by Judy Clemens
Gradually, however, Casey’s focus shifted as she noticed movement on the other side of the stage. Another man. Bone, probably. Walking slowly around the stage, peering into the wings, stopping between each of the legs, the partitions made by narrower curtains to hide the rigging and actors before their entrances. Slowly he made his way across the back of the stage, looking up at the flyrails, and back toward the exits. She couldn’t see his face, as his back was to her, but she could see his outline. Lean. Strong. Hungry.
Casey eased back behind the curtain and concentrated on stilling her body. Her breathing was silent, and her heartbeat slowed, pulsing…pulsing…pulsing…
She heard a footfall. A bare whisper against the wooden floor. She kept her calm, watching for the edge of her curtain to twitch. She prepared herself, easing her weight onto her right leg, deciding which way she’d attack. A quick kick to the inner thigh to debilitate, then a sprint to the exit.
She wasn’t proud.
She held the pencil in her fingers, point up. A weapon, if necessary. She hoped she didn’t need it.
And then she could sense him. He stood on the other side of the curtain. Listening. Breathing. Sensing.
Casey gripped the pencil. Clenched her teeth.
“Bone! Let’s go. Tommy boy here’s given us his word. We have to trust him, don’t we? At least for another day?”
Casey felt the man’s distraction, and his hesitation. She waited, blinking as if in slo-mo, her eyes focused on the curtain for any sudden movement. But then his feet scuffed the floor. He stepped away.
“Come on, Tommy boy,” Taffy said. Casey heard what must’ve been a slap to Thomas’ shoulder. “Get me out of this musty hole. I’m gonna be sneezing all the way back to L’ville. Bone!”
A few moments more, and Casey heard Bone jumping lightly from the stage. Casey eased down so her head was on the floor, and peeked out the crack under the curtain. The three men were making their way back up the aisle, toward the double doors. When they reached them, Taffy opened the door, gesturing grandly for Thomas to precede him. He stepped in front of Bone, following Thomas. Bone hesitated in the doorway, and turned to look back at the stage. Casey froze, narrowing her eyes so the blue light wouldn’t reflect on them.
Bone pivoted slowly on his heel, taking in every inch of the stage.
And then he turned around, and left.
Chapter Twenty-two
Casey waited fifteen minutes, and then five more, before easing out from behind the curtain, staying in the shadow of the wings. She walked quickly to the back exit and pushed the bar, heaving a sigh of relief when the door opened. She scooted out the door and peered around the corner of the building. No one there. Feeling conspicuous in the daylight, she walked normally toward the front of the theater. She sensed no one waiting, and found herself to be correct. Looking up and down the street she didn’t see Thomas’ car or any others that looked out of place.
Grabbing her bike, she left, pedaling hard. It was difficult to concentrate on riding the rest of the way back to The Nesting Place, what with watching out for the men, and Eric’s paternity resurfacing in her mind.
She found Lillian and Rosemary finishing their lunch. She looked at them, trying to get her mind around the domestic vision of food and conversation with the image of Thomas and the men still resonating in her mind.
“Hungry, dear?” Rosemary asked.
Casey held up her bag. “Already ate. Can I put my leftovers in your fridge?”
“Of course,” Lillian said. “Wherever there’s room. Just move things around how you need to.”
Casey found a spot on the bottom shelf, beside a bag bursting with Romaine lettuce. She closed the door and stood there for a moment, thinking.
“If Karl Willems is Eric’s father,” she said, “then why is Eric’s last name VanDiepenbos?”
Rosemary’s mouth dropped open, and Lillian’s napkin fluttered to the floor. Casey went over to retrieve it. Lillian took it back, but averted her eyes.
“I think you’d better have a seat, darling,” Rosemary said.
Casey pulled out the third chair and sat.
Rosemary cleared her throat. “When Eric was twelve, he and his mother left his father.”
“Right. He told me that. Or at least that his parents got divorced.”
