“Would you?” said Joanie.
I didn’t know.
• • •
“You’re quiet,” said James, taking my hand. We’d made it over the Pass easily and were already past Vantage, following the Columbia River through Mattawa and Desert Aire. The landscape was gray-brown in winter and the sky so wide on this side of the mountains—no hills and evergreens boxing you in, just the bluffs and the flat, high desert stretching away.
“We’re getting there awfully fast,” I answered. “You’re sure this is okay with your parents?”
He looked amused and gave my hand a squeeze but didn’t answer. No need. We’d already talked it to death in the last few weeks. Instead he changed the subject. “What’s the latest with Mike? Has he been showing up for work?”
A good topic, and I felt myself untense. “Yes! Nadina says he can’t stop talking about it. She claims he goes early, even, and hasn’t complained once about bathroom duty or taking people’s coffee and sandwich orders. And it’s kind of like Cinderella—if Mike gets done with whatever chores they’ve come up with, they let him sit in the booth with them and watch them work. I’m so thrilled, James. So thrilled he hasn’t shown up stoned or broken anything or stolen from the petty cash. And Nadina said Mike already knew some of the bands coming in. I don’t know if that was a good thing or not, since the last time they saw Mike he was probably a mess.”
“Maybe they don’t recognize him all straightened up, then,” James suggested reassuringly.
I gave him a skeptical look. “Little, pale, white-haired Mike? I guess if they were stoned too, then maybe not. Anyhow, so far so good. I’m so grateful to Daniel and Ray for giving him this chance. Nadina says they’re going to pay Mike’s dad some rent for the first time next month—a piddly amount but symbolic—and they’re going to split it!”
“That’s great, Cass. And how’s our girl Nadina lately? Did you get her to agree to go to the doctor?”
My shoulders slumped. “Not yet. I’m working on it. She’s still tired all the time and has lost a lot of weight because she thinks things smell bad. I’m worried she has something hideous like Chronic Fatigue Syndrome or Lyme disease or lupus or something. It’s been over a month now. I may just have to kidnap her and take her to a clinic, so she can stick out her tongue and let the doctor have a look.”
“I could ask Melissa’s husband Pete this weekend,” James pointed out. “He’s doing his residency, and he might recognize general symptoms.”
This reminded me of the unpleasantness ahead, and I sank back, silent, for the rest of the drive.
The sun set as we passed the turnoff for Prosser, and it was dark as we entered Richland. Too soon we were crossing George Washington Way and pulling up in front of his parents’ late ‘60s split-level. The curtains twitched as James turned off the engine, and I wrapped my arms around myself as we darted through the chilly air to go inside.
Although the living room was crowded with people, as soon as our heads appeared at the top of the stairs, silence fell. Tableau of a lesser-known work: the Prodigal Son returns, bringing in tow his favorite prostitute. Then, “James!” shouted several female voices at once, and he was surrounded on all sides to be hugged, including by a couple little girls I took to be his nieces.
When he broke free, laughing, he pulled me up the last step, saying, “Everyone, this is Cass. Cass, this is my mother Peggy, my sister Melissa, my sister Amy, my best nieces Katie and Maddie—” they bounced in delight, staring at me with shy curiosity. The men were also there: James’ father Hugh, his brothers-in-law Pete and Cody, his little nephew Buck. Buck was little sister Amy’s first child, a boy almost exactly Min’s age when she died. James greeted him by tossing him in the air, causing him to squeal with glee.
Dinner was laid out buffet-style in the kitchen for everyone to graze on, and I timidly presented Peggy with the box of Boehm’s Chocolates I’d brought. She was a short, sturdy woman in her early 50s with curling, cropped brown hair and plenty of jewelry on. Peggy eyed the box. “Ah, Boehm’s. Yeah, we can get them out at the Center,” but she took the lid off and found space for it on the counter. “James tells me he met you through that kid he’s helping.”
I gave her the two-minute version, which she seemed to have heard before, and then she said, “So you’re a widow?” There followed the two-minute version of that story. I had to walk a fine line between properly-bereaved and putting-it-all-behind-me, but Peggy didn’t seem satisfied. “Not even two years, and you’re already dating, huh?” Sigh.
