Dad had gone all out and reserved Marché in Menlo Park for her private party. Between the five-course wine-pairing menu and a guest list upwards of forty family members, I couldn’t help teasing him that he’d better hope Mom didn’t make it to her 70th.
It wasn’t a bad evening, apart from the forty times I had to have someone take my hand, eyes full of tears, and tell me, “I’ve been thinking about you all the time, Cass. How are you? Are you okay? Do you think you might move down here? What are you doing all by yourself up there?” Their sincere concern made me cry with them until my head ached, but at least sympathy was preferable to Aunt Judy. Being the oldest of my father’s siblings, she was used to managing all.
“Cassandra, how long will the insurance money last?” she demanded. “Have you thought about how you’ll support yourself when it runs out? I know you quit work to stay home with Min, even though I told your father a woman should always keep one foot in the workplace. If you need help updating your resumé, have your cousin Greg take a look at it. I had him look at Janie’s, and it really helped her get that job. Of course, you are the spendthrift branch of the family. Just look at you and Perry, without two pennies to rub together. Look at this restaurant! My 60th was at Chef Chu’s, and I’m sure that was fancy enough for everyone. You’d better eat more of this expensive food because you’re still looking too pale and thin. Like Troy. I didn’t mention it, but I had my misgivings when you married Troy—he always did look a little peaked.”
The whole family put up with Aunt Judy, but for once I found something refreshing in her matter-of-factness; the tone in which she discussed the complete wreckage of my life was no different from how she had tsk-tsked over the sunburn I got when I was twelve, after ignoring her sunscreen offer.
That was the worst of it though. Once the sit-down dinner began, I was safely flanked by two teenage male cousins who never thought once to ask me a question about myself, and I was free to pop some ibuprofen and have an extra glass of wine. Who knows? Given the choice of getting it over with in one evening, or having the sympathy and tears trickle in whenever I happened to meet each of them, I’m not sure I would have chosen otherwise.
The rest of the visit passed pleasantly enough. We got in some golfing and walks and a trip to the City. Mom and Perry and I would stay up into the night playing cards and catching up; they were as thrilled as I had hoped about my new work at Free Universe, and full of questions about Nadina. Before I knew it, it was Friday, and I was headed back up to Seattle.
My taciturn father surprised me by taking me aside shortly before I had to head back to the airport. “Cass, your mother and I are so happy to see you looking well again.” He fumblingly rubbed me on the shoulders, and I turned to hug him.
“Perry said the same thing when he saw me. I must have really looked terrible at Easter,” I joked.
“We were very, very worried. We had the whole church praying for you,” he said soberly, and much as I cringed to think of my name and story trumpeted in their church bulletin, I was touched.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Are you still going to church?” he asked. I understood the indirection: he meant, did I still believe in God?
Kissing him on the cheek, I answered, “Yes. Tell Mom not to worry. I love you, Dad.”
• • •
Joanie and Phyl had lots to catch me up on when I got home. Cingular had offered Roy a job at last; Jason had run into a door chasing Benny and broken his nose (“It’s swelled up like a football!” beamed Phyl); and Wayne was improving slightly in everyone’s estimation.
“It turns out he visits his mom so often because she’s disabled and he wants to check up on her, since his dad died a couple years ago,” explained Phyl. “But his mom is always telling him to get a life and says that, if he really wanted to make her happy, he’d get married and produce a few grandkids.”
“Ooh, yes, caring son sure beats browbeaten mama’s boy,” I agreed. “And if you married him, at least your future mother-in-law sounds like she would have a sense of humor.” Phyl made a face.
“How was the open house last night?” I asked. “Even while eating at my favorite Thai place from college I was sorry to miss it.”
“All right,” reported Joanie. “There was lots of Rock Band, but it was kind of flat without you.”
“I don’t even play Rock Band,” I laughed. “If anyone missed me, it would be Phyl, to have no Scrabble partner.”
Phyl added in a slightly hurt tone, “As a matter of fact, I think Daniel missed you too. He even asked Joanie where you were, and when she told him he looked almost disappointed. I bet he’d be thrilled if I were gone.”
