The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels

by Girard, Dara

  "No, it's not."

  "What do you mean?"

  He yawned. "You have yet to tell me anything about yourself."

  "I had the typical middle-class childhood and typical middle-child upbringing. Nothing in my life stood out except me of course. Isn't that enough?"

  His reply was a soft snore.

  "I told you it would bore you," she muttered. She closed her eyes and tried to push away any worrisome thoughts. His warmth and steady breathing combined with the comforting sound of his heartbeat finally lulled her to sleep.

  * * *

  She was floating on a wave of syrup, rolling with butter on hot French toast, until she approached a waterfall of strawberries and melon balls. Cassie sighed, waking from her dream with disappointment. She stretched and smelled the air that greeted her with scents that made her stomach growl. She grabbed her robe and ran to the kitchen.

  Drake was at the stove, wearing worn jeans and an apron, happily whistling to the rhythm of a xylophone that came from the speaker, and the sound of something sizzling filled the air. She watched him check the oven, add lemon to a pan, then toss something in the air and catch it in the pan. It all looked like a dance. Not wanting to startle him, she knocked on the wall.

  He grinned as she approached. "Sleeping Beauty has awakened. Are you ready to eat?"

  "You never have to ask me that."

  He pointed his spatula to the set table. "Sit down."

  "Oh, this is wonderful," she said, admiring the fan-shaped yellow napkin that lay on the plate.

  "You deserve it."

  He placed in front of her toasted bagels with tomatoes and ricotta cheese, seasoned scrambled eggs, sable with dill sauce, sliced honeydew, and mangoes. The smell of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee complemented the air.

  She opened her mouth to tell him how wonderful it was, but he held up his hand and shook his head.

  "Do not speak, madam," he said in the tone of a stuffy waiter. "Merely enjoy. That will be thanks enough."

  Drake untied his apron and joined her at the table. Together they ate, listening to the light pelting of rain, the soothing sound of a flute over the loudspeaker, while a watery sunlight slipped through the windows.

  * * *

  He didn't allow her to thank him as she finished the meal or as he drove her home. She was glad to be completely better and now there was no other reason to stay with him. Although in her imagination she could think of a million reasons to. She watched Drake's car disappear into traffic as he rushed to get some errands done, then turned and stared at the dull red of her building. Their good-bye had been quick, almost anticlimactic. He had given her a brief kiss on the forehead, 'Whatever that meant,' smiled, and left. No "Good luck," no "Take care," not even "I'll call you." Not that she expected him to. She was glad to be back to get on with her life. Glad that he finally recognized that it was best to leave things as they were and not expect more. Her mind was keen on the idea. Her heart, however, was heavy.

  She stepped into the elevator, determined to get hold of her mixed emotions, and saw Glen buried in a book: Finding Love after Divorce.

  "Good book?" she asked.

  He hastily closed it and moved it out of view. "Not really, I was just curious. Perhaps I'll write a book of my own someday." He tapped the cover. "Doesn't seem hard."

  "Famous last words. What's that on your wrist?" she asked, noticing a purple rash.

  "Food allergy."

  She made a face. "Ugh. Food can really be a nasty beast, it either makes you fat or gives you a rash. I hope the meal was worth it."

  "Unfortunately, I'll probably do it again. So where have you been? I've missed you at aerobics." He flexed a muscle.

  Cassie gave it an appreciative squeeze. "Very nice. I was at a friend's place."

  "And from that vague reply, I'd say it was a male friend." He quirked a brow, looking very much like a professor. "Sounds serious."

  "It's not. I wasn't feeling well."

  "Sorry to hear that. Are you feeling better?"

  "Yes, thank you."

  "Are we still on for the poetry reading?" he asked as the elevator doors opened on her floor.

  She smiled at him as she stepped out. "Definitely."

  At least she had something to look forward to. Something else to occupy her mind. She turned the corner and saw Timothy about to knock on her door. Her good mood left. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

  "I need to talk to you."

