Mourning Becomes Cassandra

by Christina Dudley

  But how could it be? My life was in shambles, and I didn’t know the first thing about teenagers or drug addiction. On the other hand, surely I could hang out with a teenager and encourage her to stay on the wagon and in school? But what would any teenager want with some pathetic woman who had lost everything and had no idea how to start from scratch? Didn’t they want hope, instead of, “Work hard and play it straight, and one day your life, too, might go up in flames”?

  Discouraged, I wadded up the bulletin and threw it on the floor, only to glimpse the raised eyebrow of the woman next to me. Clearly she wasn’t excited about me littering in the Sanctuary. Too long used to behaving myself, I picked the bulletin back up and stuffed it in my purse. Fine, God, I’ll keep it. But if you really have the crazy idea I should mentor someone, you’re going to have to make it a little clearer.

  When the service let out, I darted out the front doors. It would mean a longer walk, but it would also mean avoiding most people I knew. Our church had torn down its 50s-style A-frame recently and rebuilt as big a building as the city would allow—modern, with huge windows of greenish Northwest glass and a modest cross on top, so as not to frighten people like Daniel, who wanted to vomit when they thought of church. For the entire sixteen months it took to rebuild, we met in the Bellevue High School gym, where the sight of the basketball hoops and the smell of Cafeteria Lunches Past gave former alums like me similar urges to vomit when they thought of church. Already we were bursting at the seams again, causing longtime members to complain that they didn’t recognize anyone, but there’s nothing like a mega-church if your goal is to avoid people. You have only to change services to cut yourself adrift.

  Sure enough, besides throwing one wave across the parking lot to Dave and Sandy Lucker, I escaped unnoticed.

  • • •

  Phyl and Joanie were having a comfortable coze in the kitchen when I got home, Joanie still in sweats. Helping myself to coffee, I plunked down next to Phyl.

  “How was church?” Joanie asked. “I can’t believe you go to the early service! Do they have to remove half the pews to fit all the walkers and wheelchairs?”

  I blew on my coffee and reached for the half-and-half. “It wasn’t so bad. Just about everyone was ambulatory. I knew one of the hymns.”

  “Who preached?” Phyl asked in her gentle voice.

  “Some guy from Idaho. It was about service.”

  “Yuck and yuck!” yelled Joanie. “Maybe I won’t go tonight. Who needs more guilt? I still haven’t recovered from the time Chaff went to hand out sandwiches to the homeless, and I got Mr. Complainer who didn’t like turkey. Who knew homeless people were so picky?”

  “I had a nice conversation that time,” Phyl objected. “I met this lady with such a sad story, and I kept thinking, ‘This could be me.’”

  Joanie rolled her eyes. “Well, next time I’ll hit up the ladies. I’m sure Jesus would have told my guy to just choke down the damned sandwich and be grateful.”

  Phyl frowned. Before they could really get into it, I interjected hastily, “Speaking of Chaff, how was the hike yesterday? Was the cute new guy there?”

  Joanie took the bait. “YES! Only, it turns out James is a mere 27, so a lot of us circling sharks had to quit chomping at his cage—”

  “Joanie, I wish you wouldn’t talk like that,” Phyl protested. “How can anyone at YAF try to get to know anyone, if you’re always going to make it sound so predatory?”

  “But the good news is,” Joanie went on blithely, “James brought this friend—older friend—his old Sigma Nu big brother, I think—who is just as cute and just as cool, though unemployed.”

  “He already asked Joanie out, of course,” sighed Phyl.

  “He’s unemployed?” I asked skeptically. “Is he going to take you to the soup kitchen?”

  Joanie shrugged. “We may have to scrounge for sandwiches the homeless people reject, but at least he’s cute. And I said Roy was unemployed, not unemployable. Big difference.”

  “So when is this date happening?” I asked.

  “Coffee after church tonight,” Joanie replied. “Which means I guess I have to go so I can talk about it with him.”

  “Who got James, then?” I asked.

  “I think at least three women asked him out,” Phyl answered. “And I’m pretty sure he took Brooke Capshaw up on it.”