“Now, now, remember how you’re trying not to give a rip about my brother. If Cass was always sighing and moping over him, he’d be thrilled to have her gone too,” Joanie explained for the hundredth time. “Daniel’s fondness is inversely proportional to yours.”
“Heart-warming, I’m sure,” I said dryly, “Wait till he hears my brother Perry is going to be in Portland and swinging up here to stay whenever he feels like it. Do we know how Daniel feels about house guests that aren’t his?”
“Oh, he probably wouldn’t even notice,” Joanie said dismissively. “We’ll just stash Perry in our spare room, and chances are he won’t even run into Daniel. If I were you, I wouldn’t even bother asking.”
Not being as unscrupulous as Joanie, I decided I would ask Daniel whenever I managed to have the conversation about hard drugs. Between his travel and my own I had only seen him a few times in passing, and usually with other people around.
“What are you guys up to, tomorrow?” I asked.
“The singles group adopted a few families in East Bellevue, and tomorrow is the extreme home makeover for the first family,” said Phyl. “I think they put me down for heading up the landscaping.”
Joanie moaned. “I didn’t have any skills to list: can I use power tools? No. Have I done any painting work? No. Landscaping? Never. Which means they’ll put me on cleaning detail. I hope this isn’t one of those super pack-rat families with newspapers piled floor-to-ceiling and dirty dishes from three different decades.” She looked at me suddenly, and her voice took on a wheedling tone. “Wanna come help me, Cass? It’s Chaff-sponsored, but we’ll all be too busy and grime-encrusted to hit on each other.”
“Tempting, Joanie, but I’m going to have to say no. I wanted to get started on some Free Universe stuff, and then there’s a mentor bowling thing in the afternoon.”
Phyl and Joanie exchanged a glance, and Phyl said, “I guess that means James Kittredge won’t be at the home makeover tomorrow either. Lots of ladies might be disappointed.”
“Lots?” I echoed. “Isn’t he still with Brooke Capshaw?”
Joanie snorted. “That is way-old news. They only went out a few times, and she says she had to call him for two of them. After that he made the rounds with a few other ladies, but I don’t think he’s looking to get serious. Does he get flirty with you?”
“Not a bit. He’s charming and all, but totally polite and professional.” I paused, frowning. “Maybe because of the mentor thing and working together in future—or maybe he just doesn’t find me attractive.”
“Idiot!” said Joanie scathingly. “And maybe because he thinks you’re married, remember?”
A grin broke across my face. “Oh, yeah, I’m sure he’d be dying for me, otherwise. I’m certainly not going to enlighten him. I’d rather be friends—friendships usually last a whole lot longer than romances.”
Chapter 12: Too Much Information
On Saturday I got up early, wanting to have some Free Universe work under my belt before I saw James that afternoon at bowling. Riley had sent me three scenarios, of which I found the Antarctic exploration concept the most intriguing, but it would also require the most research. Thinking ruefully of my Star Wars novelization, I wondered if I was always drawn to whatever I knew the least about.
Riley had only basic notes. Players
could choose an actual historical expedition to lead or create one of their own. If they chose an actual historical expedition, they could see if their own leadership choices, coupled with a hundred years of hindsight, could alter outcomes: could Robert Falcon Scott beat Roald Amundsen to the South Pole? Or, failing that, could Scott’s ill-fated team survive that final trek and make it to that last cairn? For those who preferred epic sea voyages there was even an option to play Ernest Shackleton and captain the Endurance. I spent some time online, but flipping back and forth between various sites and scrolling across maps and photos limited by my 15-inch computer screen grew tiresome, and my mind kept returning to that shelf of polar exploration books Daniel had in the Lean-To.
I looked at the clock: 9:30. Surely he must be stirring by now, reading the paper and having his coffee in the Palace kitchen. Alternatively, he and a girlfriend might still be snoring away or otherwise engaged. There was nothing for it but to go see.
