by Mata Elliott
“The kids are here,” she reminded him.
“It has nothing to do with the kids.”
There was frustration inside his whisper. Cassidy glanced at the children to make sure they were involved with their art projects, then she returned her attention to the chili. “I need space right now.” Her tone was hushed. “I told you that last night.”
“What you need is deliverance.” He paused, suddenly aware that his voice had taken a leap upward. They both glanced at the children before looking at each other. Cassidy couldn’t sustain a mutual gaze for more than a breath and bowed her head. Trevor’s hand was on the counter, a hardened fist, a reflection of the air engulfing them. “I can’t take this,” he continued, his tone returned to a strained whisper. “You’re completely shutting me out.”
Brandi unknowingly put a stop to an exchange that would have gone on longer. “Come look at what I’m making, Daddy.”
Cassidy watched his fingers unfold, then looked up at him. Sadness, so raw it undoubtedly reached from his soul, filled his eyes. Cassidy shifted her gaze again, pain pushing her spirit lower. Trevor was right. She was shutting him out. He wanted to cuddle. He wanted to kiss. But cuddling and kissing usually led to something more. And something more usually took them to the bedroom. And it was there, in the bed, that her body reminded her time and time again that she could not perform all a wife should be able to. Not once during their most intimate moments had Trevor put pressure on her to do what she couldn’t. Nor had he ever uttered a comment that made her feel inferior. Yet Cassidy knew her handicap had to be an excessive hardship for him. Married before, Trevor was a man used to experiencing more. So how could he be truly happy and satisfied with her, a woman unable to meet his needs the way they needed to be met?
“Guess what?” Brandi said.
“What’s that, baby?” Trevor walked over, lifted her into his arms, kissed her chin, and she giggled.
“Cassidy’s going to be Herbie’s mommy just like she’s me and Sis’s mommy.”
One . . . two . . . three . . .
Three full seconds crash-landed before Cassidy dared breathe and look Trevor in the eyes. Bewilderment followed by mistrust and disapproval were discernible on Trevor’s face. He returned Brandi to the chair and shot another severe expression across the room. “Can I speak with you in our bedroom?” he said, and he pivoted, not waiting for an answer.
Cassidy snapped off the stove and thudded behind Trevor. The savory aroma of the chili, seasoned with herbs from her backyard garden, had drifted all the way up to their second-floor bedroom. She closed the door and kept her hands behind her, a grasp on the knob. “It’s not what you think,” she said.
He spun and faced her. Shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked once on his heels. “Did you tell Herbie we were going to adopt him?”
She shut her eyes and backed her head against the door. “No. I could never tell Herbie something like that unless I knew for sure.”
Every seam of the room was stitched in silence. She surveyed Trevor, his face coffin-hard, his glare digging into her, his hands still buried. “Then why do the kids think you’re going to be his mother?”
Cassidy repeated the conversation that had gone on between the children less than an hour ago. She’d been in the laundry room, out of sight, but in hearing range.
“I wish I could live here,” Herbie said.
“Me, too,” Brittney said.
“Me, three,” came Brandi’s vote. “My daddy could be your daddy, and Cassidy could be your mommy.”
“Let’s go ask Cassidy right now.”
“Okay.” The younger children squealed with exhilaration over Brittney’s idea, and they all ran into the laundry room.
Brandi voiced the question that flamed in each child’s eyes. “Can you be Herbie’s mommy, too?”
“I didn’t know what to say. I knew I couldn’t say yes, but I couldn’t bring myself to say no. I needed time to think, so I told them we’d talk about it later.”
Trevor swirled, sighing through his nostrils, offering her his back, obviously dissatisfied with the way she’d handled the situation. He turned and glared some more. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for Herbie to be over here playing as much as he is. You and the girls are getting too attached.”
Trevor had left himself out of the equation, but Cassidy knew with every bit of her heart that Trevor was crazy about Herbie, too. The phone rang, and Trevor marched over and swiped the ringing device from the cradle. He plopped and slouched in a suede recliner while he talked, massaging his forehead as if he had a headache. And maybe he did. The Herbie situation, her refusal to get counseling, her refusal to be intimate, it all was frustrating to him.
