Million Dollar Dilemma

by Judy Baer

  CHAPTER 42

  Not home yet?

  I’m beginning to feel foolish, tiptoeing several times a day, as I do, down the stairs to see if Adam and Pepto have arrived.

  That man has a way of appearing and disappearing like vapor!

  That’s another reason Adam and I would never have worked together as a couple. I like attributes like stability and steadfastness, and adjectives such as unchanging, rooted, committed and reliable. I like, as my mom says, “somebody whose feet are under your dinner table every night.” Adam’s feet could be under a dinner table anywhere in the world at any given time. He’d be the boat and I’d be the anchor. He’d want to set sail, and I’d drag him back to the warmth and security of home.

  Ken and Randy. Now, those are stable men. I wouldn’t have to worry about losing either of them to Rwanda, Calcutta or Timbuktu.

  My phone rang, arousing me from my disgruntled musings. It was Whitney.

  “Hi, Cassia, have you seen Adam around?”

  “No. Should I have?”

  “Not necessarily. He’s been staying with us, but I thought he’d stop at his place today. I wanted to tell him to bring over Pepto’s toys when he comes. If that cat is going to stay here, he has to have something to do. He’s decapitated half a dozen catnip mice already.”

  No kidding. Pepto should run a cemetery for the creepy little things.

  Then what she’d said sank in. “Pepto is staying with you?”

  “It’s not completely settled but, knowing Adam, he’ll be off again in a few days.”

  “Oh.” My voice sounded tinny and small in my ears.

  “That guy has itchy feet. They can’t stay in place long.”

  Certainly not under just one person’s dinner table.

  “Anyway, give him the message if you see him. He’s got Pepto with him right now. He’s having his teeth cleaned at the vet’s.” Whitney’s throaty chuckle drifted over the line. “Tomorrow I’m going to watch the obituaries for former veterinarians and their assistants.”

  After I hung up, I paced until Winslow determined that I must need to go out for a walk. He took his leash, which was lying on a chair, and carried it to the door, where he stood patiently, waiting for me to notice.

  His was as good an idea as any, I decided. Exercise is an excellent way to vent frustration, and boy, am I frustrated. Angry as I’ve been with Adam, disappointed as I am that he’s neither a Christian nor a homebody kind of guy (translation: marrying kind) I still care. Just once, could he reciprocate by communicating with me? Is that too much to ask?

  I picked up the pace and raced Winslow through the walking paths around Lake Harriet.

  Winslow finally wore out and called it quits on the walk. I’d hoped to sweat Adam right out of my system, but it had been only a partial success. Still, I felt better as we walked home.

  The floral deliveryman was trying to ring my apartment when I entered. His face showed relief when he saw me. “Oh, good. I’m glad you’re home. Now I don’t have to come back with these.”

  He carried two bouquets. One was twenty-four yellow roses that smelled divine. The other was a summery bouquet made up of bright splashes of color—red, yellow, pink, purple and lavender. The first would be from Ken, the second from Randy.

  “Did you have a good trip?” Mr. Bouquet asked. “You were gone for a while.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “There was a dry spell in the floral industry. I wasn’t delivering here every day.”

  “It’s an embarrassment of riches.” I took the bouquets, one in each arm, and looped Winslow’s leash over my index finger. “But they both just found out I’m back in town and are relieved I came back alive. I really can’t blame them.”

  My floral friend shook his head. “You must live a very interesting life.”

  I sniffed at the roses. “Not intentionally.”

  I almost didn’t see Adam with my vision blocked with flora, but I did stop when I heard his voice.

  “Need help with those?”

  I peered at him through the shrubbery. “Sure.”

  He lifted the roses out of my arms and stepped aside so that I could continue up the stairs.

  “So you’re still here.”

  He looked at me in surprise.

  “Whitney called to have me tell you that if you were going to leave Pepto with them any longer, you should bring more mice.” I eyed him carefully. “Are you leaving again soon?”

