A carpeted, quiet-looking area in a room to the far left caught his eye behind her. A coffee station stood in its corner, a red plastic tablecloth covering what looked like a simple metal table. Two large white containers of generic sugar and nondairy creamer stood next to a stack of coffee cups. He wasn’t sure from this angle, but it seemed reasonable to assume there were at least a couple of chairs in the otherwise empty room. And right now, with the second service still ten minutes away, he had one hour to spare.
Sure, three weeks ago cheap coffee in the corner of a church would have been the worst date ever, but right now the room shone like the mountain of gold the dragon Smaug protected in his fiery den. It sang to him, lured him. An hour in some folding metal chairs with Cassie today would be worth a hundred dollar bill. Maybe two.
He nodded in the coffee station’s direction. “You know, I could do with a cup of coffee. You care for any?”
She turned toward it, and he realized his error. Just because he was stranded here for the next hour didn’t mean she was. What would he say if she suggested they take this date somewhere more official—like a real coffeeshop or a restaurant?
But to his surprise, her smile widened. “Sure. Maybe I’ll get to see you add a coffee stain to your shirt as well. You know, for being a decent baller, you’re the clumsiest person I know.”
His fingers tingled as he touched her shoulder, and together they moved through the crowd. Through the soft knit material of her dress, her figure was lean, her shapely calves silhouetted beneath her black leggings. She was the perfect mix for him—feminine but strong, soft yet capable, kind while carrying an air of quiet intelligence. She knew herself. She was the type of person who was confident of her tastes and acted upon them, knew what was expected of her and followed through.
He used to think he was that way. But right now, he was only too aware of how far he fell from that line. What was expected of him? What was his right way?
One phone call and the kids could be shipped off to his aunt’s. One phone call and he could put on a shirt without it smelling—or looking—like it’d been dunked in a compost bin. He could sleep again. For hours at a time.
Take Cassie out. Get prime seats at UT games. Have day hikes in the mountains.
Is that what he wanted?
Is that what was best for the kids?
He hesitated in his thoughts, unable to stop the question that he’d asked himself most: was it possible to make both answers align?
He didn’t know. He felt stagnant, his ankles dug in quicksand, only capable to live in this moment.
Edie and Donna Gene, clad in their vibrant dresses and hats, chugged with their walkers into the bursting foyer, parting the people like the Red Sea. He ducked his head, just low enough to be level with the crowd around him. He was fond of them in teaspoonfuls. But letting his personal love doctors see him with a grown, beautiful female around? He’d already had enough drama for one day.
He turned his head slowly by equal degrees, keeping the ladies in his line of sight as he moved around Cassie like a circling shark. “I’m clumsy, eh? Well, I don’t recall being clumsy when you called us to save your cat from the burning skyscraper and lethal pine needles.”
Cassie swatted his arm playfully. “M-hm. So, do you care to explain what you are doing?”
“I’m hiding.”
“From whom?”
He pointed to the duo, who were currently sliding all the mints out of a decorative silver tray into their purses. “From the two women who keep our station in business.”
She leaned back, getting a view of the two before straightening up again. A smile crept up her face until it shone like a lightbulb. “They call the fire department often?”
“They’re on the once-a-week plan.”
“Well then, let’s not linger.” She bent several inches and began creeping for the coffee station.
He grinned, enjoying how utterly unconcerned she was about how she looked, and followed.
When they made it to the table, one glance back confirmed they’d reached safety; the women were now out the doors and moving slowly onto an idling bus.
Cassie wiped her hair from her eyes. “I’m afraid I’m to blame, actually, for your two fawning friends coming here today. The Girls Leadership Club took them to the parade. Afterward, I got them hooked up with a couple people from the church.”
“Well, they need a place like this to come to.” He picked up two of the upside-down cups from the sleeve on the table and passed one to her. “But for your sake as much as mine, I’m probably going to keep ducking out in public for a while. Hope you don’t find that too strange.”
“Ducking? Not at all.” She poured herself a cup and then poured a full amount into his. “I hide from my teens all the time.”
Her teens. The way she always spoke about her work at the Girls Haven, about the kids, denoted a relationship far beyond an hour or two of life spent together each week. Those kids took up a significant portion of her heart. Kids. Adolescents, younger than eighteen, well above the age of Dakota and Drew and TJ, but still in the same category nonetheless: kids. She loved them. Perhaps, when she found out the whole situation with him, she could make enough room in her heart for three more.
People everywhere, all the time, could change their minds when given enough motivation.
Was he, though, after only a handful of dates, enough motivation?
It was only then that he realized she had been as silent and thoughtful as he was, staring into her coffee as she stirred. He wondered what sorts of thoughts were running through her mind.
“Hey, Cassie—”
He heard a faint buzzing from somewhere inside her coat.
“Yeah?” she said as she pulled it out to check it. Her face changed.
She set her coffee cup down. Not a good sign.
“So sorry, Jett. I have to take this.”
Jett waved it off, shielding his disappointment. “Sure. Go ahead.”
“This might take a while. I’ll, uh, call you soon? Maybe see you sometime this week?”
