Mourning Becomes Cassandra (28 page)

Halfway down the hall, I suddenly remembered my Kelly theory. “Daniel, is Kelly okay with me? I mean, I don’t make her uncomfortable, do I? I’ve never said anything to her about—about the whole…”

His look of genuine puzzlement answered my question. “Okay, then. Never mind. I’m going to go get some ice.”

We needn’t have bothered with the Christmas linens; everyone had taken their bowl of chili and draped and perched on various solid surfaces in the living room. With so many extroverts present, Joanie suggested a game of celebrity charades after dinner.

She handed each of us a few pieces of paper, skipping over Daniel. To our surprise and Kelly’s apparent irritation, he tugged on Joanie’s sleeve and took a few. Each of us wrote down a few famous names, real or fictional and threw it back in the bag.

“Okay,” said Joanie, “now we divide into teams. I think with Kelly sitting out there are ten of us. Let’s just do this side of the room versus that side—we’ll split right down the middle between Cass and James.” She winked. “And, Cass, why don’t you go first?”

Celebrity charades was more like $20,000 Pyramid than traditional charades, meaning I could describe the names I drew in the first round. The teams looked pretty balanced, since the people most likely to read each other’s minds had been split up: Joanie and Daniel, Phyl’s friends and their spouses.

When Joanie started Roy’s watch, I drew out the first slip of paper: Oliver Twist. I hadn’t put him in, so it could only be Daniel. I looked at him and said, “Remember, you can’t guess your own celebrity in the first round. Umm… this Charles Dickens character runs away from the poorhouse and falls in with a gang of thieves.” Amusement flitted across Daniel’s face, and I knew it was indeed his. Everyone else looked blankly at me.

“I haven’t read any Dickens since high school,” complained Roy.

“Okay,” I said quickly, “The last name is like in Phyl’s lemon drop martinis, you put a—something—of lemon.”

Next name. In James’s cheerful scrawl: the Snow Goddess. I felt my cheeks warm and glanced over at him. He must have read my mind because he grinned and raised his glass to me. “All right…this is the character I do the voice for in James’ video game.” Joanie, on the other team, clapped her hand over her mouth and jumped up and down.

Phyl screwed up her eyes. “Oh! Oh, I can’t remember.”

“Those of us who know nothing about this will need some clues,” said Daniel, his voice expressionless.

“Okay…the first word is the frozen stuff they get at Snoqualmie Pass.” They guessed this easily. “And the second word is a word for a female deity, like Athena.”

“I would have thought Aphrodite more appropriate,” mused James, just to make me blush harder.

“Goddess,” said Daniel in a voice of stone. “Snow Goddess.”

“Time’s up!” called Joanie. “Team One gets four points.”

The game went quickly. Joanie led off for Team Two and crushed my four points with six, though Roy mock-protested that George W. Bush and Hillary Clinton were way too easy and should be thrown out. There was the usual arguing over whether a certain “celebrity” was too obscure, and the usual hilarity when someone mixed up different people—witness Wayne, who confused Barbara Kingsolver with Sophie Kinsella, and spent several minutes afterward groaning into his hands. James was the undisputed master of the straight charades round, his Pat Benatar and Brian Boitano drawing huge laughs. Altogether it was great fun, and only at ten o’clock did any guests make moves to leave.

James, however, hung back to help me tackle the dishes.

“This was a blast,” he remarked, handing me the bowls as he rinsed them. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“It was fun, wasn’t it?” I said. “I’m glad you came.”

“Well, I wanted to see you, didn’t I? And this was all you would offer me.” He waited for me to say something, but I couldn’t think of what to say. “Not that it wasn’t a nice evening, but how about if we go out for dinner next?” My slightly panicked expression caused him to backpeddle a little. “Okay, not dinner right away. How about if we get coffee or walk Green Lake or both? Come on, Cass. We’re friends. We enjoy each other’s company. Let’s hang out.”

Hanging out wasn’t dating, I reminded myself again. I nodded hesitantly. When his face broke into a big grin, I couldn’t help grinning back, despite the unease in my stomach. “But it’s not dating,” I added. “You’re too young for me, and we work together, and you date too many people, so it’s not dating. We’ll go dutch on the coffee.”