  She heard the door creak open next door.

  "Hi, Mr. Gianolo," she called. "I'm fine."

  There was a grunt and then the door closed.

  She pushed Timothy aside and opened her apartment door. She held out her hand when he began to follow her inside. "You can't come in."

  He frowned, confused. "Why?"

  She placed her bags down. "Because this is a Timothy-free zone."

  His handsome face creased with worry. "Cassie, I really need to talk to you."

  She folded her arms, unmoved by his expression. "To put me down or ask me back?"

  "I'm sorry about the other day. You looked so good, I was jealous. You know I say horrible things when I'm jealous."

  "Or upset, or hurt, or annoyed, or confused, or—"

  "I know I wasn't always the best husband. But I've changed. A lot has happened to open my eyes." His voice softened, his eyes pleaded. "Cassie, I need you right now."

  She sighed, feeling herself weaken. Not from concern, but curiosity. "Why?"

  He hung his head. "My father's dying."

  * * *

  She shouldn't have come here, Cassie thought, watching Timothy order two snow cones from a street vendor.

  The summer air was cool, the sound of kids playing Frisbee and the loud flux of tourists rushed past. Here she was sitting on a bench waiting for Timothy—her ex-husband. The situation had an odd, disquieting feeling. She knew why she had fallen for him. It was not only because he was handsome, although that had been a deciding factor in the beginning. He had been so attentive then, flooding her with compliments with his smooth deep voice. She hadn't felt the need to constantly be "on." He had wanted a friend and she had been one. At that time she would have been anything he asked.

  "Strawberry," Timothy announced, handing her the cone.

  "My favorite, you remembered."

  "Of course." He sat, his voice deepening to an intimate level. "I remember a lot about you."

  She held up her hand. "Hold on. I feel a line of bull coming."

  "I'm serious. Remember when we used to come here to help you break through your writer's block? We'd stretch out on a blanket and watch the crowd and brainstorm."

  "Yes." She had been her happiest then. She'd enjoyed being married, having someone to listen to her ideas and care about her success, but there was so much more to marriage than that. "While I do admit that we had some good times together, they obviously weren't enough to keep your attention."

  "Debra meant nothing. You were so busy and I needed someone there for me. I didn't want to bother you so I strayed. But I did it for us."

  Cassie bit into her snow cone and frowned. "You had an affair to save our marriage?"

  "In a way, yes. I've heard affairs can make a marriage stronger."

  She held her forehead. "Damn, I am so sorry. I didn't realize that sleeping with another woman and spending nearly twenty thousand dollars on her was a purely selfish—excuse me, selfless—act on your part to save our marriage. If only I had known that sooner, then perhaps I could have found my own lover and our marriage would have been as strong as ever."

  Timothy furrowed his brows as he watched a group of kids. "Why can't you be serious?"

  "I can be, but not when I'm shoveling myself out of crap."

  He sighed and bit into his melting snow cone.

  "So tell me about your father," she said, eager to change the subject.

  "He's dying," he said.

  "Yes, we've already established that, but don't expect me to cod
dle you. You never liked him."

  "I know but he's still my father."

  Cassie stared at him, unmoved by his sentiment.

  His voice changed to normal. "Okay, I admit I'm worried about inheriting the business."

  "Right, that means you'll have to work. That must be a scary prospect." She patted his knee as she would a little boy. "Don't worry, you'll be fine."

  "I know." He rested his arm behind her. "I would just like to have someone by my side during this time. Someone I could trust."

  "Your mother's still alive, isn't she?"

  He touched her shoulder. "Cass, I need you."

  She moved away. "My name is not Cass. Despite the fact that I like some of their music, I am not a former member of the Mamas and the Papas."

  Once they had gone to a costume party and Cassie had dressed up as Cass Elliot and been a hit. Timothy remembered this and began humming "Monday, Monday."

