.”

“And your mom wanted to go?”

Nadina pulled on some threads hanging from her barn jacket sleeve. “I wanted to go. Mike and his dad would probably just sit around and have TV dinners, and I haven’t hung out with my mom for awhile, so she said she’d suck it up and go if I wanted to.”

“Wow. So have you been there before?”

She shrugged. “A couple times with my grandpa. Sylvia lives in Cleveland. We’re gonna fly out on Wednesday and come back Friday. Mom doesn’t want too much of a good thing, I guess.”

“How does Mike feel about all this?” I asked in the most casual voice I could muster. Nadina was too alert for me, however, and she shot me a sharp glance.

Cornered, I tried to pick my way through the landmines. “I only know what you tell me, Nadina. So that means I know that he’s older than you and that he likes music and—and drugs, that he…likes to spend time with you, and he likes you to do drugs with him.”

“And I know your opinion on drugs.”

“And you know my opinion on drugs,” I echoed. Turning to face her head-on, I said, “Nadina, are you trying to pick a fight with me? What do you want? Since I don’t know Mike, and I only know what you tell me, why don’t you tell me what you like about him?”

Maybe my question was too bald, but really, when Mark Henneman talked about trust-building he wasn’t using Nadina as the case study. She seemed to want to lure me into intimate conversations, only to trap me into saying something she wasn’t going to like. I had to outflank her.

“I like—I like—” she floundered, “He’s been there for me.” Her knee started jiggling nervously. “Times when no one else has been around. Grandpa’s dead; mom’s working. Friends at my old school don’t even call me anymore. He came with me when I got my abortion.”

At least he finished what he started, I thought sourly. When I could trust myself to speak I managed, “Dependable people are hard to find.”

“Yeah, they are,” she agreed. “I can depend on Mike.”

“So what does dependable Mike think of Ohio?” I asked again, drawing another suspicious look, though I hadn’t thought any sarcasm leaked out. What do you expect? I’m a video game actress.

Nadina cleared her throat a couple times and popped to her feet, her usual signal that the conversation was over. Surprisingly, she said, “He doesn’t like it. He says he doesn’t want to be alone with his dumb dad over Thanksgiving and that I should think about him more.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed lamely, amazed that she had shared this with me. “What do you think?”

“I think he’ll live.” She tugged on my arm to get me walking.

“Where are we going?” I protested. “It’s only 3:30.”

“To get a snack, Cass,” Nadina laughed. “I can hardly hear you over your stomach growling.”

Joanie came home that evening with her phone glued to her ear. “Yeah. Yeah. Uh-huh. No, no that’s okay. That’d be great,” she said unenthusiastically. “Sure—I mean, we’ll have at least one other overnight guest, but there’s plenty of room. Okay, love you. Bye.” Clicking her phone shut, she groaned and threw it on the table before pushing me along the cushioned bench and slumping down next to me.