CASSIDY'S COURTSHIP

by Sharon Mignerey

  She fell into a restless sleep to the relentless beat of her own ever running footsteps.

  She awoke five hours later with a pounding headache and all the events of the previous day clamoring for her attention. She didn't want to think about being unemployed. She didn't want to think about looking for another job. She didn't want to think about her almost-come-to-fruition plans. But she did.

  Most of all, she thought about how she had driven Cole away, how she had judged him more severely than she had anticipated him to judge her.

  She owed him an apology, and she knew it. I'm sorry, she mentally rehearsed. I shouldn't have … what? Quit school when I was fifteen? Shouldn't have told you about leaving home? Shouldn't have run? Shouldn't have lied to you.

  A word she hated almost as much as if only. Should.

  She got out of bed, slipped into a robe, and hoped a cup of coffee would help clear the fuzz out of her brain. In the kitchen she found her brother.

  "Good morning, Brenna," he said to her over his newspaper.

  "What's good about it?" she muttered under her breath, reaching for a bottle of aspirin.

  "Pardon?"

  "I said 'good morning.'" She filled a glass with water from the tap and swallowed two tablets. She poured herself a cup of coffee and checked Michael's cup, which was full.

  He met her eyes when she sat down across from him. He folded his newspaper.

  "Headache?"

  "Mmm." She took a long swallow of coffee, ignoring that it was too hot.

  "Want to talk?"

  "No." She stood up. "I'm going for a run. Maybe that will help."

  "Maybe," Michael agreed, watching her with narrowed eyes.

  Five minutes later Brenna went through her warm-up and stretching exercises before she took off toward the park at a pace she kept deliberately slow. She intended to run until her body was as numb as her mind. That would take some time. She intended to run until all she felt was the throbbing muscles in her legs and until she could think about nothing at all.

  By the time she had circled Washington Park once, she had worked into a comfortable, loose rhythm. Her mind was still keeping pace, tormenting her with all the what-ifs and should-have-beens in her life. By the time she started her fourth lap, she doubted her conscience would ever leave her alone.

  "Brenna, wait!" came a call from a feminine voice behind her.

  Brenna turned around and jogged lightly in place, watching as Nancy Jenkins ran toward her. A few inches shorter and twenty or thirty pounds overweight, she ran toward Brenna as though each step was torture.

  "I thought that looked like you," Nancy said, panting, beads of perspiration running down the sides of her face, and trying to smile. "I didn't know you jogged this early."

  "I usually don't. And it's running, you know, not jogging," Brenna said.

  Nancy grasped her side. "What it really is … is agony."

  "I used to think so, too," Brenna replied, slowing her pace to match Nancy's. "You're not working at the library today, huh?"

  "Nope. We're on a new schedule. Just have to work every other night now," she said. "You haven't even worked up a good sweat. Did you just get here?"

  "No. I'm about half way through my fourth lap."

  "Four? God, there has to be an easier way to get into shape."

  "You shouldn't be in this much pain," Brenna said.

  "I thought 'no pain, no gain.'"

  "That's for weight lifting," Brenna said, slowing her pace some more.

  Nancy patted her side. "I decided if I couldn't stay away from the peanut-butter cups, I could run the calories off."

  "When did you start?"

  "Yesterday," was Nancy's breathy reply.

  "Did you warm up first?"

  "Warm up?"

  "Yeah. Stretch your muscles out? Walk a couple of blocks first?"

  Nancy shook her head.

  Brenna stopped running. "Let's walk for a while."

  "Good idea," Nancy said with relief. "Warm up, huh?"

  Brenna nodded. "Yes. You should be walking for a couple of blocks to get the blood flowing before you run. And you should be stretching your muscles out before you run at all."

  "Okay, coach." Nancy grinned. "I always wondered what the secret of your great body was." She sank down on a park bench. "How I'd love it if somebody discovered that a dozen chocolate chip cookies a day was the key to perfect health."

  Brenna smiled and used the bench for a series of stretches that would keep her muscles from kinking up later.

