"I don't want to perform anymore," Cassie said, her lips set in a stubborn line.
Kajurian raised his eyes to the heavens in despair. "What do I tell Morgana? That you don't care about publicizing her documentary? And what do I tell the AAFA committee? That you turn them down? Do you know what the AAFA will do? They'll be so insulted they'll blacklist you forever. What do I tell them, Cassie?"
"Tell them," said Cassie slowly, an idea burgeoning, "tell them this, Kajurian. Tell them that Rose o' Sharon will sing 'Where the Heart Is' at the AAFA Awards Spectacular. Tell them that, Kajurian."
She gathered her skirt around her and grinned as she headed for the house with a basket of yellow squash over her arm. "Be sure to let me know what they say. Sharon will be spectacular!"
Kajurian stared openmouthed as she disappeared inside the house.
* * *
Sharon showed up later that day. She parked Cassie's car in the shed and began to get out the car-washing supplies. Cassie went out as Sharon was running water in the bucket.
Sharon looked excited. "I'm going to do it, Cassie, I signed with Kajurian this morning. He came by while I was hanging laundry for Ma, and I went ahead. Bonnie is happy for me, but I'm scared out of my mind. Oh, Cassie, I can't go to California all alone! Why, I've never been any further than Asheville, and that was on my high-school class trip! Cassie, you've got to come with me out to L.A.!"
"You'll do fine on your own." Cassie dipped a sponge in the bucket and began to suds the car.
"Here, let me do that. It's the least I can do after you let me borrow your wheels."
"I don't mind," Cassie objected, but Sharon relieved her of the sponge.
"You'll come to L.A.? Kajurian said I need to be there in two weeks." Sharon glanced at her out of the corners of her eyes.
"It's a lot to ask, Sharon." Cassie went into the potting shed and busied herself with stacking clay pots.
"You will, though, right? I won't know anyone there."
"Um, well, I'll think it over," Cassie said, feeling pressured.
At that moment John walked out of the woods. He looked cheerful and upbeat.
"Need help?" he asked.
Sharon said, "I have it under control. Washing her car is how I repay Cassie for her kindness." She went to the spigot and turned on the hose.
"In that case, I'll kidnap Cassie for a while. We were going to release Bertrand and Rupert today, remember?"
Cassie stepped out into the sunshine, thinking how hard it was to refuse him anything. "All right," she said. "It's time." She'd miss the little guys, but she'd been resigned to letting them go for weeks now.
John grabbed the cages from their shelf in the shed. "I may need help with Bertrand," he told her. The look on his face was comical. He'd never warmed to the skunk.
"Go ahead, Cassie," Sharon said, nudging her away. "We can discuss our trip later."
Cassie fled, uneager to say goodbye to the animals but glad for an excuse not to be put on the spot by Sharon, whose enthusiasm threatened to become contagious.
Fortunately John wasn't interested in talking about Sharon's opportunities. After coaxing Bertrand and Rupert into their respective cages and loading them into the back of the Explorer, John drove along an old logging road to a bend in the creek.
"'Bye, guys," Cassie told them as John put the cages on the ground. She always regretted saying goodbye to animals she'd saved, but it was comforting to know that without her, they wouldn't have survived.
Rupert bolted as soon as his feet met the ground. When they released Bertrand, he sniffed the air a few times and looked back at them before scampering under a pile of wood. When he didn't come out, Cassie and John decided to visit the bordering meadow before starting back to the house.
It was a golden-tree afternoon, the hickory trees on the far side of the creek shimmering in the sunshine. Cassie and John walked hand in hand through a daisy field, finding themselves knee-deep in a dazzling profusion of flowers. Today, despite her sadness at the departure of the animals, she felt happy and relaxed.
"I hope we've done the right thing, John," she said. "Bertrand seemed so unsure."
"Don't worry," John said wryly. "That critter has proved beyond a doubt that he can defend himself. Bertrand will be all right. So will Rupert. He'll be scooping trout out of that creek by nightfall, I'll bet."
