You Turn

by Marion Croslydon

  She doesn’t smile but instead, her eyes dive into mine as if I was her anchor, not Mrs. O’Malley who walks by her side. I answer Cassie’s silent plea by nodding. An intake of air makes her shudder.

  Whatever Cassie says about not caring for marriage, she isn’t telling the truth. Her dead junkie mother couldn’t name the bastard who knocked her up at seventeen. So getting married in front of God and Steep Hill is the first step to show Cass our child won’t know the same fate.

  She’s by my side now and I grasp her shaking hand to give it a squeeze. We turn and face Reverend Beasley. A broad smile breaks out not only on my face, but in my heart and in every cell of my body.

  I have my girl and I’ll never let her go.

  ONE

  CASSIE

  Steep Hill ~ Present.

  Drops of rain smashed like marbles onto Gran’s coffin.

  I always knew I’d end up burying her. Only I didn’t expect that the day would be so damned wet, or for it to come so soon.

  Plus I hated umbrellas, and the water had now filtered through my cotton dress. I shivered and goose bumps broke out across my bare forearms.

  Woodie, on my right, sent me a worried look every other minute. I wasn’t going to cry. I’d keep that promise to myself. I wouldn’t provide any more real-life entertainment to the good people of Steep Hill. And I wouldn’t break when their honorable mayor, Jack MacBride, raked me with his gaze across the gaping hole of my gran’s freshly dug grave.

  For sure, my tears would make him happy, kind of an indirect payback for all the “trouble” I created over the years. That jerk should be thanking me. Six years ago, I covered his ass big time, so he could keep his precious family intact.

  And where did that grand gesture leave me? A high-school drop-out turned bartender in the middle of Nowheresville, Kansas. But the truth? MacBride wasn’t the one I should be angry with. I made some very bad choices and I deserved to pay for them for the rest of my life.

  Reverend Beasley turned towards me and waved for me to join him at the head of the coffin. I put one foot in front of the other, my shoes squishing into the muddy grass.

  “Cassandra, here, would like to read a prayer to honor the memory of her grandmother, Iris. As you’ll all know, Iris raised her after the death of Cassandra’s mother, Jeanine.”

  Was he talking about me or poor Cosette from Les Miserables?

  Reverend Beasley moved aside, making me now the focus of attention.

  “Th- This is,” I stammered, but seeing the half-smirk on Jack MacBride’s mouth I squared my shoulders, cleared my throat and started again. “My grandmother wanted me to read these words translated from Gaelic.” My voice was as steady as my sinking heart would allow. “May the road rise to meet you; May the wind be always at your back; May the sun shine warm upon your face.”

  Breathe in, Cass. Don’t collapse now.

  “May the rain fall softly upon your fields; until we meet again; May The Lord hold you in the hollow of his hand.”

  Tears welled up in my eyes but I couldn’t let them flow. I couldn’t. When I got back to Woodie’s side, he took hold of my hand. The contact shot warmth through my skin, and I was so grateful to him for showing me—for showing everyone—his friendship.

  I didn’t even know where the man I wanted by my side was. Would he have come, had he known? So, I settled for Woodie’s friendship instead. I managed to break a smile, and he squeezed my hand.

  Yes, I was lucky to have him in my life. I hoped I deserved him.

  By the time the service ended, the rain had stopped. Rays of sun pierced through the fat clouds, but they weren’t enough to warm me while, one by one, I received condolences from the line of familiar faces.

  When Jack MacBride made it to the front of the line, I curled my fists. God, how I wished I could punch his sorry face.

  “We’re sorry for your loss, Cassandra.”

  No, you’re not.

  “Thanks Mr. MacBride.” I turned away from his hazelnut eyes, the same color as Josh’s, and focused on his wife, Miranda, a deep-to-the-bone nice lady. “Gran was always fond of you, Mrs. MacBride. She would have been delighted to know you came today.”

  “She can see us, Cassie. She can see you, and she’s proud of how you’re handling yourself.”

