She could hear the sarcasm in her head. Why was she so annoyed with him? Was it because Michael had routinely worn an old, tan Carhartt barn coat? She had always hated that coat. Now, she wished she could bury her face in it and feel Michael’s arms around her.
“You look like an old-time movie star with that scarf and sunglasses,” Bradley said, as they left the building.
“That’s the look I was going for,” she said, lightly.
There was a small restaurant two blocks away that had excellent soups and sandwiches. Her mind was so full of how to explain what was going to happen in the next few weeks to Bradley that she neglected to discuss their destination. She simply plunged her hands into her coat pockets and headed in that direction.
“You do know your own mind don’t you.” Bradley laughed. “Do you want to let me in on where we are going?”
“I’m sorry. I’m a little preoccupied today,” she said. “Soup sounded good to me.”
“It sounds perfect to me too,” Bradley said. “I think it’s going to start snowing again. Nothing like hot soup on a snowy day.”
It was not a fancy establishment that she had chosen. One chose a tray and then guided it along while pointing at the various foods one wanted. It reminded her of a school cafeteria. Perhaps that’s why she liked it. When she was a child, the food she got for lunch at the cafeteria was often the only thing she had to eat all day, especially toward the end of the month.
Without giving it much thought, she chose comfort food. A bowl of chicken noodle soup and a baguette of sourdough bread.
“That’s quite a load of carbs,” Bradley pointed out as they sat down. “I’m surprised you can keep your figure eating like that.”
“Not in the mood for a salad today,” she said.
“I’ll overlook it this one time,” he teased. “Now what was it that you wanted to discuss with me? I hope it wasn’t another lecture on why we should not be dating. That’s a little hard on a man’s ego.”
She took off her sunglasses and stared across the table at him. His ego was the least of her worries.
“I have breast cancer, Bradley. It’s aggressive. In four days I’m scheduled to have surgery. After that there will be chemo, and possibly radiation. I’m going to need to take a leave of absence.”
Bradley recoiled. He even placed his hands on the table and pushed himself back away from her as though her cancer might be catching.
“This is quite a shock,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, simply. “It is.”
Maybe she had been a bit abrupt, but she didn’t know how to candy-coat it, and she didn’t want to. It was an ugly thing she would be going through. A leave of absence in their busy office was asking a lot. Her boss needed to know the reality.
“How long have you known?” he asked.
“I saw the doctor yesterday.”
Bradley crossed his arms. His food forgotten. “And you’ll be out how long?”
“A few weeks, a couple months, I don’t know,” Cassie said. “It depends on how my body responds. Whether or not the cancer has spread. No one can predict the time trajectory.”
“You have quite a few projects that you’re working on.”
“I should be able to finish them. There will be some good days in between the surgery and treatments. I will be able to work at home, but just not at my usual pace. I might even be able to come into the office some of the time.”
“Yes, yes.” Bradley picked up a fork and toyed with it. “I’m sure.”
He glanced around the room, suddenly agitated. “Do you mind if I head back to the office? I just remembered a meeting I have with a client. You know how it is.”
She nodded. Yes, she knew how it was. Nothing like the mention of breast cancer to cool a man’s interest. In a way, it was a relief to see him react this way. She would never have to worry about turning down his advances ever again. He hadn’t even expressed any compassion or concern for her. The only thing he had seemed to have on his mind was how her illness might affect the completion of the firm’s projects that she had been assigned to.
After he left, she watched the snow begin to fall outside the large window onto all the other office workers going to and fro on the sidewalk. Everyone was so busy. In such a hurry. Just like her until she hit the brick wall of preparing for the possibility of a terminal illness.
She tore a piece off her half loaf of sourdough bread, picked up her knife and buttered it. It would be wise to get as many calories in as possible while she still could. From caring for her mother, she knew that too much weight loss would soon become an issue.
As she chewed, she noticed a calendar nailed to the wall to her right. The coming year was going to be a challenge. If things went well, she would still be alive to choose a new calendar for her office next year. She really hoped she would get to do that. Funny how quickly one’s goals could change.
Chapter 34
Rachel was playing Chinese checkers with Bobby. Since she had no new clues to follow up on about the baby, it seemed as good an idea as any to make some popcorn and enjoy being with her son. Sometimes her brain came up with answers better if she wasn’t concentrating so hard on a problem.
Besides, Bobby had been spending way too much time at the restaurant with Joe and Darren during this Christmas school break. Most of the time the little guy liked being there with his dad, but after a while she knew it could become wearying for a small boy.
“Can we play a long time?” Bobby asked. “You don’t have to go catch bad guys or anything?”
“Nope. We can play until bedtime. Kim is patrolling tonight,” she said.
“But she’s not as good a police girl as you are, is she?” Bobby said.
“Where did you get that idea?”
“I heard you talking to Daddy. You said she wasn’t very good at her job.”
When would she learn that Bobby heard everything, and paid more attention than she realized?
“Kim hasn’t been a cop as long as me, but she’s getting better at it every day. Like you practicing your alphabet, or learning how to name some of the stars from your daddy.”