  "So how are things going?" Nancy asked. "I haven't seen you much lately. What have you been doing?"

  "Working," Brenna said, sitting down next to Nancy. "Until yesterday, anyway." She related the circumstances surrounding the closing of the bar.

  "I bet Cole will be glad about that," Nancy said. "There's a guy who strikes me as the type who wants to spend more time with you."

  Brenna had successfully avoided thinking about Cole for five whole minutes.

  "C'mon, girl," Nancy encouraged. "You're still seeing him, aren't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Why do I get the feeling there's more to this than a simple 'yes'?"

  "Cole's terrific," Brenna admitted. That was the core of the truth she couldn't deny. She didn't want him just sexually. She wanted all of him. She closed her eyes and sighed.

  Nancy touched her arm. "Are you okay?"

  Brenna opened her eyes and started to respond with an automatic, "Sure." Instead, she shook her head.

  "What can I do for you?"

  Brenna looked at Nancy, surprised at the concern in her voice.

  "C'mon. 'Fess up, girl. What are friends for?"

  Indeed, Brenna thought, feeling her composure crack a little beneath the weight of all her deceptions.

  "Oh, Nancy, things are such a mess." The dam broke open, and the words poured out. "I've just lost my job—a job I really needed. The roof over my head isn't even my own. And I'm falling in love with an attorney. An attorney, for God's sake. You'd think I'd know better."

  "What's the matter with attorneys?"

  "I can't read." The words just slipped out. Brenna met Nancy's shocked gaze and repeated, more softly this time, "I can't read."

  "Of course you can. You do story hour every week."

  Brenna shook her head. "I tell stories I already know."

  "But—"

  "It's not that hard," Brenna said. "My grandfather told me great stories when I was little, and my mom read me bedtime stories. I really don't read to the kids. Honest."

  "Why?"

  "Because I don't know any other way."

  "That's not what I meant," Nancy said.

  "Oh. Why. The big why. As in, why didn't I ever learn to read?"

  Nancy nodded.

  Brenna stared at her feet. "At first…" Her voice trailed away. How did she explain, she wondered. "I don't know."

  "Books were my refuge," Nancy said. "You know what it's like being at a different school every single year. And I was lousy at making new friends."

  "I didn't do that so well, either."

  "I still don't understand, Brenna. You're the most determined person I know. When you told me about the nonsense with the lawsuit, I thought, Boy, I'm glad this wasn't me. I'd never survive it. But you did. You're bright, one of the brightest—"

  "I'm not."

  Nancy smiled. "You are." Her smile grew into a laugh. "You're so great with the kids—a natural teacher. I was hoping to recruit you to be a tutor for the library's literacy program."

  Brenna's eyebrows rose.

  "Yeah. Instead, we need to get you matched with a tutor. And I know just the person, if you agree."

  "Who?"

  "Me."

  Brenna stared at her friend as ideas began to bubble to the surface. "I'm ready to start. What do we do first?"

  "I'm not completely sure. This is a first for me, too. I do know that you need to be tested so we know—"

  "Tests?" Brenna interrup
ted, initial elation giving way to wariness. She hated tests.

  "Just to see what level you read at."

  "But I already told you. I don't—can't—read."

  "You probably read more than you know. I mean, how do you know which is the ladies' rest room and which is the men's?"

  "I'm careful."

  Nancy grinned. "Me too. Listen, I'll talk to the director of the program this morning and find out what we need to do. Then I'll call you, okay?"

  Brenna gave Nancy a spontaneous hug. "Okay."

  They alternately walked and jogged the rest of the way around the park. After they took their separate routes home, Brenna felt as though she was running on air. She was going to learn to read.

  She was going to learn to read!

  She'd get her driver's license. And she'd learn how to type. She'd buy recipe books. She'd read stories to Teddy. She'd read a menu instead of asking for the daily special. She'd play Scrabble with Cole. She'd read the text in the National Geographic, instead of simply looking at the pictures.