  “He had to,” Joanie said ruthlessly. “She’s short. He’s short.”

  “Shorter than you, Joanie,” I said. “Not everyone is almost six feet tall.”

  “Yeah, but I’d put him at max 5’8.””

  “He’s tall enough for you, Phyl,” I broke in again. “And you’re younger than Joanie and me—”

  “Hey, don’t lump us together,” Joanie protested. “You’re 32 and I’m only 29.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, “and Phyl is only, what, 28?”

  Phyl fidgeted and dumped more sugar in her empty coffee cup. “Uh huh, but I don’t think James is my type. I mean, he seems very nice and all, but a little tame.”

  Even as she spoke her eyes were drawn out the bay window, and I followed her gaze. From my seat I could just see half of Daniel’s back. He was in what must be his favorite spot, lounging on the deck reading the newspaper.

  Joanie and I exchanged looks of dismay.

  “Well…” Joanie drawled, “I’m sure you’ll find someone less tame and more unsuitable to like, Phyl. In any case, since Roy is unemployed and I think I’ll want to see him more than he can afford, I have a brand-new idea for our brand-new household.”

  Now Phyl and I exchanged amused glances.

  “What now?” I asked. “Cough it up.”

  To our surprise, Joanie leaned over and banged on the window pane. “Daniel! Could you come in a second? I want to run something by you.”

  I could see Phyl hold her breath as we waited for him. After some moments he came in the back door and threw his folded newspaper on the counter, running his hands through his tousled blond hair and nodding briefly at me. “What, Joanie?”

  She slung an arm around him and cuddled. Joanie has always been very demonstrative physically, something I think her many fiancés enjoyed. Nor did her brother seem to mind, and he put his arm on her shoulders. They really were amazingly good-looking together. “Okay, Daniel,” she said, “I’ve got this great idea for our house that can involve you or not involve you, but I’d love for it to involve you.”

  “Oh, for Chrissake, Joanie. Are you planning some kind of tent revival in the backyard? The answer is no.”

  “No, stupid. It doesn’t even necessarily involve church—”

  “‘Necessarily’?” he echoed warily. “I thought that’s all you girls did. Speaking of which, why are you all sitting around, instead of getting your butts to church on a Sunday morning?”

  “Phyl and I will go later,” Joanie explained impatiently. “And Cass has already been.”

  Daniel glanced at the clock and whistled. “I guess the grass won’t grow under your feet.”

  Over me, more like, I thought.

  He dropped a wink at me. “And didn’t you say your name was Cathy?”

  “Cass. It’s Cass—short for Cassandra,” I replied, a little flustered by the wink.

  “I was just thinking,” Joanie began again, thumping on Daniel’s chest to get his attention, “wouldn’t it be cool if, once a week—say Thursdays, since that’s one of my days to cook—we had some kind of standing open house here. We could each invite one or two guests for dinner, with advance notice, of course. It’d be the one night of the week when we all tried to be home together to eat and hang out. It could be potluck, but you and your guests could be freeloaders, if you want.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He backed out of her encircling arm. “No way am I hosting the weekly church picnic, and what makes you think I want to hang out with you and your friends—no offense—” He grimaced in the direction of Phyl and me.

  “None taken,” whispered Phyl.

 
“I’m not talking about a church picnic,” Joanie retorted, her voice getting that little annoyed edge I recognized. “I’m talking about having one night a week for friends and family and community, and showing a little hospitality! I wouldn’t even necessarily invite a church person, and neither would Phyl or Cass—”

  “This is Joanie’s idea,” Phyl breathed.

  Joanie shot her a scathing look but plowed on. “And you and your friends or girlfriends or co-workers wouldn’t even need to come, but I wish you would. Come on, Daniel, it’ll be fun! Just say we can host it and try to come. If you hate it you can just get a plate of food and go hide at your place.”

  He threw up his hands in surrender and gave her a loud kiss on the cheek. “Fine. We’ll try it once. One or two guests each, max. This is going to be a crazy week at work, so what time do I have to be here?”