  He followed me into the apartment, and we set the flowers side by side on the table. For something to do in the awkward silence, I opened the gift cards. After a cursory glance, I laid them on the table. I was right. Ken was the roses.

  “Why?”

  “Just curious, that’s all.”

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “Burundi, I suppose. I can write from there if I have to.”

  “Why can’t you do it here?”

  He looked uncomfortable. To distract himself, he absently picked up the gift cards on the table.

  “Oh, lots of reasons…” His voice trailed away and his eyebrow rose.

  I glanced at the full message on the card.

  Now that I’ve got you back alive, marry me!

  Ken

  Before I could grab it away, he looked at Randy’s card, too.

  Welcome home! We need to get together and talk about our future.

  With love—Randy

  “Doesn’t look like you’ll have time for neighborly visits anyway.” Then he added obtusely, “Why do you care when I go?”

  Not many things pet my fur the wrong way, but I did not appreciate this. I felt myself morphing into the proverbial fiery redhead.

  “Why do I care? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I thought I was your friend. Maybe I assumed we both enjoyed the time we spent together when I first moved here. Could it possibly be because I spoke my heart to you and hoped you’d handle it carefully? Or is it the fact that we watched movies, made popcorn and played with the pets several nights a week? That we shared our suppers potluck style?”

  I took a breath and plowed on. “That I thought you actually cared about me? What kind of idiot was I to assume that? You are disgraceful, Cavanaugh. Who are you anyway? The famous journalist humanitarian? An anything-for-a-buck reporter? Sincere friend? Traitor? It doesn’t really matter to me, but I’d like to know. Make up your mind, Adam. You’ve got to be something!”

  CHAPTER 43

  A firecracker with a short fuse.

  He’d lit it unintentionally, but now he had no idea how to douse the blaze. Adam stared at the irate beauty, taken aback. Fire in her eyes, she quivered with indignation, revealing a new side of Cassia, one he hadn’t known existed. It was the side capable of righteous anger, of standing up to injustice and to thoughtless men.

  “You’re right. That was a rotten thing to say. I’ve been having my own pity party lately. Maybe I need to try a little Ben & Jerry’s. I was out of line….”

  Humor did not work.

  “You sure are out of line. You’re so far out of line you’re…you’re…” She sputtered to a halt. Building up new steam, she added, “And what makes you think you can draw your own lines anyway?”

  How do I answer that? Adam wondered. But the odd question piqued his interest. As Cassia stomped to the sink muttering and drew water to top off the flowers, Adam’s mind began to spin.

  Who does draw the lines in my life? Who makes the rules? Me? Well, I haven’t done the greatest job of it lately.

  To be honest, life had been easier when he’d allowed God to call the shots. But God had disappeared in Burundi. All Adam had found there was pain and trouble….

  He watched Cassia as if from a distance, noticing the high color in her cheeks, the curve of her flushed neck, the graceful way she held herself even when she was angrily clanking pans and emptying the dishwasher.

  As he looked at her, he wondered—had his experiences in Buru
ndi all been trouble, or had he missed something?

  If his experiences had been nothing but trouble, what had brought Cassia there with her millions of dollars? How had she managed to get into his life at all? She’d even connected with Frankie and Elise with their combination of compassion, professionalism and familiarity with the issues. They were two of the people most likely able to get things done in that country. What had compelled Cassia to a country she’d barely heard of until recently?

  Everybody loved her—Chase, Whitney and even Pepto. She seemed to scatter a trail of blessing wherever she went.

  Maybe God had been in Burundi after all, Adam mused. Maybe he just hadn’t been looking for Him in the right places.

  Lord, I’m so sorry. I’ve been a fool. It’s better when You’re in control. Forgive me. And Adam lifted his hands in a gesture that, if someone had been watching, might have been equated with an equestrian handing the reins from one rider to another. The reins of his life.