  Miranda wrapped her arms around me, and I breathed in the scent of sweet tea. It reminded me of my gran. Heaven, afterlife, angels and demons, I wasn’t sure I believed in any of it. If God existed, he wouldn’t have let my sweet grandma suffer through all those years, let the disease eat her alive.

  “I hope you’re right,” Now wasn’t the time to share my spiritual doubts.

  “As sad as Iris’s death is, you need to see it as a great opportunity.” Jack’s words made me and his wife gasp at the same time.

  I was the first one to recover. “How so?”

  MacBride had the decency to let out an embarrassed cough. “Well, you can leave now, pursue your own dreams… turn the page on Steep Hill.”

  And get out of your life for good.

  As much as it cost me to acknowledge it, the jerk was right. “I could do that.”

  I could also blackmail his treacherous ass and syphon away his cash, but as tempting as it would be, this was not the girl Iris O’Malley raised. This was not who I was.

  “Don’t hesitate to visit us if you need anything, darling.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. MacBride.”

  Five or six more people to greet and thank, and I’d be done. I lifted my chin and glued a smile over my face.

  TWO

  Woodie and I were the only ones left in my gran’s house.

  Empty cups and plates filled with cake remnants covered every surface in her tattered living room. The taillights of the last visiting car disappeared down the muddy road leading out of our farm. The farm I’d have to sell to pay back our medical bills.

  I rushed to the closest window and pulled the frame up, then moved to the next.

  “Do I stink?” Woodie asked from the plaid couch, his wide-framed body spread all over it.

  “You don’t, but hypocrites do.”

  “Come on, Cass, don’t go all paranoid again.” He took a swig of his Bud then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “It was nice of people to come and remember your grandma.”

  “I wish they’d remembered her when she was still alive… when I needed someone to look after her while I was on a night shift at Teddy’s.”

  After five years in that damn diner, working nights to pay the bills and caring for Gran during the day, I never wanted to see it again. Woodie leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs.

  “Get over it. With the little money your grandma left and the sale of the farm, you’re leaving this shithole for good… and debt-free”

  I let the spring air flow into the stuffy room and into my lungs, closed my eyes and let my mind fly towards my new life. The life I would start tomorrow when I boarded the first Greyhound bus to Nashville. I’d never given a chance to my singing. But with my sweet Gran now gone, nothing—nobody—would chain me to Steep Hill.

  I busied myself and tidied up the house. Gran had drilled order and cleanliness into me, making me totally OCD. I checked on Woodie, bringing him one last slice of pecan pie, but he had dove into ESPN, so I set the pie down in front of him on the coffee table.

  The lights of a car parking in my courtyard invaded our bubble.

  “Expecting anyone?” The arrival intrigued Woodie enough for him to abandon cable TV.

  No, I wasn’t expecting anyone. I clutched my hands and risked a glance through the window.

  A short man in a suit stepped out of the car a large envelope in his hand. Fear kicked me to the porch. God, did Gran owe someone money? Someone else than the bank? Have they come to collect?

  I dried my hands on my apron and introduced myself. “Cassie O’Malley. Can I help?”

  Little Man bridged the distance between us. “I’m looking for Mrs. MacBride… Cassandra MacBride.
”

  That was also me. No one ever called me that though. I started to confirm my identity, but the words got stuck mid-throat.

  “That’s her,” Woodie chimed in. I felt him close behind me. “What do you want?”

  “Mrs. MacBride, I have a document to hand-deliver to you.”

  The envelope hung from between his fingers. I stared at it but didn’t budge.

  “Please, Mrs. MacBride,” the man in the suit prompted me and I had to slap myself mentally to grab the document. “I also need a signature to prove you’ve received the document.”

  I nodded and took the pen he held out.

  “You can’t sign the paper on the porch...” Woodie slid the porch table over to me.