After a moment, she shrugged. “James has always had a way with the girls,” she said, shaking her head in a you-just-can’t-help-it manner. This didn’t exactly tally with what James himself had said about his high school years, but I suppose I had to make allowances for a mother’s fondness.
And a sister’s. When I made some overtures of friendship to little Buck, I found Amy watching. She looked the most like James, more than the taller and blonde Melissa, but Amy’s gray eyes were narrower than her brother’s and lacked his humor. “I had a little girl who was Buck’s age,” I said by way of explanation.
She nodded. “That’s terrible. I’m sorry about that. I can’t imagine what I’d do if that happened to me. Probably kill myself.” Amy had a loud, flat way of speaking. An awkward silence followed this, and I wondered if my failure to slit my wrists was a strike against me. This was going to be a long weekend. “You’re probably anxious to get married again and have more babies,” Amy added, louder than before.
Blushing, I shook my head. “Oh, no. I’m not in a hurry to do either.”
“James said you’re older than he is.”
“Yes,” I conceded, “but I’ve got the rest of my life to get married again, and I don’t think I want any more babies.”
“No more babies!” echoed Amy. “If I were you, I would want to have more babies as fast as I could to help me get over it.” Would that be before or after she caved to suicidal despair? Apparently she’d forgotten her dramatic declaration of a minute ago, and I certainly wasn’t going to remind her of it. Amy shook her head resignedly in a fair imitation of her mother Peggy. “‘No more babies!’ You better let James know about that because he’s always wanted lots of kids.”
James either heard his name or caught the fleeting expression on my face because he broke off his conversation with Cody and came to put an arm around me. “Hungry? Let’s get some food.”
I was too old to beg him not to abandon me, but he stayed fairly close the rest of the evening. After dinner, when games were suggested and Melissa asked if I wanted to play Scrabble, James said, “You better not play, Cass, if you want to make a good impression. Cass cleans up at Scrabble,” he added to the room in general. I joined the Yahtzee table instead, with Pete and Hugh and Pete’s older daughter Katie. Pete and Hugh were content to let the womenfolk determine my worthiness or lack thereof, so they made for pleasant partners. As for Katie, she was sweet as can be. “You’re pretty,” she told me. “I like you.” That makes one of you, I thought with a sigh.
It was a relief to go to bed and shut the downstairs family room door on the whole Kittredge and caboodle of them.
A text from Joanie awaited me: “Well?” Lying on the lumpy pull-out couch, I keyed in the dark: “Going over like lead balloon.”
• • •
Things both improved and deteriorated the following day. Improved because everyone was so busy preparing for the anniversary celebration that no one had time to bother their heads with me; and deteriorated because cutesy Jen showed up at the party. All day long I tried to lay low, running errands with James, tying balloons, arranging centerpieces. The Kittredges reserved a ballroom at the hotel on the riverfront, so at one point I took Katie and Maddie to the adjacent park to play. It was only in the 50s, but the girls got us warmed up quickly, running around in their party dresses, chasing each other through the play structure, and begging for me to push them on the swings or give them a running start
on the zip line. We were all three glowing and rather disheveled when we walked back to the hotel, only to find that the photographer and grandparents had arrived, and it was time for pictures.
“No way. Absolutely not,” I declared when James tried to pull me into the family group picture. “That’s all you need is some picture hanging on everyone’s wall for the next fifty years and people pointing at me and asking, ‘Who the heck is that?’”
“Who says you won’t be around to tell them?” he replied steadily.
Good grief! Joanie and Phyl were right—James had marriage on his mind. My mouth popped open in surprise, and he managed to drag me within two steps of Melissa and Pete before I roused myself and dug in my heels. “No,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “Stop it. You’re embarrassing me. No! I’m not family.” At least mom Peggy looked like she agreed with me.
As for Jen’s arrival a half hour later, had it not been clear from Amy running over and greeting her with a hug and scream and James suddenly tensing up, I think I could still have picked her out. She had high school rodeo queen written all over her—4-H crossed with Ticktockers—all she needed was an embroidered shirt and a float.