The kitchen was deserted, but the coffee pot was hot, and there were a few mugs in the sink. No telling how many of the mugs were from last night’s tea. After loading them in the dishwasher I checked in the garage for Daniel’s Corvette—not there. Maybe he’d gone golfing. Grabbing the key to the Lean-To, I zipped out the back door and went to let myself in. His place was spotless, bare and silent, as usual. Phyl was a better cleaning lady than I because the kitchen was sparkling, but perhaps love and frustration led to harder scrubbing.
An hour later I was lying on the floor, books spread in every direction, having taken several pages of notes. It was hard to confine myself to getting down facts—dates and jumping-off points, ponies versus dogs, sledding versus man-hauling—when I kept getting absorbed in the stories themselves. I had just read Scott’s farewell letter to posterity and was wiping away tears when I saw motion out of the corner of my eye and glanced up to see Daniel standing at the bottom of the stairs in nothing but a tan and boxer shorts.
“Good heavens, you’re home!” I shrieked, sitting up hastily in a flurry of paper. Trying to look anywhere but at him, I began gathering all my notes and pens. “I wouldn’t have barged in uninvited if I’d known, obviously. I checked for your car and didn’t see it in the garage, and I figured it was already stinking 9:30 and—”
“Cass, it’s fine,” Daniel interrupted, his voice amused, as it always seemed to be when he addressed me. “I lent a friend the car for his wedding today—I’m just hoping it doesn’t come back to me covered in Silly String or trailing cans.” He didn’t seem in a hurry to go put some clothes on, so I focused on putting my notes in order and getting them clamped on the clipboard.
After watching me a minute longer he said, “I feel like I haven’t seen you for weeks—and you’ve taken up a new hobby. Fascinating books, aren’t they? I wasn’t aware Antarctic exploration was one of your interests, too.”
Not surprising, considering he didn’t know what any of my interests were, beyond church and Dickens and Scrabble, but I bit back this ungraceful comment and only said, “It’s for a little work I’m doing. Would you mind if I borrowed a book or two and took them back to my room for a while?”
He padded over and crouched down next to me. “Your place or mine.”
He was so near to me I could see his muscled arm and feel heat coming off his body, and I blushed furiously, shaking my head. “Oh, no, that won’t be necessary. I’ve—I’ve got enough notes to get started.” Blindly I turned away and started shoving books back on the shelf, and I heard him chuckling under his breath as he began to help me, rearranging them where I’d put them in the wrong order.
“What’s this?” came another voice from the stairway. It was Michelle the architect, whom we hadn’t seen in weeks, draped in a too-big bathrobe that must have been Daniel’s, her long dark hair loose around her shoulders. “Do you guys even clean his place on weekends, when he has company?”
Even in my confusion and embarrassment I was aware of the muted hostility in her question. What had I done to warrant this? Another mystery for the ages, I supposed. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I’m so sorry, and I’ll get out of your hair now.” Before I could take a step, Daniel was in front of me, and when he didn’t move aside I was forced to meet his eyes. They were still laughing at me.
“At least take this book with you—a good comprehensive overview of polar exploration,” he murmured. His voice took on that familiar, baiting note. “Something about the…frigid…cold is irresistible to some men; they can’t stay away from it. Must be all that untrampled, virgin snow. The purity of it.”
I scowled at him then, snatching the book. “Not that you would know, having spent all your time where ‘generations have trod, have trod, have trod.’”
Daniel laughed outright. If Michelle hadn’t been standing there on the stairs, arms crossed and looking daggers, I might have added a few choice words, such as, he was the most disrespectful, conceited, insensitive man I’d ever met, and could he please confine his flirting to the masochistic women who were interested in it? As it was, I turned on my heel with what dignity I could muster and shut the door just shy of a slam.
• • •
The rest of the morning, I hid in my room, writing, and not going down for lunch until I saw Daniel and Michelle leave. Daniel was wearing a suit, so I assumed they were going to the friend’s wedding and I would be spared his presence for the rest of the afternoon.