“Did he also tell you he swore never to speak to his father again?”
“Um. No.”
“Well, as his mother didn’t really want to talk to her ex-husband anymore, either, she really couldn’t find fault with it. And when she took back her maiden name, well, Eric took it, too.”
“So VanDiepenbos was his mother’s name?”
“Exactly. He’s always been closer to her than to his father, but even with that…” She shrugged.
Casey understood. “Even with that, he left town. To get away from his father.”
“Sure, partly. Also partly to go to college. But he stayed away long after that. Some because there’s really not much theater here in Clymer—” she gave a little snort “—but also because he just needed to get away from the stress of being Karl Willems’ son. Even if you’d never know it from watching.”
Casey was trying to digest all of this when Lillian abruptly stood up and left the room.
Casey sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spoil your lunch.”
“No, no.” Rosemary patted her arm. “You did no such thing. And then,” she continued, “Karl remarried about a year ago. Eric thought it was best if he came back to make sure his mother was still being taken care of, and just stayed on when everything began happening with HomeMaker. Thoughtful of him, but unnecessary, really.”
Lillian returned with a piece of paper. “I think it’s about time you filled out our paperwork, Casey.” She laid the form on the table.
Casey’s face went hot. “I’m really sorry. If I said something—”
Lillian put a pen down beside the paper. “Just fill it out, sweetheart.”
With a trembling hand, Casey picked up the pen. She hadn’t meant to make them mad. Were they going to kick her out? She’d thought they were getting along well. It served her right, allowing herself to get close to people again. Trying to come in here and dissect a town that had gone on by itself for many years before she’d arrived.
Sighing, Casey lifted her pen to the paper, reading the letterhead. And stopped. The Nesting Place, the page said. Rosemary Pond and Lillian VanDiepenbos, Proprietors.
Casey gasped, the pen falling from her fingers, and looked over at Lillian, who’d resumed her seat. “You’re Eric’s mother?”
The side of Lillian’s mouth twitched. “I am. And proud to be.”
“But that also means—”
“I was married to Karl Willems. Yes. I’m not quite so proud of that.”
A burst of laughter came from Casey’s mouth, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. That was… It’s really not…”
“I know, dear. It is a surprise.” She slipped the paper out from under Casey’s hand.
Casey grabbed for it. “I really do need to fill that out.”
“There’s plenty of time for that,” Rosemary said. “Now, I’m going to hapkido. Are you coming along?”
Casey had forgotten the invitation. She glanced at the clock, and then at Lillian. “I’m meeting Eric here at two-thirty, to go get food for tonight’s supper. I need to be back by then.”
“Oh, we’ll make sure of it,” Rosemary said. “Now, come along. I think I have something you can wear.”
Casey slid her chair back. “No need. I have my own.”
Rosemary smiled. “Of course you do. Can we leave in ten minutes?”
Casey stopped in the doorway. “Lillian, why didn’t you tell me before? That you’re Eric’s mother?”
Lillian looked down at the table. “Eric’s parentage has brought him nothing but problems. I didn’t see any reason to muddy the waters. Especially since…” She stopped.
“Since you
didn’t know how long I’d be sticking around.”
Lillian shrugged.
Casey went upstairs to her room, half expecting Death to be there, gloating about Casey’s newfound knowledge of Eric, but the only one around was the cat, who sat on a chair across from Casey’s room, staring at the doorknob. Casey shook her head and entered, glad she had the place to herself. Going straight to the wardrobe, she pulled out her Dobak and set it on the bed. She put her hair up in a knot, tucked her Dobak under her arm, and went back downstairs.
Rosemary joined her in the front room several minutes later, already wearing her uniform. “I don’t like to bother with changing there,” she said. “It’s much easier this way.”
Casey shrugged. “But don’t you get your car all sweaty on the way home?”
Rosemary laughed. “Honey, I don’t work that hard. Now, come along.”