“Yeah, I’d love that,” he started, but she had already pressed the phone to her ear and slipped into the emptying foyer.
In her wake, a cream-colored, still-swirling coffee sat on the table, untouched.
So much for revealing his hopes and dreams.
15
Cassie
“Rachel. Hi.” Cassie tried not to sound breathless as she pushed open the doors of the church and stepped into the December air.
“Hey, Cassie. I hope you don’t mind me calling on a Sunday.”
“No, of course not. I said anytime, remember?” Cassie leaned a hip against the waist-high concrete ledge. “What’s up?” She tried not to sound too concerned. Rachel could be calling about any number of children at Girls Haven besides the three currently residing beneath her roof. This could be a call about Cam’s situation. This could be a call verifying information on another one of the girls.
Or it could be about Deidre and Kennedy and Star.
It was Sunday. Of course it was about Deidre, Kennedy, and Star.
Cassie found herself pacing the length of the sidewalk, the nutcrackers on her Toms staring up at her. Their enormous teeth gritting with each step.
“We found the girls’ mother.”
Cassie nodded, hearing Rachel’s words over the phone.
“It wasn’t pretty,” Rachel continued.
Cassie felt her head pulsing. She would have to tell the girls. Or at least tell Star and let her decide whether they should tell her sisters.
Cassie knew from experience that fostering was hard. She’d known several foster parents along the way. “Prepare for the rollercoaster” were their general words of wisdom. Reunification of the biological family was always the goal, unless the case was too extreme. But how extreme did the abuse need to be? How long was neglecting your children too long? How many days, or weeks, did they need to face malnourishment and an environment broken
by addiction and the dangers of abandonment before the government took away someone’s certificate of motherhood?
If Rachel was calling to say the girls’ mom was back, that she was sorry, that they were going to start the process of reunification, could Cassie’s heart bear it? Could she bear standing idly by week by week, month by month, dropping the girls off for visitations, packing their bags for overnights? Could her heart withstand the trembling as she counted the minutes, trying not to imagine all the possible, painful scenarios, until they returned?
She couldn’t handle it.
Maybe she’d thought she could two weeks ago, but now she knew: she wasn’t strong enough if something like that happened to her.
What a fool she was.
Cassie found her voice. “Where is she?”
“They’re holding her right now in Memphis. Seems she’ll be facing charges of possession and distribution. That plus a mounting case of child neglect and abandonment.” Rachel paused, and the seconds mounted. “Cassie, she signed over her rights.”
Cassie stopped midstep. It was her turn now for silence.
“Do you hear me?” Rachel continued. “Those girls are legally up for adoption as of twenty minutes ago.”
Cassie’s throat began to close, her vocal cords straining as she found her next words. “What about relatives?”
“I’ve looked into all the Allen children’s potential relations. I spoke with two leads, and both were either unable or unwilling to take over custody. Believe it or not, you’re actually the closest relation they’ve got . . . Cassie, those kids are yours if you’ll have them.”
She found she was still nodding, though the parked cars straight ahead were starting to blur. “Have them”? Have them? How could she feel anything besides wanting to have them?
Over the past two weeks it had become pretty clear the girls were going to need extra help in a variety of areas. Deidre still hadn’t spoken a word. Kennedy erupted into loud, sometimes violent tantrums that required moving fragile items and potential weapons out of the way. Just the few snippets Star had shared about life in that apartment warranted regular visits with a professional counselor. Lots of people around the world would say Cassie was completely, totally in over her head.
And she was.
But it wouldn’t stop her.
Rachel spoke into the silence. “Are you still there?”
Cassie pulled the phone to her hip for a moment and coughed, trying to pull herself together. Even so, her voice sounded raspy in her own ears. “I’m here. I—” If she attempted the words “I want to adopt them,” she most assuredly wouldn’t be able to hold it together any longer. “Just tell me what I need to do next.”
They talked over details, court dates, the lengthy process and paperwork to be done in the coming weeks and months, and when Cassie ended the phone call, a breeze nearly lifted her off her feet.
It was official, or as official as official could get before becoming signed-and-signatured official. She was going to become a mother.
She checked the time and started jogging for the front doors.
More specifically, she was about to become a mother who had forgotten her children in childcare.
Cassie had reached the emotional state that, if someone touched her as she raced down the hall, she would’ve burst into tears. She ran up to the check-in girl—who was currently cleaning a rather large amount of spit-up off her blouse—and was directed to the gymnasium.
“Here to pick up?” a man said, leading her into the busy room of second-service children.
Cassie nodded silently. Pick up. Ready to pick up her kids.
Set up between two basketball goals on either end, a manger scene stood on a portable stage. While one group of eight-year-old angels practiced on it, huddled groups waited offstage beside teachers, appearing to be split up by age.
Deidre stood among a group of six-year-olds, clearly more interested in watching the director flick her conductor’s baton than listening to whatever direction her teacher was currently giving. The director made the dramatic motion of cradling a baby in her arms, and the child angels—sans Deidre—followed suit.
Kennedy was huddled with the rest of the four-year-olds, tugging on her braids.
