His eyes dropped to Deidre as she flipped through Cassie’s keys. He held on to his clipboard. “I’ve added the numbers of a few specialists at the bottom of that page for that very reason. It could be a speech impediment, possibly a delay—” He glanced to his sheet. “—though everything else seems to indicate she’s right on track. Has she ever spoken to you before?”
Cassie shook her head, flooded with guilt at the knowledge that Deidre had been coming to the Haven for four months now and she’d never noticed. She saw her smile on occasion. Knew she was shy. But how could Cassie have not noticed that she wasn’t talking? Did she do her job at all?
“Well, I’d call Dr. Mernit first,” the doctor continued. “She does great work using play therapy. She’ll be an excellent resource. Otherwise, just keep doing what you’re doing.”
Cassie thanked him, signed the lengthy medical form Rachel had forwarded to her at midnight the night prior, and discussed scheduling for a follow-up appointment in two weeks.
The next three hours, however, slipped by in a blur.
Picking up pills at the pharmacy should’ve taken ten minutes. The grocery stop on the way home should’ve taken twenty. A quick, spontaneous trip down the toy aisle of Target shouldn’t have been more than five.
And yet somehow—she couldn’t pinpoint how—it was four o’clock and there were still groceries on the counter to unload. As Cassie drew a bag toward herself, she caught Star looking at her from the bar stool, an environmental science book open beside her school computer.
“Are you going to quit your job?”
The question came out of nowhere.
“What?” Cassie pulled out one of five boxes of macaroni. “No. Why would you think that?”
“You skipped today.”
“And?”
Star shut her computer. “And you haven’t skipped a day since I started coming.”
Cassie shrugged, opening the cherrywood cabinet. “Sure I have.”
“No. You’ve made appointments and stuff, but you’ve never missed a whole day.”
“So I’m a genius, then, because I now have enough vacation days to roll me over to July.” Cassie took a few steps toward the window to glance in on the living room. Deidre was still at the coffee table coloring with the new glitter markers picked out on the toy aisle; Kennedy watched Mr. Jeeves slip up several steps. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting.
“You going to be gone tomorrow too?”
“Of course. Kennedy’s sick.” Cassie grabbed the frozen corn. “What else would I do with her?”
“Yeah.”
Star looked down, and suddenly, realizing what she’d said, Cassie did too. It was painful to be reminded of how different Star’s life had been before, how different the expectations were. To Cassie, this was exactly what happened when you were a sick child; you stayed home with a parent. You drank Sprite and ate loads upon loads of macaroni and cheese in bed. You watched way too much TV. When she was really sick, Cassie’s mother had even left a brass cowbell by her bedside, just because Cassie liked so much to see her mother come up the stairs when she rang it. Sure, she could have yelled, but that was the point. When you were sick, you got to be spoiled.
And here Cassie was, seeing firsthand exactly how Star and her sisters were treated. Forget the TV, the cowbells, the cookies. Their mother had put them in playpens. Their mother hadn’t even stuck around to make sure they lived.
The cupboard shut loudly, victim to Cassie trying for the umpteenth time not to hate a woman she’d never met or judge a person whose story she didn’t know. She forced herself to refocus. “Anyway, I’m planning to take the rest of the week off. That is if that’s okay with you, Supervisor Star.” Cassie attempted a grin as she leaned on the counter opposite her.
But Star just shoved her computer into the blue-and-white canvas bag temporarily serving as a backpack. It was one of Cassie’s bags she’d bought for a family beach trip the summer before, and even before Star slung the leather strap over her shoulder, she could tell it was entirely too adultish to be trendy. Nothing about it screamed cool, fierce teen.
“We can stop by Target and get you a new backpack after school, too, if you want,” Cassie added. “And anyway, Bree was pretty devastated she missed out on the toy-aisle trip today. The way she acted, you would’ve thought we went to Disneyland without her. But, if we pick her up from work on the way there tomorrow—”
“So, you’re not going to leave, then?”