Well, she was suffering, too. Didn’t he know how hard all of this was for her? She didn’t ask to be cursed with vaginismus. At times, she wondered why God, in His omnipotence, wouldn’t answer her prayers and heal her. Cassidy hurried into the bathroom and shut the door. She crossed her arms and chose pacing rather than throwing up her arms and frightening the children with a high-pitched scream. Walking more slowly, she clutched her head, covering her ears, trying to silence the voice that was telling her what she didn’t want to hear.
You need to talk to Trevor. Tell him everything. With Me, you are strong enough to do it.
“But, God,” she initiated protest, then stopped as the scripture she had quoted more than twenty years ago in a Sunday school play lined her memory. Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee.
“How’s the cake?”
Brittney grinned, a crumb of chocolate clinging to one front tooth. “It’s good, but I like yours better.” She ate two more forks of dessert. This time when she smiled, the crumb on her tooth was gone, but a smudge of frosting colored her top lip.
Trevor smiled and let her enjoy her cake. She would clean up when she was done.
Their server for the evening breezed by their table but stopped on her way back. “More coffee, sir?”
“Yes, thank you.” Trevor added cream and sugar to the dark brew. He put aside his spoon, then took a first sip and felt the heat roll from his throat to his belly. Brittney finished her soda, then wiped her mouth with the linen napkin, all signs of cake removed now. Their table was adjacent to a window, and the moonlight falling across the river flickered like diamonds. The shimmer in Brittney’s eyes as she blinked at him was just as awesome, and it warmed his soul as much as the coffee had warmed his body.
“Can we come here next month?” she asked.
“If that’s what you want.” Ever since Cassidy suggested it, Trevor had taken the girls out, one at a time, on a date. Tonight was Brittney’s turn, and she and Trevor had dressed in some of their best clothes and started the evening with a walk and a talk along Penn’s Landing. As always, the time together was priceless. Brittney was growing up fast, her face losing much of its baby look, and subtle but solid nuances of maturity were settling in. Scary to consider that in less than ten years another gentleman would be sitting where he was now, drinking up Brittney’s smiles.
“Daddy?” Her voice grasped his full attention, and he listened with his heart as much as his ears. “Are you and Cassidy going to stay married?”
Worry blurred the shine in Brittney’s eyes. Trevor had hoped the problems in his marriage would not be noticed by his children, as he and Cassidy made every effort to keep their arguments behind the bedroom door.
Trevor stacked their dirty dishes and the floral centerpiece to one side of the cloth-covered table. “Put your hands up here,” he said, stretching his arms forward, modeling what he wanted her to do. She stretched her arms on the table, and Trevor covered her hands with his. Unprepared for her pop quiz, he searched for the right words before speaking.
“You know how much I loved Mommy, right?” She bobbed her head. “I love Cassidy the same . . . and Cassidy loves me, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t going to be problems.” He smiled in a
n attempt to diminish her anxiety. “Do you remember how much trouble you had with fractions?” She didn’t answer, but her eyes were riveted to his, and he knew she was hanging on to every word. He continued, “You stayed after school for tutoring, and then you were fine.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Well, that’s what Cassidy and I are going to do, baby. We need help with our marriage, and Pastor Audrey is going to be our tutor. He’s going to help us.”
This morning Pastor Audrey had stopped by Seconds and invited him and Cassidy to a marital counseling session. Because Cassidy was away, visiting Oliver Toby, Trevor hadn’t discussed it with her yet, but he hoped she would see the importance of such a meeting and agree to go.
chapter thirty-five
I’m glad you came to see me.”
“I’m having a good time.” Cassidy smiled as she glanced out the front window at the layers of mountains in the distance.
“I never thought I’d say it, but I’m happy here with my son.”
According to Oliver Toby, the father and son had grown closer now that they were living together again. Oliver Toby’s son even attended church with him, and Oliver Toby believed it wouldn’t be long before his son accepted Jesus Christ as his personal Savior.