  Then he realized that Cassia was still grumbling about him as she stomped around the apartment. “Used to be a Christian, but gave it up to become a jerk. Just my luck… ‘You’ll meet lots of interesting people in the city, Cassia.’ What does Jane know? Interesting people aren’t always good for you. Adam’s proof of that. What have I ever gotten from knowing him but aggravation….”

  She looked up to find him staring at her. “Well, you are! Aggravating, I mean.” She stood, arms akimbo, daring him to disagree with her.

  “You are absolutely right. I am. I even aggravate myself. But it’s going to change. You told me once that God hit you over the head with your grandmother. Well, I think He’s just hit me over the head with myself.”

  Cassia’s eyes grew wide and her mouth gaped.

  “Well, it’s a big deal, but you don’t have to look that stunned.”

  “Winslow. He’s gone.” Her hands flew to her cheeks. “I dropped the leash when I came in, but I didn’t shut the door.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Adam said. “He can’t get outside. He’s just wandering the halls. Then his eyes widened. “And I didn’t shut my front door. Pepto…”

  “Winslow!”

  And they raced downstairs, afraid of what they might find.

  CHAPTER 44

  “No blood” was Adam’s first comment as we approached his doorway. “That’s a good sign. And we didn’t hear any howling.”

  I closed my eyes and willed myself to breathe deeply. In my mind’s eye I saw Winslow crying and whimpering, with Pepto’s claws embedded in my dog’s big licorice gumdrop nose. I know that if Pepto wanted to do serious damage, he’d go for that vulnerable nose, bury his claws there and hang on. Winslow could run in circles, shake his head, drag the cat on the floor and still never extricate himself.

  “I shouldn’t have left the door open, Cassia. I’m sorry….” Adam stopped so quickly that I ran into his broad, warm back. He turned and took me by the shoulders. “I’m sorry for everything—especially for being a jerk. I’m going to ask God to help me deal with it, okay? If He’ll forgive me and you forgive me, then I can forgive myself—for the articles, the subterfuge, the jerk-ness.”

  Delight coursed through me. “I’m overjoyed to hear you two are on speaking terms again.”

  “I quit talking to Him. He never quit talking to me. And—” Adam drew a deep breath “—I think He used you to get my attention.”

  “Adam,” I reminded him, “Pepto’s got Winslow. We can talk when the rescue mission is complete.”

  “Right.” He grinned at me, and for a moment I almost forgot what we were up to.

  “Not in the bedroom,” Adam reported.

  “Nothing in the bathroom.”

  “They wouldn’t have gotten out somehow, would they?”

  “None of the people who live in the building would have let them out.”

  “Then where are they?”

  Suddenly Adam began to chuckle. “Hiding in plain sight.”

  I spun around to see what he was looking at. There was Winslow, taking up Adam’s entire couch and—I nearly dropped my teeth. Well, at least I would have if they’d been false.

  Between Winslow’s massive paws lay Pepto, purring, as Winslow patiently cleaned the cat’s fur with that tongue the size of Adam’s shoe. As we watched, Pepto and Winslow traded jobs. As Winslow drooled happily, Pepto started to groom him. How nauseating. They were like a lovesick couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

  “Talk about Isaiah 65:25!”

  Adam eyed me expectantly, waiting for me to translate.

  “‘The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, the lion shall eat straw as the ox does, and poisonous snakes shall strike no more….’”

  And we burst out laughing.

  Later, after dinner, which we prepared together in Adam’s kitchen while he told me of his own rocky journey back to God, we sat on the couch watching our two lovebirds. Pepto had forgotten how crazy he was about me, and Winslow didn’t seem to know Adam existed anymore. They had eyes only for each other.

  “BFF,” I murmured. “Best Friends Forever.”

  “Who are you talking about? Them or us?”

  “I’d like to think both, but it’s your call.”

  Adam watched our pets doze on the floor. This time Winslow lay on his side with Pepto draped over his front legs. One of them snored.

  “Look how long we kept them apart because we thought they wouldn’t—shouldn’t—like each other.”

  “I guess they showed us.”

  Adam moved a stray curl from my temple. “We wasted a lot of their time thinking they wouldn’t be happy together.”