Cassie paused, stood upright. “Not unless you want to pay me a salary plus benefits. What makes you so worried about this? Really?”
“Because everyone at the Haven would kill me if you quit. Because of us.” Star’s eyes darted to the window. “Because of me.”
Stilling, Cassie caught the significance of her words. If there was one thing Star was, it was confident.
Cassie wasn’t touchy-feely by nature, but even so, she reached forward and gave Star’s forearm a quick squeeze. “You know what, Star? I would gladly quit my job if I had to for you. Any day.”
Star returned her gaze at the touch, nodded, then shrugged as she pulled her arm back. “Yeah.” She tried to play it off, but she couldn’t keep the light grin from playing at her lips as she reached in for another notebook. “Anyway. I just wanted to make sure.”
It was one of the wonderful things Cassie and Star had in common: being terrible at public displays of emotion.
“Want to take a homework break and do a round of DB?”
“Seriously? You keep it here, too, Miss C? You’re such a nerd.”
Still, her lit-up eyes betrayed her words. Cassie took that as a yes and opened the junk drawer—an insufficient term, as even the pencils faced north. It wasn’t long before Dutch Blitz cards were flying and tea bags steeping.
On the third game, however, came a distant but familiar sound.
Cassie’s shoulders jerked up. “What is that?”
Star wrinkled her forehead, her tone heavily suggesting she was questioning Cassie’s intelligence. “A . . . fire truck.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious. I mean—” Cassie set her cards on the counter. “—why is there a fire truck coming down our road? Our totally unpopulated, three-mailboxes-on-the-whole-street road?”
“You’re getting paranoid.” Star followed on Cassie’s heels to the living room. “You know, Miss C, just because one guy steals a fire truck and bribes everyone with presents to get in good with you doesn’t mean it’ll happen again.”
Cassie flicked open the blinds, watching the flashes of red lighting up the neighbors’ fields. It had already passed one driveway. There was only hers and Betty’s left. “Want to bet?”
She turned around and found the two younger girls beside the Christmas tree, grinning proudly. Too proudly.
“We did it! We did it!” Kennedy’s shrill voice filled the living room as she clutched Cassie’s phone to her chest.
Cassie’s stomach sank. “Did what, girls? What did you do?”
“They’re going to save Mr. Jeeves, just like the book said!”
“Save . . . Mr. Jeeves?”
Cassie followed Kennedy’s pointing finger to the top of the Christmas tree. Through the branches, she could see her cat’s jewel-toned eyes. Though impossible, she felt she saw him smile.
Oh, no. No. No. No.
Cassie bent down to Kennedy and Deidre’s level. “Girls, I am so—” Nope, mortified wasn’t the best word choice just now. “—proud of you for knowing who to call in an emergency. Just like the dog book showed us.” Note to self: screen all children’s books from now on. “But you know what?”
Deidre blinked.
“What?” Kennedy said.
“I’m going to have to talk with the nice firemen for a minute, so how about you go with Star to—” Cassie fumbled momentarily, searching for some interesting, quiet activity “—get ready for bed?”
Their eyes stared back at her blankly.
Yeah. She’d have
to work on her motherly, summon-inspired-ideas-on-command skills.
“And . . . ,” Cassie said with emphasis as the sirens grew louder. They blinked their glassy eyes. “Wear your pretty new pajamas!”
Kennedy’s brows furrowed. Cassie was getting worse.
“And eat brownies? In bed?” Cassie asked.
Bingo.
“All the brownies!” Kennedy squealed, hopping a few times.
“Sure!” Cassie responded with equal enthusiasm.
“And a movie!” Kennedy added.
“Why not?” Cassie said, hopping along with her.
Kennedy’s voice shrilled like an excited kitten. “And Mountain Dew!”