“But she’ll never be as good as you, will she, Mommy?”
There was that ‘Mommy’ again. She loved it when he said that. It usually came only when she was paying a lot of attention to him, like now.
It was tempting to boast that, no, Kim would never be as good. Rachel wanted to be a hero to her son just like any other parent. But her Amish background had taught her that pride was unwise.
“Kim’s becoming a very good cop,” Rachel said. “But we have different strengths.”
He changed the subject, as only a seven-year-old could. “Why can’t I go to Aunt Anna’s school?”
“It’s only supposed to be for Amish boys and girls.” She jumped two of his yellow marbles with her black.
Bobby contemplated the board. “Did you go to an Amish school when you were little?”
“Yes.”
“Did you like it?”
“Very much.”
“Then how come I can’t go?” He jumped three of her blacks and ended up with a marble in her space. She needed to pay more attention. This little guy was getting better. “Aunt Anna goes there, and she’s not even a kid.”
It was true. Anna, with her child-like mind, was fascinated with the school that had been built next door to the Sugar Haus Inn, and she enjoyed being with the children. Fortunately, Naomi, who was the teacher, understood Anna’s curiosity and mental capacity, and kept an adult-sized desk and chair available and filled with crayons and coloring pages so that Anna could happily go to school whenever she liked.
Rachel was trying to form a plausible reason that Bobby could not go to an Amish school, when her cell phone rang.
“Rachel!” Darren shouted over the din in the background. “Can you go over to Lydia’s and see if she has any more pies ready? We’re completely out.”
“I thought Joe picked up a dozen this
morning. That’s nearly a hundred pieces. It’s always more than enough.”
“It’s not been enough today,” Darren said. “We’re completely sold out and it’s still four hours to closing time.”
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Remember that TV chef who wanted to film Lydia making pies, but she and Bertha turned him down?”
“Yes.”
“Turns out he’s also a columnist for the Columbus Dispatch. He wrote a whole article about our restaurant, but mainly he focused on the pies. He said that they were the best he’d ever eaten, and they were made by an elusive, elderly Amish woman, who wouldn’t allow herself to be interviewed, and who refused to give away her secret recipes.”
“Aunt Lydia has secret recipes?”
“It’s a mess over here,” Darren said. “Our regulars are complaining and the out-of-towners are upset that they drove all this way for a real Amish pie and we’re out. I’d be happy if it were our hamburgers or potato salad the chef wrote about. I’d be thrilled. Joe and I could make more, but all the customers coming in here today just seem to want pie and they’re leaving mad.”
Rachel glanced down at Bobby. “You want to go over to Aunt Anna’s?”
“Yay!” Bobby jumped up so quickly from the game that he spilled marbles everywhere. The white cat he’d gotten from Anna started batting them around with her paws.
“I’m sorry.” Bobby looked stricken. “I’ll pick them up.”
“Don’t worry about it right now, son,” Rachel said. “I think we’d better hurry.”
The kitchen was Lydia’s undisputed kingdom. She planned the meals, she cooked the meals, and Bertha and Anna helped by washing the dishes afterward. This evening, however, when Rachel and Bobby arrived, Anna was washing a sink full of apples. Bertha was up to her elbows peeling them, and Lydia was rolling out pie crusts and draping them over multiple pie pans lined up on the table. No one looked happy.
“Darren told me what was happening at the restaurant,” Rachel said. “Can I help?”
“Your help will be much appreciated,” Bertha said. “Anna should go lie down now. She has done enough for someone with a weak heart.”
“No!” Anna said. “I want to help.”
“And you can, dear,” Rachel said. “But let me take over and help Lydia for you so you can take a break. Besides, Bobby brought his book of seashells again. He’ll be disappointed if you don’t look at it with him.”
The look of relief on Anna’s face was great. She dried her hands, then she and Bobby went into the living room. Bobby cuddled up beside her, and opened his book. Anna’s favorite pet, Gray Cat, leaped up on the couch and settled on her lap. She began to stroke it, and Rachel could hear the cat’s purr clear across the room.
Now for those pies.
“What do I need to do?” she asked.
“Bring in an armload of that good oak kindling Joe split for me last week. The stove needs to be much hotter. Then help Bertha peel and slice the apples while I mix the flour, sugar, and spices. I will have six ready in about an hour. You can take them over when you leave.”
Rachel did everything Lydia asked, quietly and competently, but her attempts at conversation with Bertha and Lydia fell flat. The joy had gone out of Lydia’s baking, and they all felt the loss.
After Lydia pulled the last pie out of the stove, she packed all six into boxes, ready for Rachel to carry them out to the car. Rachel loaded the boxes into the trunk, and then came back inside for Bobby.
Lydia was sitting at the table, wearily fanning herself.
“Give Joe and Darren a message from me,” Bertha said.
“What’s that?” Rachel said.
“Tell them to double the price,” Bertha said, wearily. “Maybe that’ll make customers think twice before ordering more pie!”