  Michael and Teddy were playing catch in front of the apartment when she arrived.

  "Auntie Brennie," Teddy called. "Catch!" he threw the large softball at her, which she deftly caught and tossed back to him. He made a perfect catch.

  "I take it you're feeling better," Michael said.

  "Much." She smiled. "Sorry I was such a grump earlier."

  "Cole called while you were gone." Michael sat down on the step and Teddy came to sit beside him. "He sounded a lot like you felt this morning. Crabby."

  "Thanks for the message," she said. She owed Cole an apology. A knot tightened in her stomach as she recalled that he had held out his hand to her just before she'd run away from him. Inside the apartment, she took a deep breath, then dialed his number with trembling fingers.

  "Hi, Cole," she said when he answered.

  "Are you okay this morning?" he asked.

  "Better." She wrapped the cord around her finger. "I'm sorry about last night."

  "It's okay. I—"

  "I don't know what happens to me, Cole. I wasn't being fair. And—"

  "Brenna, it's okay. I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to bring up things that hurt you."

  She swallowed. "I know."

  "Someday…" A long silence filled the line before he added, "Someday, you're going to have to decide if you trust me enough to know I won't hurt you."

  "I know," she whispered.

  "There's a good play on at the Denver Center Theater. Would you like to go tomorrow night? What do you say? We both need a night out on the town."

  "Sounds like…"

  "A case of the flu," he teased, to fill in the silence. "But that's not right. I'm looking for a word that sounds like sew, flow, toe."

  She chuckled. "Go? As in, I'd love to go with you."

  "The lady has just won herself an evening of dinner and theater with a dashing—"

  "Don't you think you're laying this on a little thick?"

  "A lot thick," he agreed, a smile still in his voice. "I'll pick you up about five and we'll have dinner first."

  "Okay."

  Less than a half hour later, Brenna had just finished showering when Nancy called.

  "Good news and good news," Nancy said. "I can be your tutor. And if you have time, you can come in for testing this afternoon. I'll come to the library—sacrificing my day off, I might add—to be with you. If you want me to."

  "I want you to," Brenna said. "Is twelve-thirty okay?"

  "Make it two and you've got a deal."

  "Two it is," Brenna agreed and hung up the phone.

  To be able to open a book of ideas. To find out what someone else thought about the world. Cole's enthusiasm for books revealing worlds she had yet to discover echoed through her mind.

  She wandered back into her bedroom. The room was dappled with color from the crystal hanging in the window. She stood transfixed, watching the rainbow of patterns dance across the room. Just as she had so many other times, she'd get another job, and she'd support herself. Of that, she had no doubt.

  For the first time in years she had something more.

  This time, she dared look beyond simple survival. And she loved the possibilities she saw there.

  * * *

  Brenna surveyed her world with new awareness when Cole picked her up for dinner the following evening. The previous afternoon, the director of the literacy program at the library had told her, "You're reading at almost third-grade level." As she and Cole drove toward downtown Denver, Brenna watched passing stores, traffic signs, and billboards, searching each one for words she knew.

  The tests she had taken made her feel inept despite the director's patience and encouragement. Third-grade level sounded like a lot to her. Reading—really reading—was a far cry from recognizing a few words. Recognizing the words stop and exit without the context of their familiar shapes within a sign didn't seem that big a deal to her.

  Even still, she found herself identifying words within billboards that she'd given nothing more than a passing glance to before.

  "You look terrific," Cole told her, taking his eyes off the busy traffic of Sixth Avenue long enough to look at her.

  The compliment pleased her, especially as she had fussed over her white eyelet skirt and camisole-style blouse, half convinced it was too casual. She'd been equally critical of her hair, and she had finally pulled it into a loose chignon.

  "Thanks," she said. "You look pretty spiffy, too."

  "Spiffy, huh?"

  "I wouldn't want you to get a swollen head by telling you that you're gorgeous," she teased.