A squeal of brakes sounded at her doorstep. Cassie’s hopping stopped. Not even forty-eight hours in, and all her grandiose plans for healthy snacks and activities were flying out the window. She nudged the girls toward the steps. “Yeah! I don’t have Mountain Dew, but yeah! Whatever I can find in the refrigerator.”
Television. Chocolate. Soda. Might as well throw in a cigarette for the road.
She kicked a box of crayons underneath the sofa, crammed a stack of construction paper into the drawer of a side table, shoved the glittery unicorn backpacks into the closet. Catching sight of herself in the mirror above the fireplace, she pushed down the lump at the top of her messy bun. The sounds of vehicle doors opening and closing came just as she tossed the last can of Coke to Star up the stairs.
She paused and took a breath. It felt awkward hiding the girls upstairs like a big secret. Awkward. And made her feel a bit guilty.
But if the man of her twenty-four-hour dreams just so happened to be on the other side of that door, and the girls were all sitting around eating bonbons, two things could happen. Jett could shrug his shoulders, laugh about the little mishap with the cat, and—without showing any recognition of the three strange children in her house at all—go about his merry business.
Or, and what was about 99 percent likely, he could ask.
Oh, and who are these lovely ladies? Oh. How long are they staying? Well, what did their social worker say? And if she can’t find any other relatives? Insert the bulging eyes. You mean you are planning to adopt these kids if given the chance? These three kids? The teenager? All three?
And then he’d trip over his own ax as he stumbled out the door.
There was another rule for her future bestseller on dating: never freak a guy out with three kids twenty-four hours after your first date.
No, she wouldn’t lie to Jett about the girls if he asked. Not on a matter this significant to her heart. She wouldn’t lie . . . which was exactly why she had to hide them.
It was the only moral thing to do.
A knock sounded on the door. Game time.
“Jett. Why, hello.” Cassie plastered on a cool and confident smile as she swung open the door.
“Cassie?” Jett popped off his helmet and put it to his hip. He grinned. “Gotta say I wasn’t expecting you here.”
“You either.” Boy, was that the understatement of the year.
“Was expecting someone half your size, actually.” He volleyed his head, his gaze roving around the living room.
“Oh? Well, you got me.”
“It was you? Really? Dispatch said it was a kid.”
Her voice lifted several notes. “I have a very young voice over the phone.”
She gave a high little laugh. He echoed with a low, uncertain one.
“Well?” he said, as though dubious on how to proceed. “How about I come in and see to this cat problem?”
“Oh. Sure.” The problem. Cassie turned on her heels.
He followed behind her, stopping at the Christmas tree.
“Where are we looking?” He turned in a circle, searching the ceiling.
Cassie took a breath.
Pointed. “In there.”
Jett lowered his gaze to the direction of her finger, a finger nearly parallel to her head. He touched a branch. “Here?”
She closed her eyes. Nodded.
He stepped closer. “In this tree?”
She nodded again.
The room was silent as Jett reached in and pulled out Mr. Jeeves. He set him on the ground. Mr. Jeeves gave him a distrustful blink before whisking his tail and moving into the kitchen.
Cassie’s grandfather clock informed them of the hour, and for eight long chimes they both watched the ground intently.
She felt him quietly assessing her sanity.
She fretted with the hem of her blouse. “I have a thing about pine needles.”
Excellent. So apparently small lies that did not, in fact, help with the case for her sanity were just fine.
“Ah. See, we didn’t cover that at the aquarium.” His eyes fell on the pine-scented candle on the coffee table, drifted over the twelve-foot garland hanging over the mantel, and stopped on the miniature Christmas tree cheerfully lit on the floor beside the glider.
“It’s a really new thing,” Cassie added.
“Uh-huh.” Still, he smiled, clapping his gloves. “Well, would’ve preferred knocking on your door with flowers instead of a firehose, but I’m still glad to drop in. You’ve got a nice house out here, Cassie. I like your mantel.” He put one gloved hand on the dark wood over the fireplace. “And these windows. Good insulation.”
Cassie locked her fingers together. “Thank you. I always try to have good insulation.”