By two o’clock I had rough drafts of the game introduction and one scenario, enough to talk about if James asked, and my thoughts turned to bowling. At least I had been to Tech City Bowl before, so when I swung by to pick up Nadina at the school, we made it on time. She was not noticeably more excited about bowling than about sailing and greeted me with, “Dude, do you think they’ll let me have the bumpers up?”
I patted her arm. “Hey, there. How was your week?”
“Okay. Not much happened. School. Work. Blah blah.”
“How did your math test go?” I persevered.
Her face lit up suddenly. “I got a 77%! And I totally forgot I was going to email you and tell you that Kyle Bateman helped me with my math!”
“Kyle did?” I asked, pleased. “How did that happen?”
“I was sitting outside Tuesday after school, and since you were gone I was trying to go over my stupid pre-test which I totally bombed because I did not have a clue what was going on, and Kyle heard me cussing and saw me throw my math book on the ground, and he came over and was like, ‘Dude, that’ll break the binding.’ And I said, ‘Fuck the binding’—sorry, Cass—‘it’s not like having a nice binding is gonna help me understand what’s inside.’ And he looked like he was gonna walk away, but then he didn’t and he said, ‘Did you want help with that?’ And he sat with me for like almost an hour and explained stuff to me, and I almost got it! 77%!”
Not only was I glad for Nadina, who struggled with most subjects besides science, but it gave me a thrill to think of Kyle reaching out for once to one of the ‘druggies’ he despised. “Let’s try to get a lane with Kyle and James,” I suggested. “I’d love to thank him and talk to him.”
“Whatever, Cass. As long as you don’t get embarrassing on me,” agreed Nadina. “And let’s try to get Sonya and her old lady with us, too.”
Although it was dark in the bowling alley, it was easy to spot Kyle sloping toward the shoe rental counter, James alongside him. Kyle was wearing his characteristic three t-shirts and low-slung jeans hanging by their last threads, and James was his usual dapper self in a snug charcoal gray sweater and dark corduroys. I sent Nadina to wait in the check-in line and let Mark Henneman know we were there so I could catch them.
“Guys!” I called. “Mind if Nadina and I bowl with you?”
James turned with a big grin on his face and shook my hand heartily, and Kyle even got the ghost of a smile. “Cass! How was your trip?”
“Not bad. It was my mom’s 60th. She and my dad moved to the Bay Area when my brother and I were in college, so it was great to ge
t some sunshine.” I turned to Kyle. “And I hear from Nadina that you helped her with her math this past week. She even passed a test she was sure she would fail.” As I suspected, Kyle merely nodded and shuffled his feet, letting his long hair fall in front of his eyes, and grunting when James slapped him approvingly on the back.
It was a riotous afternoon. To Nadina’s disgust, the bowling alley had a maximum age limit on bumper usage, and she didn’t qualify. She and I were wretched, barely breaking seventy, and James was hardly better. The overall lane champion turned out to be Sonya’s mentor Louella, putting us all to shame, but no one minded.
Having not seen him for a while, I was glad for the chance to talk to Kyle. Louella was bowling her third strike in a row and Nadina and Sonya had gone to get everyone drinks when he said abruptly, “So you’re not writing your novelization anymore?”
“Nah,” I admitted. “I hope you’re not too heartbroken—I know I didn’t leave you in suspense—but did James tell you I’m going to be doing some writing work for Free Universe? And you helped me get the job because you fixed all the mistakes that would have made me look like an idiot.”
“Yeah,” Kyle answered vaguely. “James invited me to come see his office, too. I got to beta test some of the games and tell them if they were lame.”
“Oh—and were they?” I asked awkwardly. I could see that James must be listening because he turned away to hide a smile and made a big deal of looking for his bowling ball.
“They were okay. They didn’t suck.” Now I was grinning. Obviously faint praise wasn’t so damning when it issued from the mouth of a teenage boy. In fact, it was downright thrill-inducing.
James must have shared my opinion because he turned back to throw an amused look at me. “It’s our company motto,” he declared, “‘We just don’t want to suck.’”
Mourning Becomes Cassandra Page 12