  The return address had the name of a local law firm. I’d dealt with them before: The guy who owned it was Jack MacBride’s best buddy. Holding the envelope tightly against my chest, my fear palpable in my shaky voice, “What’s that about?”

  The man started walking back towards his car when he threw me a backward glance. I saw pity in it, and my heartbeat hitched up a gear.

  “Everything will be clear once you open the letter.” With one last nod, he got back in his car. I watched him drive away, forcing myself to stay still.

  “Are you gonna open it?” Woodie side-stepped me. Maybe it was the cold of the early night or my gut betraying me but a shiver ran through my body. “Should I do it for you?”

  I shook my head. I had a pretty good idea what was in that envelope. Six years I’d been waiting for it to come my way. Hell, I was the one who’d asked for it in the first place.

  With Woodie in step, I walked back into the house and collapsed on the couch. He grabbed the TV remote control and put Michael Kim on mute. He was really serious about the letter.

  I grabbed the knife Woodie had used to slice his pie and tore the envelope open. My eyes flicked through pages of legal jargon until the end when I recognized the signature, Woodie peering over my shoulder the entire time.

  “What a douche! And he chose today… of all days.” Woodie’s voice cracked.

  I replied with a shrug. “His dad probably didn’t mention about my gran.”

  “Still, he could have given you a call, or something... to make it easier. I don’t know. He should have waited until he came back from England and…” Woodie left his sentence unfinished.

  “What would that change?” I patted his thick thigh. “Josh is asking for a divorce. That’s it.”

  So it was official. I had no family left on planet Earth. Today I buried my blood and when I signed this paper, I would cut off the only bond that still linked me to Josh MacBride, my husband.

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  I stifled the anger that threatened to burst. “I’m going to sign it and set him free. For good.”

  And set myself free? I needed more than a piece of paper to forget about Josh.

  I threw the damned document onto the coffee table, then looked around for a distraction. That’s when I noticed the letters I’d let pile up since Gran’s… departure. I began to sort through them. All bills or bank statements, except one.

  That letter was addressed to me, or rather to Mrs. Cassandra MacBride. The handwriting was familiar. With the same knife, I tore the envelope away and pulled the letter from inside. It was only one page long and at the bottom, the name of a man who had always been nice to me.

  “Whose writing is that?”

  I ignored Woodie’s question.

  He shifted on the seat next to me. He was the only one to know the truth with Gran and Jack MacBride. I didn’t tell him right away, but since we shared the misfortune of staying behind, here in lousy Steep Hill, I figured I needed someone to share my burden with. Someone my own age.

  A couple of words in the letter hit me hard. The heat I felt vanished and blood froze in my veins. My gaze shot back to the top of the letter, scanning the lines again.

  “Oh my God.” My hand flew to my mouth and a wave of nausea rushed over me. “Oh my God.”

  Woodie’s arm circled over my shoulders and he pulled me against him. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

  I shook my head as fear tightened my throat and belly while twisting every one of my organs into knots. Words finally broke through my lips.

  “I have to go…”

  Woodie leaned backwards to stare down at me. “I’m lost, Cass. What’s that letter about?””

  The tears I’d managed to keep inside at the cemetery edged at my eyelids. I didn’t have time to cry. I sniffled and a plan started to build in my head.

  “Cassie, I hate seeing you upset, but, I swear, if you don’t tell me what this is all about, I’ll slap your silly head until you explain everything.”

  Another sniffle. A swallowed sob.

  “I’m leaving for Kansas City tomorrow.”

  And I’d fly to England if I had to.

  THREE

  I checked the address against the number on the door in front of me against the details I’d scribbled on a Post-It note. Number 36, Compton Road.

  Josh lived here. According to the divorce papers at least. Judging by the volume of the music exploding from the three-story house, he was already celebrating his freedom.

  Party time.

  And Sweet Jesus, it was the mother of all parties. A girl stormed out of the house, passed me, and stopped between two parked cars to puke.