  "I'm not going to dance so you might as well stop humming."

  He stroked her cheek. "Cassie, I know I hurt you. I've always been a selfish bastard, but with you I really tried. I tried to give you whatever you wanted: jewelry, trips, parties. I realize it wasn't enough, but I can learn. What we had was special."

  "You're just scared. If you relax, you'll be fine." She stood.

  He frowned as she walked away. "Where are you going?"

  "To get another snow cone," she called over her shoulder.

  He followed her, his face a tight mask of disapproval. "Don't you think one is enough?"

  "No." She approached the vendor. "One strawberry cone please." She turned to him. "Aren't you glad you're not married to such a pig ? Oink, oink."

  "You're not a pig. You just need to watch your weight."

  "Sort of hard to watch it when you're wearing it." She took the cone and paid the vendor, then began walking.

  "You're pretty, you know." He shoved his hands in his pockets, examining her profile. "You'd be prettier if you lost a few pounds. Just exercise and watch what you eat. When you get upset eat a cookie or something."

  "Eat a cookie?" She laughed. "That's like eating a peanut or a grape. Sorry, but there are certain foods that must be eaten by the handful."

  "You can joke all you want, but obesity can lead to many health problems like diabetes or heart disease."

  Cassie threw her head back. "Oh, so now I'm not just fat, I'm obese! Soon you'll be calling in the cranes."

  Timothy's lips thinned. "I'm just giving you the facts. You're not obese yet, but you could be. Cassie, I only say this because I care about you."

  There was that nasty word again—care. Instead of making her feel good it made her feel guilty. It seemed to give people permission to toy with her feelings.

  "Thank you for caring about me. I do exercise and try to stay healthy. Is that okay for you?"

  An arm snuck around her waist. He pulled her close. "I love you, Cassie."

  She wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe that their marriage had been based on more than his need for a wife. That his love for her had mirrored her own. Did one ever get over a first love?

  She looked at his appealing earnest face, feeling comfortable in his familiar embrace, and sighed, suddenly feeling impulsive. At least he wasn't dangerous. "Let's go to a movie," she heard herself say.

  * * *

  If she knew she'd have so much fun with him, she would never have gone. They laughed through a slapstick comedy, took a bus ride around the city, then ate in a Georgetown restaurant. Timothy ordered a salad for her, but she didn't mind because she knew he only did so because he cared. They talked about old friends, old times, and vaguely about the future. When Timothy kissed her at her doorstep a rush of emotion filled her— excitement, pleasure, dismay, shock—but none of it was love. She smiled at him as he waved good-bye, knowing they could never go back to what they once had. He could never enthrall her again because she wasn't the woman she had been. He would never be the man she had thought he was. Feeling renewed, she went inside and went straight to bed.

  * * *

  She was glad to wake up in her own place, free from the men who tried to shackle her with their "care." She had been vulnerable to both Drake's and Timothy's charms, but now she was back on her turf and could begin to think rationally again. She showered, then headed for the kitchen, avoiding the computer monitor in the corner that seemed to be sneering at her.

  The phone rang.

  "Hello?"

  "Cassie? Hi, Patricia Rodgers. How's the book coming?"

  She winced. Although she enjoyed her editor's southern drawl hidden behind an acquired New York accent, she always regretted hearing from her if she didn't have good news. Patricia was always optimistic and full of energy. Cassie had no desire to deflate that energy by telling her the truth—that being stabbed would be less painful than writing this book. "Oh, it's coming along well."

  "I'm glad to hear that. Just wanted to make sure we're on schedule."

  "Completely," Cassie assured her.

  "You realize this book is important?"

  Her career breaker or crusher. "Yes. Don't worry."

  "Great. Talk to you later." She hung up.

  "Hopefully much later," Cassie muttered, replacing the receiver. She went into the kitchen ready for brunch, but stopped at the sight of the big white object in front of her. She stared at it in dismayed fascination, then dialed Drake.