“She’s cute,” I couldn’t resist whispering to James. “I almost want to kiss her myself.”
“Oh,” Jen breathed, when James introduced her to me. “It’s nice to meet you. James spoke so much of you at Christmas.” Not a trace of rancor in her voice or wide blue eyes. Shouldn’t I have guessed that James would never be attracted to any malicious hellcat? Sadly, I was probably the furthest he had ventured in that direction. Apart from me, he did seem to prefer what Nadina scathingly called “baby bunny.”
So not only was Jen cute, she was kind and young and uncomplicated. If I were the Kittredges, I would have pulled for her too. These thoughts and other not-very-comforting ones ran through my mind as I sat at one of the tables, an innocuous expression pinned on my face, through the slideshow and celebratory toasts and inside jokes. I did enjoy watching James, although it contributed to my squirrely feeling that our relationship couldn’t possibly work. He played with his nieces and nephew, made affectionate conversation with his relatives, kept bringing me drinks and food and holding my hand when he sat with me. Where did I belong? If this had been Troy’s grandparents celebrating, I would have been like Amy—central, sure of my role, running after Min like she did Buck. It had been my paranoia the night before that made me think Peggy and Amy didn’t like me. They didn’t like me or dislike me; they were wary of me.
Jen ended up putting it best. She was sitting next to me shortly before the party ended, stirring as much milk and sugar into her coffee as I had. “You’re probably used to more sophisticated kinds of parties, aren’t you?” was her unexpected comment.
“Me?”
“James said your parents were professors, and you went to a fancy college in California, and you have a brother who lived in Hollywood, and you’ve lived in England. And he says you’re a writer.”
I frowned. “I guess all that is technically true, but it’s not really that glamorous. Now I’m just kind of an underemployed housekeeper.” And I wished James would keep his mouth shut. No wonder everyone kept looking at me like I was a newly-discovered species of rodent. “I’m not a big deal at all.”
Jen smiled a little ruefully. “Don’t try telling James that, Cass. I don’t think you could ever convince him.”
• • •
On the way back home Sunday, we stopped for dinner in Ellensburg. It was windy there, as always, and in the dash from the car to the diner, my hood blew off and I slipped on a patch of ice, crashing into him and sending us to the pavement. “How much did you drink at the winery today, Cass?” he teased, brushing me off. “You’ve been punchy the whole drive back.”
“I think I’m just so relieved to be done with it,” I said, raising my voice over the wind.
He paused. “Or you could be just getting started with it.” When I looked at him blankly, not sure I heard him right, he pulled me into the lee of the diner. “This totally sucks—it’s not how I pictured this happening. But you know me—I never can wait for the right moment if I have an idea in my head. I think my family liked you, Cass. Do you think you could stand to have us all around, the rest of your life? I mean, what would you think of getting married one day?”
I exhaled in disbelief: were we seriously going to have this conversation outside a diner in Ellensburg, standing next to the Homes and Apartments – Central Washington dispenser? So much for making fun of Wayne’s proposal at the hot dog stand. “I think your family would need more time to get used to the idea, and I think it’s too soon to talk about it,” I answered slowly.
“That’s not a no.”
“It’s not a no,” I agreed, “but it’s not a yes either. I’m saying it’s too soon to talk about it.”
Taking a deep breath, James nodded after a moment. “But it must mean you’re leaning toward yes—otherwise you’d flat out tell me no.”
“I can’t answer that. I can hardly believe I’m not saying no, flat out. I don’t know. But James—I have to tell you—maybe Amy already told you because we talked about it Friday night—but I’m not feeling very open to the idea of having any more children.”
This was an unexpected blow—I could tell from his face. Should’ve given Amy more credit for discretion, apparently. Was it a dealbreaker? The muscles in his jaw worked, as he tried to get his emotions under control. “How dead set are you,” James said finally, “against children? Do you mean you just can’t picture it now because it’s too painful, or that you’re positive you never want children again?”