Cassidy returned to the sofa and sat next to Oliver Toby. The afghan that his neighbor, Ramona Bucci, had crocheted for him draped his knees. Ramona, eleven years younger than Oliver Toby, still possessed some of her natural brunet hair and was in excellent health. The matriarch of a strong Italian family, Ramona, with something home-cooked in tow, stopped in to check on Oliver Toby each weekday while his son was at work. Cassidy thought Ramona was one of the sweetest women she’d ever met. In many ways, she reminded Cassidy of Odessa. Several times, Cassidy had teased Oliver Toby about how pretty Ramona was and what a cute couple he and Ramona would make. Humor flashed in Oliver Toby’s eyes and through his voice as he assured her that he was too old for marriage and too young for death and that living with Ramona full-time would kill him.
Oliver Toby said gently, “Don’t keep holding it inside, Cassidy.”
She looked him in the eyes, then directed her surprised gaze toward the television, its volume set on low.
“Behind that smile you’ve perfected, there’s pain. I’ve told you before, I can see it.” Oliver Toby gave her consideration, a solemn but sensitive expression on his face. “Some memories need to stay just that—memories. But sometimes there are memories that can’t be kept secret—especially if the memories are memories you can’t handle on your own. And from time to time, life hands us things we can’t handle on our own. We need God’s help, and sometimes He sends that help in the form of others.” With tear-framed eyes, Cassidy tenderly regarded her friend. He squeezed her hand with the strength his frail muscles allowed. “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ve tried running from God a few times myself. Eventually, you get tired, though, and if you’re smart, you stop and do things God’s way.”
Trevor parked and hurried to the house, his heart racing with relentless dread. The door stood open, and he rushed inside. Trudy immediately jumped up from a chair that had part of its stuffing hanging out. Blood droppings had stained her shirt, and she clutched a homemade ice pack to her mouth. “Look at what Derek done did,” she yelled. “I told you he ain’t no good. Ain’t never been no good.”
“Where is he?” Trevor’s question jabbed the air.
“What you worried ’bout him for?” Trudy snarled. “What about me? I’m the one bleedin’ to death.”
“Where is he?” Trevor insisted with more urgency.
“He upstairs. I told him he better stay up there ’cause if he come down here, I’m gon’ call the cops on his no-good—”
“Derek!” Trevor shouted, and started up the wooden flight of stairs to the second floor as Trudy blurted cusswords.
“In here.” The muffled response came from the end of the hall. Trevor twisted the knob and pushed open the door to Derek’s room. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Derek was okay, at least physically. Trevor neared Derek, who was sitting on the edge of a bed without a headboard. Animosity raged in Derek’s expression as he exhaled chopped breaths through his nostrils. “She kept callin’ me names”—he shook his head—“and I just lost it and swung at her.”
“Where are your little brothers?” Trevor asked, realizing how quiet the house was.
“Their father came and took ’em this morning. He ain’t suppose to bring ’em back till tomorrow.”
Trevor looked around the one-window room. A large dresser sat opposite the bed, the only two pieces of furniture. Several posters of professional athletes were taped to dingy walls. A closet door hung open. “Do you have a suitcase?”
“No.”
“Start taking your clothes out and put them on the bed. I’ll go down and get some trash bags from the kitchen. They’ll have to do for now.”
Trudy, seated at the kitchen table in front of an open bottle of liquor and an ashtray, tapped her cigarette and put it back to her bruised lip. After releasing a puff of smoke, she said, “Boy ain’t got no respect. I shoulda called the cops. Let ’em put him in the same hole with his daddy.”
“Where do you keep your trash bags, Miss Hines?” Trevor addressed Trudy with a dignity she had not earned.
She glared at him long and hard. She finally said in an unassertive voice, “Look in the cabinet ’neath the sink.”
Trevor pulled three large bags out of a no-frills-brand box and faced Trudy. “I’d like to take Derek with me.”
“Why?” Trudy leaned her head back and fogged the air with another cloud of smoke. “You ain’t his daddy. Wish you were, but you ain’t.”