James rolled his eyes and dried his hands on the dishrag. “Any other qualms you want to tell me about? Because now that you’ve agreed to spend time with me, you can say anything you like.”

I shook my head shyly. “No, that’s all. Is there…is there anything you want to say to me?”

He laughed. “That I don’t like about you? Give me some time, and I’m sure I’ll come up with something. Right now all I can think of is what I like about you.” He leaned closer to me, and I found myself holding my breath. He was too charming altogether. “Like that voice of yours and that quick wit and those brown eyes. I like how you—”

A crash of crockery startled us both, and we sprang apart to find Daniel had dumped the salad and dessert plates in the empty chili pot. “Excuse me,” he said dryly.

Embarrassed, I went to get the dishes. I could feel his eyes on me, willing me to look at him, but I refused. James and I hadn’t been doing anything, after all, and even if we had, it couldn’t begin to approach what I’d unwillingly witnessed in the Lean-To. A thought distracted me: if Daniel hadn’t interrupted, would James have tried to kiss me?

Phyl and Joanie came in, carrying linens and glassware, and the moment was lost. James went back to rinsing, giving me a little wink.

“What happened to Kelly, Daniel?” Joanie asked. “Did you send her home early because she wouldn’t play Celebrity?”

“She left,” said Daniel bluntly. “I don’t think she enjoyed herself, and I found I wasn’t enjoying her either.”

“What wasn’t to like?” asked Joanie innocently. “She was your favorite combo: big boobs and easy morals.”

For some reason, Daniel’s eyes narrowed when she said this. It was no more than the truth, and he usually would have given as good as he got, but maybe he didn’t like her talking like this with James there, a relative stranger. Joanie, seeing her brother was not in the mood, flew to hug him and said contritely, “Sorry. None of my business.” His expression softened, and she added mischievously, “Mom was right, you always have the good sense not to take things too far in your relationships.”

“Good night, all,” interrupted James, folding up the dishcloth and giving a general wave. “Thanks for having me.” I walked with him to the door and helped him find his coat. He took my hand. “So I’ll call you tomorrow? Remember, coffee and Green Lake, you promised.” I nodded. I could feel my heartbeat speed up as his gaze traveled briefly to my mouth, but he turned lightly away. “Good night, then, Cass.” I stood in the hallway for a minute, leaning thoughtfully against the wall. What was I doing? Should I be doing this? Would Troy have agreed to go for a walk with some other woman so soon, if it had been I who died with Min? On the other hand, it was just a walk. Nothing to get dramatic about. I remembered hearing in the Grief Recovery class that women tended to grieve alone, and men tended to grieve by getting someone else—if that could be called grieving. So presumably, were the situation reversed, Troy would be getting remarried about now.

In one of her mind-reading moments, Joanie peeked out from the kitchen and bounded over to give me a bone-crushing hug. “Don’t over-analyze, Cass. James is great, and he likes you. Just have fun. You don’t have to marry him. It’s been over a year!
Way
over. It’s high time you spent time with someone over 18 of the opposite sex.” She tugged on my arm. “C’mon, let’s go up to your room for a heart-to-heart.”

I pulled away. “No way. It’s 10:30, and if we have a heart-to-heart I’ll definitely over-analyze. I’m going to bed.”

I dreamed that I was getting married.

I was wearing some floating white gown and standing at the head of the Palace staircase. Joanie and Phyl stood at the bottom, bouquets in hand, waiting for me to descend, a little flower girl with them. Min. She looked darling, a crown of flowers on her light brown hair. Next to her was a younger boy, presumably the ring bearer, although he was no one I recognized. This is ridiculous, I thought in my dream. Aren’t I already married? But who am I married to? I looked around for my father, so he could walk me down the stairs, but he was nowhere to be seen. Memory came back: I was a widow. Did that mean I was marrying James? Or was I dead and going to renew my vows with Troy, which would explain Min’s presence? The opening bars of Lohengrin’s Wedding March sounded and, tentatively, I took a step down. Looking past Joanie and Phyl and Min, I saw into the entry way. The front door was open, and the senior pastor stood in the doorway, beaming but waiting for me to get down there, already. The groom had his back to me. My groom. Too tall for James. When I took another hesitant step down, completely off the music, he turned slowly to face me.