Chapter 35
As Cassie moved through her early morning routine, she steeled her resolve and made her plans. There would be no more tearful breakdowns like she’d had yesterday. Self-pity was a luxury she could not afford. Continuing to work would be her salvation.
Cassie had always dealt with emotional trauma by working harder. When she was a kid and things were bad at home, she had worked especially hard. Since things were nearly always bad at home, she graduated from high school with a perfect 4.0 grade point average. This she accomplished in spite of chaos at home, poor lighting at night, and frequent hunger. Her powers of concentration were finely tuned, carefully honed in a downtrodden community where there was never any lack of freeloading men for her mother to fall in love with.
“I think this is the one!” her mother gushed each time a new man came into her life. “I think he really loves me. This one is going to be my Prince Charming!”
There had been no Prince Charming. Cassie had been the one to take her mother to the doctor, for surgery, for chemo, to the hospital. No one at the graduation ceremony had a clue what she’d been through while making the grades to become Valedictorian her senior year.
She had never known her father. He had been serving a life sentence when she was born. While she was learning to crawl, he had died from a well-placed knife to the ribs. Her mother never talked about him. She didn’t seem to have known him well, but Cassie sometimes wondered about his IQ. The school counselor, trying to encourage her to go to college, told her that hers was exceptionally high. Her mother’s, unfortunately, was not. Sometimes Cassie had wondered if her mom was slightly substandard retarded because her attitude and mind was so childlike. She was a pretty woman, so men didn’t seem to care.
Those powers of concentration she’d developed as a kid would have to serve her well during these next difficult weeks and months. There were cases she needed to research; work she was going to be expected to accomplish. She was determined not to let cancer keep her from providing her law firm with the best she was capable of. It occurred to her that, if she refused pain medications, it would help keep her mind clear enough to work. She thought she might be tough enough to endure the pain if it meant keeping her mind sharp.
One thing she knew, a law firm like the one she worked for was not a compassionate entity. She would either have to deliver, or they would eventually find someone who could. Cassie planned to deliver no matter what. She’d worked too hard for this position to lose it due to illness.
That was one reason she was coming in on a Saturday morning. Blackwell, Hart & Cooper did not require their employees to work on Saturdays, but they always had some staff on hand to keep things going in case someone like her wanted to come in and get some work done. The firm stressed the fact that they did not expect their attorneys to work six days a week, but everyone who worked there knew that it did not hurt one’s standing in the company to do so.
They made it possible for their employees to access the building on Sundays also. Michael had put his foot down on that. She did not go in on Sundays as long as she and Michael were together—but it made her a little nervous not to do so.
Again, she contemplated telling Michael what she was facing, and once again rejected it. Even though she had not moved forward with the divorce, he was probably still angry at her. That was okay. She much preferred anger over pity right now.
Anger she was trained to deal with. Pity brought on flashbacks of being the recipient of a local church’s Christmas coat drive and their annual Thanksgiving food basket program. Her mother had been grateful. Cassie had been humiliated.
As she walked from her car to Starbucks, to her office building, the winter wind whipped around her as she remembered that church coat. It had been warm and smelled new. She had learned then that it was possible to be humiliated and grateful at the same time.
Without thinking, she slid her ID card through the slot that would open the door to the wing of offices where she worked.
Today, of all days, it decided not to work. How frustrating! She took a good look at her ID card, made sure the electronic tape was facing the correct way, and slid it through again. It still
didn’t work.
There was a buzzer on the thick, glass door. Irritated, she pressed it, signaling her assistant to come open the door. When Sophie saw her, instead of coming to open the door, she looked scared, immediately glanced away, and got ultra-busy at her desk.
Puzzled and angry, Cassie was about to push the buzzer again when she saw two clean-cut security guards coming toward her. She knew these guys. She’d even exchanged pleasantries with them from time to time. One was carrying a large box. Perhaps the box held the necessary tools to fix or replace the obviously broken card-swipe gadget.
The tallest one opened the door for her. Finally! Now she could get to work.
“Thanks, Jeff,” she said. “When did this thing break?”
Instead of allowing her to walk past him, he held his arm out like a traffic cop. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t let you enter.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” she said. “I need to get to my office.”
“You’ve been let go,” he said. “We were instructed to pack up your desk and escort you back to your car.”
“I’ve been let go?” she was stunned. “As in fired? Are you telling me that I’ve been fired? That’s not possible. There’s been some mistake!”
“I’m sorry,” Jeff said, still barring the door. “My instructions were to pack up the personal items from your office and accompany you back to your car.”
“But why?” she said. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Again,” Jeff said. “I was not given any reasons. Larry and I are just following instructions.”
“Can I at least download some work from my computer?”
“That is not allowed, ma’am. I was clearly instructed not to allow you access to your work computer.”
“But I have unfinished cases…”
“Mr. Cooper did say to tell you that he apologizes for the inconvenience.”
“Inconvenience? Bradley calls this an inconvenience?”
Love Rekindled: Book 3 Page 16