  Squealing, she hugged him. “Say 6:30 for drinks and hors d’oeuvres, and we’ll eat at 7:00. And let me know if Missy or someone else is coming. I wish we could send an evite, but I don’t want to until we’ve thought of a name for the house.”

  He extricated himself again and waved vaguely at us. “Why does a house need a name? You girls deal with that. I’ve got to go in to the office.”

  And he was out the back door before Phyl could ask, “He has to work on Sunday?”

  Joanie plopped herself back down triumphantly. “That was easier than I thought.”

  I frowned at her. “Shouldn’t we have made sure things were going smoothly before trying to push him around?”

  “You call that pushing him around? You don’t know Daniel. He didn’t care about it. If he did and he felt strongly, there wouldn’t have been a thing I could do or say to budge him. Just like if there was something he set his mind on, nothing could stop him from getting it. We’ll see if he even shows up.”

  “I think he will,” I said slowly, “If only to make sure we aren’t baptizing people in the birdbath.”

  “You’re going to invite Roy,” Phyl said, “And Daniel will probably have that gorgeous Missy, but who do you think Cass and I should invite?”

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” Joanie complained, “it’s not a quadruple date. Ask anyone you want! Anyone you’d like to have for dinner. Or no one at all. It’s just meant to give us a consistent time and a space for entertaining and being together without having to clear things with Daniel. Now help me think of a name for our house.”

  Chapter Three: A Failure to Communicate

  Our first official dinner together would prove typical: Daniel was still at work, and Phyl and Joanie had to bolt and run to make the 7:00 church service. By 6:55 I had the house to myself and was doing the dishes in peace, having made Daniel a plate of Phyl’s chicken casserole and put it in the microwave with a note.

  Dinner conversation had centered on the house-naming. Phyl tended toward the literary, but Joanie and I vetoed Pemberley, Elsinore, Innisfree, and their ilk as too pretentious. She in turn disliked the ironic names, absolutely no Hovel or Anthill or Woodshed.

  “It’s a beautiful house,” Phyl protested softly. “It should have a beautiful name. What would Daniel think if we named his beautiful house ‘the Woodshed’? It’s cliché, but you know what they say—a man’s home is his castle.”

  “The Castle!” Joanie hollered, thumping the table. “Not that I think Daniel would give a rat’s ass what we call it.”

  “No, even better,” I laughed. “How about the Palace? That way this could be the Palace kitchen, like that restaurant in Seattle. And Daniel’s little in-law could be the Woodshed.”

  Phyl shook her head. “No Woodshed.”

  “The Lean-To!” Joanie said eagerly. “Like in Little House on the Prairie. You wanted literature, Phyl.” She raised her glass of iced tea. “I propose a toast to the Palace and the Lean-To!”

  Phyl looked like she might draw out the argument, but since I raised my glass she gave in and toasted with us.

  I was just wiping down the stainless-steel sink when I heard the front door open. Daniel. At least he was alone, since I forgot to make Missy a plate. Somehow the thought of being home alone with him made me a little nervous, not just because I’d always felt intimidated by the Head Cheerleaders and High School Football Captains of the world, but because talking to any man post-widowhood seemed fraught with difficulty.

  He poked his head in the kitchen. “Where’s Joanie?”

  “Church.”

  Daniel made a scoffing sound. “How could I have forgotten?” Everywhere I chose to stand seemed to be in his way, and I tried not to leap like a startled deer when he backed me up against the counter so he could reach for a wineglass. The glint in his eye made me suspect he enjoyed my discomfiture. “Smells good. What did…Felicia…make for dinner?”

  “Close. Her name is Phyllida, but we call her Phyl. If it helps you remember, her name means ‘greenery’ or something, and she’s a total enviro-freak. Tonight she made a politically-correct chicken casserole.” I pointed to the microwave, trying to stand my ground and not step back from him.

  His very blue eyes met mine sharply. “Look…Cass…sorry about the name problem. I’m not very good with them.”