“Yep. A very important trait in a woman.” He paused, seeming to wait on her to say something, ask something, do something.
Though it came at a volume of a mouse’s scuffle, Cassie heard a break of laughter floating down the stairs from the girls’ room. She gave a loud cough as she grabbed Jett’s arm by the coat. “Where are my manners? I’ll give you a tour.”
Jett obligingly let her speed him through the kitchen, dining room, living room, and bathroom of the first floor.
“I see we have a mutual fondness for macaroni.” He stopped at the oversized pot. Coupled with Kennedy’s discovered obsession for the sea-shaped cheesy animals and Cassie’s complete inexperience in cooking for four, Cassie had gone a little overboard. Seven boxes later, the stockpot was still full from dinner.
“You never know when a midnight craving will strike.”
“You mean, all this is for you after dinner?”
“Are other guys waiting outside?” Cassie swiftly walked him through the hall and parked him at the front door. “Well, thanks a million.”
A corner of his mouth lifted in a sideways grin. He put his helmet on. “A day in the life, ma’am.”
She opened the door to let him out. He’d be out of his mind to go on another date after this.
“See you tomorrow, crazy cat lady.” He winked and hopped down the front steps.
Her icy breath of relief formed crystals in the air. “Looking forward to more compliments on my insulation.”
Jett stopped at the fire engine, calling out as he put his hand on the passenger door. “Just so you know, I’ll be covering the three-point line in pine needles.”
“Sure.” She laughed. “Whatever it takes to give you a leg up.”
Back inside, Cassie waved from the living-room window as she watched the engine roll out of the driveway, then collapsed on the couch, her head falling into her hands.
Well, that had gone worse than she anticipated.
She had to tell him. Surely she had to explain everything, emphasizing that nothing about her situation would change anything for the two of them.
Right. Because a heavy conversation on a second date wouldn’t make him flee like a spotlighted convict.
She rubbed her temples, eyes closed. It was a catch-22 all the way around. If she was a proactive communicator, she could scare him away; if she hid the situation, she was playing with fire—and looking a little insane over cats and pine trees. Not to mention all this trouble could be for naught. How could she successfully date a man who didn’t want kids? She couldn’t change the man. She k
new that from painful personal experience.
But was it possible she could turn the girls away if the time came to make that decision?
Cassie squeezed her eyes tighter, then opened them. Straight in front of her sat a red streak of crayon across the perfectly white sofa. She hesitated, then ran the tip of her finger along it.
Another muted giggle floated down the stairs, and Cassie rose.
Another day. She would just have to table the worry for another day.
“Making room for me up there?” she called, and legged it up two at a time.
10
Jett
“You hear that, man?”
Even Sunny sensed something was wrong.
A newborn had been in their apartment less than three days, and already they could tell the different types of TJ’s cries through the front door. Jett turned the lock and pushed it open.
The light of early dawn was just starting to break in through the living-room window, but otherwise the place was dark. No light came from the lamp on the table beside him at the door’s entrance. No light came from the kitchen or bathroom or hall. The TV was off.
Still, Jett felt an impulse that made him push the door open wider, ready to charge to TJ, pick him up, and start scouting out the rooms.
At least he tried to open the door wider. But something pushed against it from the other side.
He looked down and around. Dakota and Drew were pressed up against the wall, faces toward the crack beneath the door.
“Guys?” Jett knelt down and touched their shoulders. They were breathing heavily, Dakota’s blond curls covering her face. Drew was shirtless, his belly pressed against Dakota’s back. The room smelled so foul it suffocated.
How long had they been sleeping there? More specifically, why?
“Man.” Sunny covered his nose with his T-shirt, stumbling over couch pillows and toys for the deck window. “Your kids made our place smell like Donna Gene’s,” he said, throwing the window open.
Jett dropped his overnight bag and moved swiftly to the Pack ’n Play beside the dining room table.
The Dating Charade Page 9