He glanced at Cassie. "Let's stop here for a moment," he suggested. "I'm ready for a rest." He knew never to ask Cassie if her leg hurt. She always denied it and pushed herself to the limit of endurance to keep up. Sometimes, like now, he called a break so she wouldn't have to.
They sank down in the middle of the field. In the distance, the sky foamed here and there into billowing cloudlets teasing the mountaintops. A cool sun gilded their bodies, and a whisper-soft breeze scattered Cassie's worries away.
"Did you know that the Anglo-Saxons called daisies 'day's eyes'?" John asked as he plucked one from a nearby stalk.
"Mmm, no. I didn't," said Cassie, stretching and leaning back until her head rested on his thigh. From this position, she and John seemed centered beneath a blanket of blue sky bordered with daisy lace.
"Eventually 'day's eye' evolved into the word 'daisy,'" he told her as he proceeded to weave flowers in her hair.
"What are you doing?" Cassie wanted to know. His fingers felt cool against her warm scalp. The pungent scent of broken stems hung green in the air around them, stirring her senses with an unexpected pang of desire.
"I've spangled your hair with day's eyes," he said, swooping down to kiss her on the tip of her nose.
A monarch butterfly with delicate black-veined wings danced by on the air. For a moment it lit on John's shoulder, and Cassie reached to brush it away. Her fingers lingered on the chambray of his shirt, and, in an abrupt change of mood, John bent over her, his hands gentle against her sun-warmed cheek as he cupped her face and captured her lips in a kiss as warm and sweet as honey.
Cassie swirled down into the sensation of melting lips, his fingers tangling in her hair. Daisy petals floated across her face as they drifted down in a flurry of white. Time stopped and started again, slower now, everything rolling in slow motion as John's fingertips fluttered down her arm, pausing with strong, sure pressure before curving delicately around one breast.
She curled her hands around his neck, the throb of his pulse heavy against one thumb, and then she twined her fingers together behind him. The muscles of his back rippled as he shifted position and pressed against her, the roughness of his shirt welcome against her tingling skin.
It was good, Cassie thought hazily, to be able to lose yourself in this sweet, easy pleasure of the senses, to shut the world away by opening the door to exquisite sensory experience. John had shown her the way. He'd guided her along the path and made her open that door, and she was glad. There was nothing that she could not share with John, no part of her life that was not his to know. His love was healing her and making her whole. Gratitude filled her to overflowing.
A white-winged bird whirred up out of the daisies a few feet away, so close that the rush of air from its wings burst against their hot faces.
"Cassandra," John said unsteadily, tugging at her blouse until it fell away from her skin, exposing her firm, round breasts, their nipples so large and brown. He pulled at the zipper of the jeans she wore in place of her usual loose shifts and turned back the fabric on either side. She slid out of the jeans, murmuring his name over and over, sweet music in his ear. She helped him with his clothes, too, until they lay together naked in the daisy-lace meadow.
He would never tire of seeing Cassie this way, he thought, gliding his hands across her skin, marveling at her fragility and her strength, at her softness and her hardness, at her flatness and her curves. He would never get enough of kissing her, of their mouths blending first with gentleness, delighting in preliminary explorations, and then tightening as the tempo of their lovemaking quickened.
Deftly and eagerly he bent his head
, took Cassie's brown-berried nipple between his lips and slowly sucked it, savoring its sweetness. She moaned lightly and moved beneath him, guiding his hands to places where they would pleasure her most.
His tongue traced a damp trail from her breast to her throat and lingered in the hollow, dipping into the salty sweetness before spinning a silver thread of wetness on its way to her mouth. His lips met hers in a kiss that stilled Cassie's moans.
And so they made love again in that age-old renewal of body and spirit, and Cassie felt loved and desired and contented, but she did not feel any sunbursts.
John knew once more that it wasn't the same for Cassie as it was for him. He cradled her close, and he whispered, "I love you" against her hair. And he vowed that soon, soon, Cassie would be able to give of herself and take for herself as well.