“I don’t know,” I said again. “I know it’s too painful to think about now, and I can’t make any promises for the future. I’m sorry.” Reaching for his hand, I held it between my ice-cold ones. “You can dump me now, if you want. I would understand.”
Instead he grabbed me by the shoulders and hugged me to him, and I felt a fierce kiss to the top of my head. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, my girl. I can wait a little longer. I knew it was too soon. I could’ve at least waited to ask you when your stomach was full—improve my odds.” Releasing me with a final shake, he said casually, “So help me out here: you won’t marry me—at least not yet—and you won’t have my children, so why exactly are you going out with me?”
I looked at him helplessly. “James…”
“Tell me it’s because you’re in love with me—at least a little bit—like I’m in love with you.”
What a mess I was. No wonder his family half-wished James would run away screaming into the arms of straightforward Jen. Did I love him a little? Of course. I wouldn’t be here, otherwise. But would it do more harm than good to say so? I didn’t think I could say it, at any rate. Finally, in a voice so low he had to lean forward to hear me, I murmured, “What’s not to love?”
He smiled. It would do for now.
Taking his hand again, I let him lead me into the diner, but this roller coaster wasn’t over yet.
“All this talk reminds me,” James began again, “I didn’t want to tell you this earlier because you seemed so much more relaxed today, but now that you’re good and stressed—I mentioned Nadina’s symptoms to Pete. He says he’d lay odds a thousand to one that she hasn’t got any newfangled disease like chronic fatigue or lupus. He bets she just has the age-old one: she’s going to have a baby.”
Chapter 33: Oregon Trail
Sometimes saying something out loud makes it real.
I went to Bartell’s on Monday to pick up a pregnancy test for Nadina, but it felt like a waste of money. Don’t tell me how I knew—I just knew Pete guessed right, and I was an idiot not to think of it. Did Nadina know? She’d been around the block before, after all, though I never asked her how far along she’d gotten in the pregnancy she ended. If she knew, had she told Mike? Had she told the school?
With Camden School on Mid-Winter Break, I wouldn’t be seeing her tomorrow or even al
l week unless I could get a hold of her, and I certainly was not going to contact Mark Henneman without talking to her first. What could I do but text her a couple times, playing dumb and saying that I’d love to get together?
As the week passed with no word from her, I only grew more convinced. Nadina only fell dead silent when there was something she wasn’t ready to deal with. By Thursday I even resorted to roundabout spying on Mike, sending Ray Snow a how’s-it-going-with-the-studio-slave message. His everything’s-fine response didn’t comfort me—it only meant she hadn’t even told Mike yet. She wouldn’t…take steps…on her own, would she? Especially if Mike would be all in favor. Or maybe the prospect didn’t upset Mike—it wasn’t like he was super-emotive. Maybe he could abort his second child in the morning and show up to scrub toilets in the afternoon without missing a beat. As long as I didn’t know the outcome, I could pray, and I did, all week long.
But I would be lying if I said that Nadina’s possible pregnancy was the only idea which had become real to me. Or even if I said it occupied 90% of my emotional energy that week. Ever since James brought up marriage and I instantly squashed the notion, I found myself dwelling on it, allowing myself to entertain the possibility openly for the first time. Was there any point in thinking of it now, since I told James I didn’t want children, and he clearly found that a showstopper? And if he decided he would marry me anyhow, how could I allow him to give up so much? No, if I truly didn’t want children and he did, the right thing to do would be to break up with him. And yet, maybe he was right, and in a year or two I might be able to think about a baby again.
After much more circular, inconclusive dithering, I threw up my hands mentally: I didn’t have to decide right now. One emotional crisis at a time. Let me deal with Nadina first. If she would ever call me.
I hadn’t been able to conceal James’ proposal from Joanie and Phyl, of course, since they practically tackled me upon my return. True to form, Joanie thought I should accept him and trust that the child thing would work itself out: “Half the couples who get married turn out to be infertile anyway!” she exaggerated. “Getting married doesn’t automatically mean you have kids.” And Phyl, just as true to form, thought I absolutely shouldn’t ask it of James but didn’t want me to break up either. No help at all.
Mourning Becomes Cassandra Page 33