No Reverse

by Marion Croslydon

  No Revɘrse

  For my girls, Juliette and Kitty.

  Being a mother is not easy.

  Being your mom is… most of the time!

  table of contents

  prologue

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  six

  seven

  eight

  nine

  ten

  eleven

  twelve

  thirteen

  fourteen

  fifteen

  sixteen

  seventeen

  eighteen

  nineteen

  twenty

  twenty-one

  twenty-two

  twenty-three

  twenty-four

  twenty-five

  twenty-six

  twenty-seven

  twenty-eight

  twenty-nine

  thirty

  thirty-one

  thirty-two

  thirty-three

  thirty-four

  thirty-five

  thirty-six

  thirty-seven

  thirty-eight

  thirty-nine

  forty

  acknowledgements

  about the author

  other books by marion croslydon

  prologue

  Steep Hill ~ November, six years earlier.

  Josh

  The dozens of eyes set on me don’t make me break a sweat.

  I don’t give a shit about what those people think right now. The church could just as well be empty since the girl I love isn’t here. Mom didn’t send out any invitations after I proposed to Cassie two weeks ago. Still, half the town has found its way to the church where Reverend Beasley will marry us.

  That was supposed to happen twenty minutes ago.

  “She won’t screw this one up, Josh. She loves you.” Woodie, my best man and wide receiver, whispers in my ear. His chubby face is all flushed. He’s embarrassed. That’s how I should be feeling. Only I don’t.

  “She’ll be here soon,” I answer back. “Cass’s never been on time for anything. She won’t start with her own wedding.”

  When I try to reassure Woodie, my eyes meet those of my dad, dark and stern, just like mine. His tight jaw screams a loud and fat “I told you so.” Good Ol’ Jack MacBride has never been Cassie O’Malley’s number-one fan, even back when we were kids and she used to climb the cottonwood tree to reach my bedroom window. To him, Cass has always been bad news.

  He’s the only one who knows the price I’m ready to pay to take care of her and our unborn baby.

  But the truth, pure and simple? I would risk everything to be with her. Cassie is the only future I want. Whether I take her and the baby with me to Georgetown, or to our community college, it only matters that we go there as a family.

  “Jesus. H. Christ,” Woodie bursts out. “Her grandma’s arrived.”

  My lungs can’t help puffing out some of the air I didn’t know was trapped inside. Mrs. O’Malley has finally arrived, and, with her, hopefully Cassie. Mrs. O. is the gentlest of all ladies. Acute diabetes makes her look older than her sixty years. Her skin has always had that same waxy complexion and she’s underweight. But now, she smiles back at me and answers my silent question with a nod. Mrs. O. and I, we’ve always understood each other.

  Judging by where Mrs. O’Malley’s gaze is directed—somewhere behind the half-open door of the church—my girl is about to walk down the aisle.

  Woodie hyperventilates. “Okay now, look ahead and only turn back when I tell you to do so.”

  As if he’s the one getting married to Cassie, and maybe he wishes he were, Woodie glues his eyes on the whitewashed wall behind Reverend Beasley, who clears his throat. A drop of sweat tracks down his temple. Clearly everyone has been freaking out thinking that I’d been dumped at the altar.

  When the organist starts playing, my heartbeat breaks into a home-run sprint and a lump fills my throat. I have to see her.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  I look back and steal a first glance at her. The sight punches me straight in the stomach. She’s so beautiful in her gran’s wedding dress. The look is ‘70s, I guess. Her hands hold a bouquet of daisies and her hair, the color of a cornflower field, cascades over her shoulders and down her back.

  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

  Steep Hill ~ Present.

  Cassie

  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 i
nstead. 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 alway
s 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.