I slipped and fell down the stairs.

When I woke up, my heart was racing, and it took me a second to realize where I was. Rattled, I flicked on the light. It was only 12:30 in the morning, so I hadn’t been asleep long. Why on earth would I dream I was marrying Daniel, of all people? At least my subconscious sensed that such an unlikely scenario was actually closer to a nightmare. Must have hit my head harder than I thought. Throwing off the covers, I got up and pulled on a sweatshirt. Nightmares call for a cup of tea.

The Palace was eerily quiet. I hesitated at the top of the stairs, remembering my imaginary fall, but then gingerly descended them and padded into the kitchen. Dreams always make you wonder. When I was in grad school and TA-ing a 19
^th
-century survey course, I once dreamed I was making out with one of the freshmen in the class, someone my conscious self never considered, of course—not being a cradle-robbing predator—and the next day in section I was so mortified I could hardly speak to him. I paused in my rummaging through the pantry tea shelf, struck by a thought: if I went out with James, we would have the same age difference as that freshman and I. Ugh. So much for my holier-than-thou attitude.

Joanie, Phyl, and I were all major tea drinkers, so the selection was vast. I stood holding Market Spice Tea in one hand and chamomile in the other, hardly seeing them because my mind was still going a mile a minute. I would worry about James later. Did dreaming I was marrying Daniel mean I secretly yearned to be the long-suffering, much-cheated-on, eventually-dumped wife of an atheist sex addict? It could at least get me on a talk show: “Atheist Sex Addicts and the Women Who Love Them.” Or did the fact that it was a nightmare negate such low-self-esteem longings?

The click of the back door opening woke me from my meditations. The kitchen was dark, except for the little light above the stove which we left on all night and the pantry I was in, but I had been standing silently for who knew how long, clutching the stupid tea boxes, so a half-zonked, meth-addicted intruder could easily imagine he was alone. Heart hammering, I was just laying the boxes down and reaching for the self-wringing mop-cum-weapon when I heard Daniel’s voice: “…Er…Cass?” He flicked on the overhead light.

I popped out of the pantry, furious, and found myself face to face with my dream groom. He looked rather less natty, given that he was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt instead of a tuxedo, but I imagine he could say the same about my Oregon Shakespeare Festival sweatshirt over a knee-length flannel nightgown. “How many times today are you going to scare the pants off me?” I hissed.

Daniel’s eyes fell pointedly to my bare legs. “With legs like those, I don’t have much incentive to stop.”

I blushed to the roots of my hair and scurried back into the pantry. Marry that guy? Maybe I didn’t fall down the stairs in my dream—maybe I threw myself, to spare myself such a fate!

His voice came again, placating this time. “Cass—sorry—you handed that one to me. No, really, I am sorry. In my defense, you’re pretty jumpy today. Please don’t feel you need to hide in the pantry.”

“I’m not hiding!” I lied. Stomping back out with the Market Spice tea, I went to get a mug, adding accusingly, “Do you always creep around houses in the middle of the night?”

Something flickered across his face, but he said calmly, “I’m not creeping, and this happens to be my house.” He had me there. Sullenly I concentrated on making my tea. “I’m almost glad to see you having trouble sleeping,” he continued in a smiling tone. “After such a knock on the head you probably should be woken up every couple hours to make sure there’s no brain damage.”

“Oh, there’s been damage enough,” I replied dryly, thinking of my nightmare. “What are
you
doing up?” Maybe he couldn’t sleep without a bedwarmer and was regretting kicking Kelly out.

Daniel ran his hand through his blond hair, standing it up on end. “I had a lot on my mind,” he muttered. “Mind if I have some of that with you?” I did, but one could hardly say so. He stared at me, perhaps absent-mindedly, while I in turn kept my eyes on the mugs of water rotating in the microwave.

By the time we plunked down at the table, I had decided that maybe spending some time in Daniel’s head would give me relief from mine, and I accosted him with, “Did you have a hard day? You seemed upset about something when I came home.” An understatement, when I remembered his chilling glare. To my amazement, Daniel turned bright red and shifted around uncomfortably. “Good heavens!” I said. “Did you rob a bank or something? Get Kelly knocked up?”