  I shot my head back towards the front door and ignored the retching sounds. Throwing up was the main reason I drank so little. I had spent the first half of my pregnancy bent over a toilet seat and I’d sworn I would never, never, go through the same shit again.

  The girl had left the door of the house half-open and I took my chance to get inside without having to give any introductions. Hey, I’m Cassie, Josh’s wife, the one he wants to get rid of.

  The hallway was packed with a crowd of people about my age. Boys and girls shouting at each other, since the music could have deafened the deaf. I side-stepped a couple involved in a tongue-swinging make-out session.

  Oxford parties were pretty much the same as in Kansas.

  Still, even if the scene was familiar, I couldn’t shake off the unease deep in my belly. Maybe it was the jet lag. I’d landed at London Heathrow that same morning. Or maybe it was simply the after-shock of the crazy week I’d been through. My gran had passed away six days ago. Then there’d been the quick visit to Kansas City, the wall I hit with Social Services… and now I was in Europe.

  An expensive last-minute plane ticket wasn’t how I’d planned to spend the small inheritance Gran had left me. It was supposed to settle me down in Nashville. But what I had to do, I had to do it face-to-face.

  “Wine? Jack and coke? Beer? Tell me what could put a smile back on that sexy mouth of yours.”

  A lanky guy stepped in my way. I lifted up my chin so that I could stare into his eyes. “Nothing, thanks.”

  I moved to the side, but he followed my trajectory. “Lovely accent. Are you a friend of our oh-so-popular host?”

  I smelled beer on his breath. The guy had obviously been throwing them back all night.

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ve never seen you around here before. And with those baby-blue eyes of yours, I’d remember.” He extended a hand, which I grabbed and shook automatically. “I’m Frederick. But everyone calls me Freddie.”

  “Cassandra.”

  “Cassandra,” Freddie echoed, not letting my hand go. “The notorious Cassandra.”

  I nearly choked. Had Josh told this guy about me?

  “What do you mean?” I managed.

  “Cassandra, daughter of King Priam… Apollo granted you the gift of prophecy.”

  Relief. He had no idea who I was.

  “You know, Greek mythology, Helen of Troy and all?”

  “Sure.” I forced myself to smile back at him. I had made it to my senior year in high school. Plus I’d watched the movie. Gran was a Brad Pitt-fan.

  If I cou
ld predict what level on the scale of “pissed-off-ness” Josh would reach when he saw me, that would come in handy. Or scare me off. Maybe Freddie could give me some insight into the new Josh MacBride.

  Freddie grabbed my hand and pulled me behind him as he passed through a door. “Come on. Have a drink.”

  We entered what must have been the living room. The sound doubled, so I assumed we were closer to the epicenter of the party. I felt a pang of jealousy that Josh should have the best sound system, while all I had was a basic MP3 player and some half-assed barely audible speakers. I untangled my hand from the guy and shoved it into my pocket. The table next to us was filled with used and unused plastic cups, along with bottles of vodka, O.J, and a single bottle of white wine.

  Freddie grabbed the vino and filled a glass to the brim. “Not a big fan of Australian chardonnay but I guess it’ll have to do.”

  I took the cup and gulped down half of it in one go. The prospect of seeing Josh for the first time in five years smashed my resolutions. Or maybe it was simply the effect of Freddie. The guy seemed kind of creepy.

  “So, Cassandra,” When he pronounced my name, a fake American twang replaced his stuck-up English accent. “Did you meet Josh here in Oxford?”

  Hearing his name in the mouth of this stranger shot an arrow straight into my heart. My chest tightened. A tingling sensation swept up the back of my neck and spread across my face. The guy had taken a step into my comfort zone. He towered well above my five foot one and my back was against the wall.

  “I know him from back home.” I skirted around Freddie so that he’d be the one with his back against the wall.

  “You know him from Texas.” Freddie poured himself a screwdriver—three-quarters vodka/one-quarter O.J. by the look of it—and the drink vanished down his throat in five sips. The guy was going to blow his head off.