Star stood off to one side with the rest of the teens, listening to a man who looked more like a football coach than youth pastor as he pointed rapidly, seemingly spouting off placements.
The man turned to her. “Which one of them is yours?”
Cassie felt the air catching in her lungs, her throat constricting in the same unyielding way as before.
Well, there it goes.
She was not a crier—a fact in which she prided herself. Now, however, one simple question tipped her over like a wobbly stack of dominoes.
A croak—not too far from a real frog’s—spilled out from her. She pressed a hand over her mouth as he jerked his head back to her. Pull it together, Cassie. Pull it together.
She pointed with her other hand. “The six-year-old girl in the striped pink.”
Another sniff. “And the four-year-old with the two yellow pom-poms in her braids.”
He rocked back on his heels, crossing his arms uncomfortably, doubtless rethinking this whole “volunteer in the children’s program” thing.
“And—And Star. One of the bravest—” Tears filled her eyes. “—most beautiful, relentless girls I know.”
Her face pinched, her skin both hot and cold. With a chin making heroic attempts to stay strong in the war against becoming a human water faucet, she knew she looked like a pig who’d eaten a frog. Another muffled sob escaped her. She was not a pretty crier.
She turned around abruptly and retreated down the hall toward the restroom. It was quiet, empty. Perfect for her to pull herself together.
She yanked out a tissue and blew her nose. Then thought about all the times she would get the privilege to blow Kennedy’s nose.
And the waterworks started.
The problem was the news that she could have three adopted children—one whom she’d already known and loved for years—kept hitting her like a ton of bricks. The consequences of what that meant slipped into her mind one at a time, as if demanding individualized attention.
Anticipated dreams—the opposite of memories—drifted into her mind like videos in iridescent bubbles. Her and Star sitting on the couch, talking about Star’s day while the youngest two lay tucked into their beds. Star closing up the Haven with her and dropping her backpack into the back seat of her car. Easter morning, when the girls would scavenge the yard in pastel dresses with baskets full of Easter eggs. Going over to her sister’s, drinking tea and turning barbequed chicken as cousins jumped on the trampoline. Sitting around on a regular afternoon with them, doing nothing at all.
All beautiful bubbly little videos.
Life as she knew it as a black-and-white world now shifted to color. Nothing in her own life, not one thing, was unaffected by the fact she was choosing, wholeheartedly, to raise these kids. Not one thing.
But two points had to be discussed.
The kids had to choose her too—in particular Star. Any child fourteen or older had to consent to the adoption. Did she—did they—even want her?
Second, she had to tell Jett. This was no longer a potential reality; it was her future, and if he was as interested as he acted in her, it was only fair to tell him the truth.
The smell of gardenias from that night those years ago suddenly overwhelmed her, the feel of her fingers against the brown tweed of Matt’s suit while he looked her in the face, telling her flatly he no longer wanted her.
Cassie felt her confidence wane as her hands gripped the vanity.
Five years she had committed to that man. Through two blissful, adventurous years of college, through the painful months she sat by the phone, waiting for every one of his late-night calls while he “found himself” in Colorado. Through graduate school when they ate buttered noodles off paper plates like they were kings
and queens. Through it all, she’d stuck by his side.
But then Matt hadn’t wanted her, as he’d informed her days after a surgery revealed her life would be changed forever. Was the timing pure coincidence? Maybe. Had their relationship already sagged from issues they kept pushing on the back burner? Certainly.
But she’d seen his face when she told him she couldn’t have children herself anymore. She’d felt the coldness grow in the following weeks.
Now, here she was, with the forecast of a home not empty but filled to the brim. But at its core was a replica of the conflict that had first broken her heart. No matter how nice Jett was now, the fact remained: he’d stated very clearly he wasn’t interested in the sort of family life she was about to lead. Could he change his mind? Could she persuade him? Sure. Maybe. Possibly. But, again, their relationship had barely begun.
If she thought about what she’d really known about Matt in that first month of their relationship, it’d come to this: zero. Jett was charming and sweet and funny and responsible and all these great things, and part of her felt that he would respond to the truth of the situation with an enthusiastic open mind. Part of her dreamed that he would fall in love with the girls, just as much as she had. Part of her hoped they would get their family cross-stitched together on a pillow, holding hands. But there was still a problem: she was going off of a perception of him built upon mere weeks.
If she adopted the girls, she would have to come to terms with the reality that she might be single forever. However scarce the possibility of her falling in love and getting married was before, well, now it definitely rested solely on the shoulders of a miracle maker.
She stripped off a paper towel and wiped the mascara beneath her eyes, then tipped her chin up, staring at herself in the mirror. Put her hand against her flat waistline—unaffected, for the first time in years, by the thought of the scars hidden underneath.
She had tacked on another fifteen minutes to her long-overdue pickup by the time she again pulled open the door to the gymnasium and stepped inside. The man she’d spoken with before saw her and practically jumped over a stack of chairs to get away. He nudged a woman, and the woman, after some prodding, made her way toward Cassie.
The Dating Charade Page 15