Casey stood beside the Civic, focusing her thoughts, telling herself she could actually get in the vehicle.
“Are you feeling all right, sweetheart?” Rosemary watched her over the top of the car.
Casey took a deep breath and opened the door, jerking back at the sight of Death in the back seat, waving a jaunty hello with a bottle of Mountain Dew. Casey ground her teeth, gave Death a good glare, and slid into the passenger seat. She ignored the back seat and thought of other things, such as the fact that Lillian’s connection to Karl Willems made sense of some things, like how the women could afford the renovations on the house, and that enormous Pegasus Orion in the garage. Although she had yet to see the ladies drive it, or even acknowledge its presence.
Rosemary plucked her keys from the driver’s seat and slid one into the ignition. “We shocked you with that one, didn’t we? Lillian’s relationship with Karl really isn’t one she talks about.”
“I can understand.” A thought struck her. “Is that why people didn’t think Ellen’s children should come live with you?”
Rosemary’s lips tightened. “Yes. Not that it should make any difference, since Karl is not a part of our lives at all…” She turned the key.
“Rosemary.”
“Yes?”
“Does no one here lock their cars?”
Rosemary laughed. “What?”
“You. Eric. Leila. You leave your car keys on the driver’s seat.”
“And?”
“Well, anybody could take them.”
“And do what? Drive the car to the other side of town, where everyone and his mother would know whose car it was?”
She had a point.
They drove through Clymer, Casey keeping a lookout for Thomas and the two men. There was no sign of them. Rosemary, oblivious to Casey’s interest in passing cars, drove several miles over the speed limit toward the interchange at the highway. When they got parallel to HomeMaker, Rosemary made a show of pulling her visor to the side window, blocking her view.
“It’s not the people, of course,” she said, “that I’m trying to avoid. Other than the one. But just seeing that place makes me want to throw things.”
Casey held her hands in her lap and said nothing, trying not to think about the fact that she was heading onto a highway in a car. Especially a car that was careening along with no respect for traffic or speed.
“Ellen was such a sweetheart,” Rosemary said, sighing. “We really thought she and Eric… But of course it’s not to be. He’ll have to find someone else.” Her eyes flicked toward Casey, who leaned back in surprise.
“Oh. Well. He’s pretty young, isn’t he? He has lots of time.”
“Um-hmmm.” Rosemary looked back at the road. “And I think it will take him a while to get over Ellen. This past week he’s had a hard time of it, and I don’t see it getting easier any time soon.”
“Yes,” Casey said. “It takes a while.”
Rosemary gave Casey another speculative look, but Casey turned to gaze out of the window. The Ohio soybean and corn crops were just about ready for harvesting now, golden in the fields. Tomatoes, red and ripening, dotted the lush green rows. Thousands upon thousands of plants, waiting for harvest.
“If Ellen didn’t…take her own life,” Casey said, glancing into the backseat, at Death, who was actually paying attention. “Who would’ve? It sounds like everyone liked her.”
Rosemary blinked quickly, and raised a finger to her eye. “There was no reason not to like her. She was kind, honest, a good worker… Not that most people weren’t who got laid off, but someone in her position…”
“Which was what?”
“Administrative staff. They let about half of them go at the same time as the assembly line got cut.”
“So she worked in the front office?”
Rosemary’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “Right outside the door of the man we don’t like to talk about.”
“She was Karl Willems’ secretary? And he fired her?”
“No. No, she wasn’t his secretary. She was just one of his ‘office girls,’ as he called them.” Rosemary frowned. “I’m pretty sure he knew her name. At least she said he called her ‘Ellen’ once.”
Casey gripped her thighs, trying to come to terms with this man who had no clue. She shook her head, looking straight ahead, and then stopped. “But why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would Lillian marry someone like him?”
Rosemary smiled sadly. “She’s not so young anymore, you know.”
“She was when she married him.”