  Besides, she thought, how did she tell a man she thought he was devastating without sounding like a girl with her first crush. She always appreciated his choice in clothes. Whether dressed in shorts or a pale gray suit like this evening, he always looked good.

  "I admit it. I've never been called gorgeous," he said with a laugh.

  She grinned in response. "So, Counselor, this is a first?"

  "It is."

  "Those firsts…" she murmured. "They ought to be memorable."

  Cole took her hand and brought it to his lips, his eyes on the traffic. "I intend for this one to be."

  Brenna felt as though a line of no-return had been crossed with that simple, sensuous promise. A line she didn't fear half so much as she had yesterday.

  "Promises, promises," she murmured, making him smile once again.

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  « ^ »

  For his part, Cole was relieved that Brenna was teasing him. She had given him a quick hug when he picked her up, but until now he hadn't been sure things would be okay. Another layer of his worry fell away. Though he couldn't quite put his finger on why, she looked happier than she had since he'd known her.

  Cole parked in a lot adjoining the Denver Center Theater, and they walked to a Japanese restaurant a few blocks away.

  Brenna loved the atmosphere of the restaurant, the decor reminding her of the clean lines of traditional Japanese architecture. Of all the places her father had been stationed, Japan had been her favorite. The natural finished wood and opaque paper walls surrounding them gave her a sense they were the only two people in the restaurant even though she could hear muffled conversation nearby.

  A kimono-clad waitress handed each of them a menu, bowed, and discreetly disappeared. Brenna scanned the words, searching for one she might recognize. The script typeface confused her. No matter how hard she stared at it, a maze of symbols as illegible as Japanese ideographs stared back at her. The waitress brought a carafe of wine, an interruption Brenna was grateful for.

  "Do you come here often?" she asked after the waitress had poured the wine and left again.

  "Not often enough," Cole said. "Japanese food is my very favorite."

  "I've finally learned to like it, too," Brenna said, setting the menu aside. "When we lived in Japan, I hated it. I would have traded it any day for a hamburger."


  Cole grinned. "I went through a similar stage myself. When did you live there?"

  "When I was thirteen. It was the last overseas assignment my dad had before…"

  Before I left home. Cole heard the end of the sentence as clearly as if she'd said it. Each time he thought of her leaving home so young, he hurt for her. A flash of memory clouded her eyes, and she looked down. As he had seen her do before, she straightened her shoulders and looked back up, her emotions once again firmly hidden behind a wall of calm.

  "Japan was interesting," she said, taking a sip of her wine, then met his gaze. "Strange and exotic. I liked it."

  "What did you like best?" Cole asked her, wanting any snippet of her past that might help him understand her better.

  "Japanese theater," she answered instantly, surprising him. "Have you ever seen Kabuki plays?"

  Cole shook his head. "I've heard of them, but wouldn't know them from Punch and Judy."

  Brenna grinned. "Actually, you're closer than you know. Punch and Judy are puppets. Kabuki plays are performed by mimes. Then off to the side of the stage, there's a narrator who tells the audience the story."

  "An interpreter instead of subtitles?"

  She chuckled. "Something like that."

  Her eyes lit, and Cole sat back, smiling as she became more animated.

  "It didn't really matter whether you understood the language. The plays are so dramatic, you get the gist of the story just watching the mimes." She went on to tell him a couple of stories, one an ancient historical drama and the other a modern play about a merchant's family.

  "I would have thought you'd be more interested in the other kids than Ka … what was it?"

  "Kabuki."

  "Kabuki," he repeated.

  "It was better than the kids," she replied. "I was always the odd man out."

  Her statement was said lightly, but the shadows were back in her eyes, the last thing Cole wanted to see. He forced his attention back on the menu, then glanced at her.

  "I've always wanted to order yosenabe."

  "That sounds good," she agreed, closing the menu.

  The makings for the meal arrived a little while later, an assortment of chicken, crab, scallops, shrimp, and vegetables accompanied by sauces with mouth-watering flavors. They cooked the food fondue-style in a clear broth brought to the table.