* * *
"You told Sharon you'd think about going with her?" John asked later as he braided more daisies into a wreath.
"Yes," said Cassie hopelessly. "Because I couldn't bear to tarnish Sharon's happiness."
"Cassie, you could do it."
"No, John. Not if I have to fly."
"When is Sharon going?"
"Kajurian wants her in L.A. in two weeks."
"You could be ready to go by then."
"John, you could accompany Sharon."
John dropped the daisies he was weaving and stared at her. She looked lovely in the aftermath of lovemaking, her skin dewy, her blouse still unbuttoned so that one breast was revealed in all its fullness, the other screened by fabric. They had pulled on their clothes in case someone happened upon them, but they hadn't zipped zippers or buttoned buttons yet. That could wait until they were ready to leave.
"Ah, Cassandra," he said, reaching out and cupping her full breast lightly in his hand. The nipple drew up, responding to his touch. He leaned toward her and kissed her on the cheek. "It wouldn't be proper."
"You said you wouldn't mind returning to Los Angeles for a visit," Cassie said stubbornly. "Sharon trusts you."
John sighed and pulled away. "I wouldn't mind going to L.A. for a visit," he said carefully. "But I want you to go with me. Remember?"
"John, you know how I feel about flying."
"We'll drive to the airport in Asheville during the next two weeks, several times if we have to. We'll sit and watch the planes take off and land. I read this in a book about phobias." Since Cassie continued to resist seeing a second psychologist, he'd ordered the book for his e-reader.
"It had a chapter about people who are afraid to fly," he went on. "Did you know there's a course that helps people confront their fear?"
"No," said Cassie. "I didn't. Anyway, I'm sure there isn't one here in Scot's Cove."
"You've already done the groundwork. You're more relaxed and self-confident now. You're ready to confront your fears."
"But—"
"Don't give me that business about Rory and Kevin. You don't have to go on paying and paying for their deaths." He spoke bluntly, but not unkindly.
Cassie blinked and looked down at the ground, considering. "What would I have to do?" she asked quietly.
"The people who take the course accustom themselves to being around airplanes, use a lot of positive thinking, and eventually they take a flight. We could do what they do. We'd go to the Asheville airport every day if necessary and work intensively, the two of us."
"Don't make it sound so simple," snapped Cassie. "What happened to me to make me afraid of flying hasn't been experienced by most people."
"Ah," he said softly. "Don't you think I know that?"
Cassie only sighed.
"You made it through dinner at the Juniper Inn, didn't you? And you thought you'd never leave Flat Top Mountain for anything remotely resembling social reasons. Trust me, Cassandra."
I'm so afraid, she thought. I can't get on a plane again.
"I'll make it easy for you, Cassie. Go along with what I'm trying to do, give me that much, and if at the end of two weeks you don't want to climb on that plane with Sharon and me, Sharon goes alone."
Cassie was no longer thinking of herself. "John, she can't. She's scared silly about how to act in L.A, where she'll live when she gets there, all kinds of things."
"Sharon needs you. We both know that."
Too late Cassie realized that she'd backed herself into a corner. Sharon had no support group. John couldn't fill Cassie's role for Sharon, nor could Kajurian. John was entirely right. Sharon needed her.
She bowed her head. "All right, John," she said, her voice no more than a whisper. "I'll try. I want to help Sharon and to please you. But John, if I can't get on that airplane when it's time to go, please understand."
John's eyes flickered with a spark of hope. "You're a courageous woman, Cassie," he told her.
She closed her eyes, fighting the panic that so insidiously grappled with the sense of well-being that John had carefully instilled.
"I'll make the plane reservations tonight," he told her. She nodded in silent assent.
John loved her, and she was trying. In an attempt to lighten their mood, he carefully placed the daisy wreath on Cassie's head and kissed her on the mouth.
Cassie drew John's head into her lap and lingeringly traced the fullness of his lips with one fingertip. He was so dear, so loving, so considerate. But he wanted to shift her world on its axis.