  “It’s okay,” I replied, moving away from him on the pretense of hanging up the dishcloth. “I meant sincerely that you were close when you guessed Felicia. Just like you were close when you guessed ‘Cathy’ for me. I’m terrible at names, so I’m impressed you actually get in the ballpark.”

  He grinned then and went to punch the buttons on the microwave.

  Having finished cleaning, I debated whether or not he would want to make conversation while he ate and decided probably not. But it was weird to share a house with another person and not make any attempt to get to know him. Well, he could always take refuge in the Lean-To if I got too annoying.

  “Joanie says you’re a lawyer,” I began. “What kind of lawyer?”

  He stuffed a giant bite of casserole in his mouth and had to chew for a minute, looking measuringly at me all the while. Maybe most women who addressed him uninvited were hitting on him. Ugh. I was pretty sure I’d kept my tone businesslike.

  He reached for the pepper mill, and I thought of Esther appearing before Ahasuerus without first being summoned. Would Daniel hand me the mill, like the royal scepter, and bid me speak, or would he behead me? Instead, he gave a few grinds and replaced it.

  “Intellectual property,” he answered at last. “Trade secrets, that sort of thing.”

  “Do you mean inventions?”

  “Sort of and sometimes. Companies develop anything—new technologies, inventions, even software programs or architectures—and they need legal protection for these things to keep their competitive advantage. If another company steals these things or benefits from them, they should have to pay for it, just like you would have to pay if you were a musician and wanted to record a cover of someone else’s song.”

  “So if I invented something and wanted to get it patented and protected, I could go to you?”

  His mouth twisted in amusement. “Are you speaking hypothetically? What kind of invention?”

  I pulled one of the barstools closer to the table and sat down. “Oh, I’ve thought of all kinds of things. What about contact lenses that darkened in sunlight, like those glasses which turn into sunglasses automatically?”

  No response. He kept eating, so I tried again. “And then I thought of a chair, like a disc on a stiff bungee cord, that you could suspend from the ceiling and sit on, so that when you were holding a baby, the baby would think you were still standing, but you would know you were sitting.”

  “What?” he looked mystified. “What would be the point of that?”

  I forgot babies were completely unknown quantities to him. “Because when babies are fussy, they like you to hold them while you walk around or bounce up and down, and that gets exhausting for the parent after a while.”

  He shrugged, losing interest. “Well, we don’t really handle personal inve
ntions.”

  Now he tells me.

  There was a pause, while I waited for him to take a turn asking me something, but he seemed content to eat in silence. I hid a smile. I had forgotten how, when Joanie got frustrated with him, she would say, “Daniel is complete in himself—or is that completely into himself?”

  Once more into the breach. “Do you have to work a lot of weekends?” I asked.

  “Depends on the caseload. One of the partners is on family leave now, so some of us are taking up the slack.” His grin came and went again. “Maybe Josh might be interested in your disc bouncy chair now.”

  “Well, it’s my idea, so he’d have to pay big time for it,” I cracked. His expression didn’t change. For the love of Mike, did he think I was serious?

  “And you know,” Daniel continued, as if I hadn’t spoken, “It’ll never sell unless you can think of a catchier name for it.”

  Stung, I retorted, “’Disc bouncy chair’ was your name for it, not mine! Of course I know it needs a better name. I was just giving you one of my hypothetical inventions.” This time I definitely saw his mouth twitch and suddenly realized he was only yanking my chain, and I had thought he was serious.

  More silence. No wonder he slept with so many women—otherwise he might have to talk to them! He was just about done with his plate. “If you want seconds, there’s more in the fridge,” I offered.

  While he loaded up again I made a final attempt. “Okay, if you don’t do personal inventions, what’s an example of something your firm would handle?”

  Daniel turned slowly from the microwave. “A little of this, a little of that. They’re trade secrets, remember? I could tell you, but this would be your last night on earth.”

  This time I did laugh. “Fine then, keep your precious secrets. I’m off to go hack into your computer.” I’d done my conversational duty for one night. Time to check my email.