  "What is this thing in my kitchen?" she asked, pointing to the object, as if he could see her.

  She heard him yawn. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  She let her hand fall. "You replaced my refrigerator."

  "So?" He yawned again.

  "Stop yawning. Didn't you sleep well?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "Missed you."

  She tried to ignore that, but her face still grew warm. His voice sounded extra sexy when he was sleepy. "You shouldn't have replaced my refrigerator."

  "Why not?"

  "It was mine. You had no right to replace it."

  "But it moved."

  "It worked."

  "Cassie," he said patiently, "I don't know if you realize this, but appliances aren't supposed to move."

  "And what about my cutting board?" she asked, spotting a new one near the sink. "And knife block?"

  "You don't like them?" He sounded surprised. "I got top of the line."

  "That's not the point." She opened the fridge and nearly dropped the phone. "Drake!"

  "What?"

  "It's filled with food!"

  "You're kidding!"

  She closed the door. "Don't be funny."

  "You couldn't expect me to give you a fridge empty of food."

  She opened the freezer, then began pushing buttons on the outside panel. "This must have been expensive."

  "It gives me peace of mind. I don't have to worry about your refrigerator attacking you at night. As for the stove—"

  She rested a hip against the counter. "The stove stays."

  "It's not self-cleaning."

  "It stays."

  He sighed, resigned. "Fine. I hope you're as loyal to me as you are to broken-down appliances."

  "They aren't broken down."

  "Okay." He yawned again.

  Cassie wrapped the cord around her hand. "I'm going against my better judgment in thanking you, but this in no way means I encourage such arrogant behavior."

  "Certainly."

  "Thank you."

  "You're welcome. So when's your date with Greg?"

  She unwrapped the phone cord. "His name is Glen."

  "Like it matters."

  She would always blame his smug teasing tone for her next comment. "I went out with Timothy yesterday."

  His voice didn't change. "Did you have fun?"

  "Surprisingly, yes."

  "He didn't hurt you?" he asked cautiously.

  She suddenly regretted bringing up the topic. She didn't know how she had expected him to respond,
but this wasn't it, "No. It was fine."

  "What did you do?"

  "We went to see a movie and then he took me to dinner." She told him the name of the restaurant.

  "Good place. What did you have?"

  "He ordered a nice green salad."

  There was a pause. "And?"

  "That's it."

  "If that—Timothy can't afford to spend more, then he shouldn't have taken you there."

  "It wasn't the price, it was a... precaution."

  "A precaution?"

  She rolled her eyes. She wished she didn't have to always explain things to him. If Timothy knew the statistics she'd think he would too. "You know an obese woman is susceptible to many diseases."

  "So is a malnourished one. Fortunately, you're neither." His voice deepened with regret. "He did hurt you again, didn't he?"

  It had been subtle, he had wrapped it in the guise of caring, love, and affection, but he had hurt her by making her weight an issue, by ordering for her as if she didn't have the mental capacity to order a sensible meal. "He doesn't mean to," she said, beginning to feel depressed. "He's too self-focused to know that what he says and does hurts." Her voice lowered. "I had two snow cones," she confessed like a naughty child.

  "So don't have two today. Cassie, there is nothing wrong with you."

  She closed her eyes, wishing she could believe him. Wishing she could imagine what he saw in her. "Drake?"

  "Hmm?"

  "How do you see me?" Her voice was a whisper as if the subject were taboo. "Truly?"

  "I've already told you. I think you're beautiful."

  "Beautiful." She repeated the word, but still could not apply it to herself. She was cute, sweet, but far from beautiful. She looked down at herself. Especially with a body like this. "But what about my size? I'm not exactly model material."

  "No. They like to choose weird-looking women." He yawned again. "I'm happy with the real thing—true beauty."

  She laughed. "I wish I lived on your planet."

  "Give me time and I'll take you there."