"I love you, John," she said.
In answer, his smile was confident and sure. "I know," he said.
She fingered the scar that bisected his eyebrow, drifted the palm of her hand across the stubble on his cheek. Still smiling, he closed his eyes, and she bent to kiss him. The daisy crown on her head tipped crazily over one eye.
Cassie plucked two daisies from the wreath and placed them ever so carefully on John's closed eyelids.
"Hey, what are you doing?" he demanded.
"Giving you day's eyes," she said, a smile in her voice.
He couldn't help thinking that this was the second set of eyes she had given him, and the thought that Cassie did not yet know the extent of her giving or the effect of her generosity on his life made John's heart ache with sadness.
It also stiffened his determination to bring her to the point where he could tell her the truth.
* * *
John parked the Explorer on a side road near the Asheville airport where they could watch the airplanes take off and land. As he switched off the engine, one was gliding into the air, sunlight glinting off the wings.
Wings of death, Cassie thought to herself before she could help it, and a chill stabbed through her. She shivered.
"All right?" John's eyes, full of concern, searched her face.
"Yes," she said as another one landed. It was a commuter, and she kept her eyes on it as it taxied toward the arrival gates. Other planes were parked there, and suddenly the glare of the sun on aluminum shattered and fragmented into a kaleidoscope of light. She inhaled a deep yogic breath to steady herself, but instead she was breathing too fast and felt dizzy. A sick feeling churned up from her stomach, clogging her throat. Everything in her line of vision tilted sideways.
"Cassie!" John said, and she heard his voice as though he were far, far away.
He pulled her close, and the world righted itself. The rhythmic thrum-thrum of John's heartbeat beneath her ear intruded upon her consciousness. To her surprise, she was breathing normally.
"You had me worried," John said anxiously. Her eyelashes curled against the fabric of his jacket; she looked like a young child. Finally she opened her eyes, and in their depths he saw a glint of resolve. He kept a tight hold on her in case she started to go under again.
Cassie concentrated on silently reciting numbers backward from a hundred to one. She tried to remember the lyrics to all the songs she had ever written in chronological order. She repeated the Gettysburg Address to herself. Anything, anything, to get her mind off where she was and what she was doing.
Soon, in spite of herself, she was caught up in watching
the baggage carts drive up to the planes and the food trucks unloading provisions. She stopped reciting numbers, she forgot about the Gettysburg Address. She thought about the scene inside the airport, the hugs, kisses, and cries of happiness as husband met wife, sweetheart met lover, and parent met child.
"I never considered," Cassie said soberly, "how happy people are in airports."
John smiled. This was a good sign.
"Let's go," he said gently. "I think you've had enough for one day. We'll come back again tomorrow. I'm proud of you, Cassandra."
She ventured a weak smile because this had been an ordeal that she never could have imagined. She never would have attempted it a few months ago, before John.
"I'm proud of myself, too," she admitted. "But John, I still have a long way to go."
"Yes," he said approvingly. "All the way to California."
Chapter 13
They fastened their seat belts, or at least two of them did. Sharon, settling into the window seat, had no trouble with hers. Nor did John in the aisle seat. But Cassie, who was between them, fumbled until John said, "Here, love, let me do that," and he pulled at the belt until it fit snugly around Cassie's hips.
They'd decided to fly coach instead of first class because in coach they could sit three abreast. Cassie was convinced that she needed both Sharon and John beside her in order to survive this flight.
"Deep breaths," advised John. She'd been practicing yoga relaxation, and as long as she was on the ground, it had calmed her fears. Now, on the first leg of a journey that would end in California, she fought panic with every bit of willpower she possessed.
"They're pulling the service truck away from the plane," Sharon advised with barely contained excitement, craning her neck to look down from the little window. In a moment, the door at the front of the airplane slammed shut. The sound filled Cassie with terror. The sides of the plane closed in on her, choking off her breath.
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