“Right. And he was, too. Young and funny and smart…”
“You knew him then?”
Rosemary gave a chuckle. “Oh, I sure did. Knew him very well.”
“Don’t tell me you’re Thomas’ mother?” She looked back at Death, who grinned impishly.
“Thomas?” Rosemary said. “Thomas Black, the play director?”
“Yes. Eric said his parents and Thomas’ were good friends.”
Rosemary let out a whoop of laughter and slapped her hand on the steering wheel. “Oh, goodness, no. If I’d been Thomas’ mother perhaps he wouldn’t be the man he is today.”
“You mean he’d be nice?” And not connected with nasty members of society?
Rosemary hooted again. “Oh, Casey, darling, you’re killing me.” As soon as the words left her mouth she sobered, sighing and brushing a hand across her forehead. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. The things I say…”
“It’s just an expression. You didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Hmphf.”
They drove in silence for a few minutes.
“So how did you know Karl Willems when he was young?” Casey finally asked.
“Oh,” Rosemary said. “You know. He’s my brother.”
Casey’s shocked reply was cut short as Rosemary swung off an exit, spinning around the ramp with dizzying speed. Casey couldn’t speak, as she was concentrating on hanging on and not throwing up.
They drove through quiet smalltown streets until Rosemary pointed a scarlet fingernail at an old brick building. “There it is. It doesn’t look like much, but it’s cheap rent, from what Mr. Damon tells me.” She grinned, and rocketed into a parking space in front of a dusty window with an understated sign proclaiming, “Cole Damon Hapkido.” Casey unlatched her fingers from the dashboard, gathered her things together, and got out of the car. Death remained seated, as did Rosemary.
“You coming in?” Casey asked Death.
Rosemary let out a whoosh of air. “I need a minute to catch my breath.”
Death just smiled.
Casey shut her door and waited by the front of the car until Rosemary joined her, leading her to the door of the building. “C’mon. I’m dying to introduce you to my teacher.”
Looking back, Casey could see Death, now in the driver’s seat, giving her a double thumbs-up.
Chapter Twenty-three
Casey and Rosemary climbed the creaky wooden steps to the third floor, passing an old-fashioned weight room and a dance academy full of trophies, dance clothes,
and waiting mothers.
Finally, on the third floor, Rosemary entered a large square room. The wooden floor was covered with a mat, along with a cluster of children in Dobaks and protective head gear. A man stood over them as they sparred in pairs.
“Our teacher,” Rosemary sighed.
The man, tall and thick, wore all black, including his thick black belt, and his feet were bare. His long black hair lay against his back in a ponytail, pulled away from his broad face. Curly hair sprouted from the V of his jacket, and Casey could feel his confidence from across the room.
Casey smiled to herself. So that’s why Rosemary comes here.
“The changing room is over here.” Rosemary skirted the mat, showing Casey to a wooden door. “Anybody in there?” Without waiting for an answer, she flung it open, revealing a teenaged boy, complete in a Dobak, a red belt wrapped around his waist.
“Sorry!” Rosemary said. “You’re done, right?”
He scuttled out.
Rosemary waved Casey in. “All yours.”
Casey shut the door behind her and locked it, breathing in the smell of the dojang. Sweat. Effort. Composure. She changed, hanging her clothes on a hook on the wall.
Walking barefoot back into the classroom, she eyed the other students who would be participating in the class. The children were done now, one black belt student helping to remove their helmets and foot protection. On the outside of the mat stood several adults in hapkido uniforms—two more men with black belts, a few teenage boys with various colored belts, and Rosemary, resplendent in her yellow belt, one level up from the white Casey was wearing.
“If you’re not experienced at this you can just watch,“ Rosemary said.
“Oh,” Casey said. “I’ll be all right.”
She looked away to find the instructor studying her from across the room. She kept eye contact, and he moved, catlike, across the mat to stand in front of her.
“My friend,” Rosemary breathed. “Casey.”