“But I care about your son, Miss Hines, and I don’t think it’s wise for the two of you to remain under the same roof. Either you or him are going to get hurt much worse if things continue like they are.”
Trudy’s harsh chuckle was followed by a ring of coughs, and it sounded like she had ash in her throat. “Didn’t I tell you day was gon’ come when you was gon’ want me to do somethin’ for you?” She muttered something unintelligible, and Trevor began to pray. It would take God to give him favor with Trudy. Before Trevor could end his private prayer, Trudy pushed her fingers through her uncombed hair. “Take him,” she said flatly.
Trevor gave God a word of praise and then said to Trudy, “Thank you.” He paused. “And thank you for calling me.” She had been the one to call, screaming that Derek had attacked her and she was about to cut him with her butcher knife.
As Trevor helped Derek pack his belongings into the truck, he considered that Cassidy might find it unfair of him to ask her to take in Derek when he’d been so firm on his stance regarding Herbie. Trevor needed God to give him the sentences to say to Cassidy to convince her to let Derek stay with them, so Trevor began to pray again as he drove to the park. The court was empty. He strode around to the passenger side and opened the door. “A little b-ball always helps me unwind,” he said to Derek. “Why don’t we run a couple of games?”
Derek remained a statue on the seat, his fists clenched on his knees. “Trudy makes me so sick, always preachin’ I’m going to prison.”
“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you . . . thoughts of peace, and not of evil.”
Derek turned his glare toward Trevor. “Shakespeare?”
“No. It’s what God says in the book of Jeremiah. Now it’s up to you whether you’re going to choose God’s blessing or your mother’s curse.”
Trevor and Derek studied each other. Some of the anger left Derek’s face, but not the heartache. “It’s all right to cry,” Trevor said, and Derek’s stiff jaw slackened a bit. “Being the man of the house at such a young age is a tough job,” Trevor continued, remembering how tiring it had been, always trying to stay strong after his father died so that his mother wouldn’t have the added burden of worrying about him. “But even tough guys hurt and feel pain.”
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“Don’t tell the guys from the team.” His watery eyes begged. His voice cracked under the weight of the tears. “Promise you won’t tell.”
“I promise,” Trevor said, and Derek bowed his head to his knees and flushed his soul with sobs.
“I’m sorry, God,” Derek wept. “I’m sorry I hit my mom.” Soon Derek’s cries softened, and he stuttered to Trevor, “Where . . . where I’m gonna live?”
“You’ll stay with me until something else is worked out,” Trevor said, knowing he had yet to discuss any of this with his wife.
“But,” Derek started, then snorted and wiped his face with his shirt. No tissues in the vehicle, Trevor had to let Derek fend for himself. “But Mrs. Monroe,” he finished, “she don’t really like me.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Just seem like she don’t.”
“It will only be until I can find him another place.” Trevor was explaining Derek’s situation to Cassidy while Derek practiced his game on the court in the nearby park.
“It’s fine,” she said agreeably.
Trevor asked again just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
“I don’t mind,” she said, and surprised him more by asking, “Has Derek had dinner?”
Trevor had eaten a late lunch, and a big one, so he hadn’t thought about Derek being hungry. He checked his watch. It was after eight, two hours since they’d left Trudy. “He’s probably starving by now.”
“I’ll prepare something,” she said.
Derek gobbled the turkey burger, mashed potatoes, and sautéed string beans Cassidy had fixed.
“I’ll show you your room.” Cassidy smiled and led Derek upstairs, Brittney and Brandi following.
Trevor cleaned up the kitchen, thinking it was nice of Cassidy to go to the trouble of cooking for him and Derek so late in the evening and on a night off. This morning Trevor had told her he wouldn’t be home in time for dinner, and Cassidy’s response had been that she wouldn’t cook tonight but rather take the girls out for dinner.
Trevor encountered Cassidy in the second-floor hall on her way to the guest room, a pillow in her grasp. “Derek might want an extra one,” she said. “Tomorrow I thought Derek and I might work out a tutoring schedule for the fall. He asked me to help him with his schoolwork last year and, well . . .” Her voice faded.