  “Hmm.”

  “I think we may have wasted a lot of our own time, too.”

  I could feel his warm breath on my ear.

  “You think?”

  “Definitely.”

  Then he shifted so that he could take my face in his hands and look into my eyes. “What do you think about making up for lost time?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like having a very short engagement.”

  A flutter of happiness moved through me. “How short?”

  “Very short. What are you doing next month?”

  “I’ll be busy. I’m going to a wedding. Mine.”

  CHAPTER 45

  “Cassia, will you do the zipper on my dress? I’m having trouble getting it past my waist. It feels a little snug.” Jane shuffled across the bedroom we’d shared in Simms when we were girls.

  “You haven’t gained weight since we measured for your dress, have you?”

  “It’s not a big deal. If this dress doesn’t fit, I brought another along just in case. You’ve only got one bridesmaid. Who will know?”

  “I knew I should have gone with plan A.” I tugged on the zipper of the body-hugging sheath Jane had chosen for the wedding.

  “Have a dog for a bridesmaid? I don’t think so!”

  “He doesn’t gain weight overnight—he’d be cheap to outfit.” I gave her a chastising look. “And he doesn’t talk back.”

  Jane’s dress is an elegant aquamarine that reminds me of the seas in the Caribbean. I like it because the color is a perfect backdrop for the flowers we are carrying for the wedding.

  As usual, I couldn’t make up my mind, so I went to the florist and chose one of just about everything they had—except carnations, of course—and the riot of color creates a flowery celebration.

  I chose the menu for the sit-down dinner in much the same way. The one-of-everything general store managed to find large white tents so that we could have our reception in the backyard of Grandma’s house, which is spectacular in late August and early September, and I made a list of everything Adam and I liked to eat and we chose from that.

  Frannie’s is catering their wonderful roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, and those great oatmeal sandwich cookies no gala should be without—made in miniature, of course, and each decorated with a tiny pink rose. Adam insisted on corn o
n the cob since it’s in season, and homemade ice cream to go with the cake. Since his entire family is coming, as well as everyone in Simms, we ordered enough food to feed all the attendees at the Super Bowl.

  I’m also amazed at the number of Adam’s coworkers, publishers and VIPs that are coming. We’ve even had to figure out a place to park limos during the festivities. The elementary school principal offered the parking lot and playground area at the school. If the limo drivers get bored, they can hang out on the jungle gym.

  I frowned as I tugged at Jane’s dress. She caught my look in the mirror.

  “It’s going to fit, isn’t it?”

  “Eventually. If you promise not to bend or breathe.”

  “Oh, good.” Jane gave a sigh of relief, which pooched out her belly and made the zipper slide backward. “Then what were you thinking about?”

  “The cake.”

  “Oh, that.” She looked at me, bright eyed. “I think you’re very brave, you know.”

  “‘Brave’ isn’t exactly what a bride should have to be concerning her wedding cake.”

  “Brave is what you have to be to allow Tulip full rein decorating it.”

  “I was feeling a little too benevolent toward the community of Simms when I agreed to that.” I thought everyone would enjoy having one of Tulip’s cakes, but I had a momentary memory lapse and forgot about some of Tulip’s past designs.

  The woman is an artist, there’s no doubt about that. Or maybe I should say artiste—fickle and fussy where her creative muse is involved. Sometimes Tulip suffers delusions of grandeur. There was that Volkswagen-sized football cake she created when Simms had a successful year on the home turf. Well, maybe it wasn’t a Volkswagen, but it was as least as big as the little red wagon in which she had to haul it. Her cakes were decorated with everything from sparklers and party favors to entire historical depictions of the first pioneers settling in Simms.

  “I’ve been trying to imagine what she might do, and drawn a blank.”

  “Who knows how Tulip’s mind works? She’ll think of something.”

  “That is what I’m afraid of.” I got the zipper to the top and turned Jane around by the shoulders. “What do you know, you look great!”