He took a firm hold and climbed up beside her.
“Thanks for today,” she said, continuing to hold his hand.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a day like this.”
They stood side by side, holding hands, looking across to the far shore. If she had been a teenager, his hand in hers would have sent her into shivers of delight. But she had gone through too much. Holding Turner’s hand was not based on infatuation or attraction or seduction. It just felt right.
“It’s so peaceful here,” she said. “I wish it could . . . ” She let her voice trail off.
An eagle soared overhead just then, its cry echoing across the clearing. She watched the graceful bird arc upward, climbing until it was a mere dot. A beauty mark on the face of heaven.
A fish jumped near the dock, causing ripples that gradually widened until the entire lake seemed to shimmer. A slight breeze, scented with pine, descended from the west, whispering through the trees.
“You know, this is the first day in a long while I haven’t found myself watching the time and dreading five o’clock coming,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes.
“Five o’clock?”
“The time Brad would get home from work.”
“Oh.”
She turned and looked up into Turner’s face. “Today has been a gift, Turner. I’ve felt a sense of peace I haven’t had in a long time.”
Turner squeezed her hand and then released it.
Cassandra lingered as a warm feeling spread through her body like the rings rippling across the lake. She watched as Turner laid the lifejackets on the dock to dry and then knelt beside Justin to admire the rock collection. She wondered how Turner could seem so much like a father to Justin in so short a time. If she had known what kind of father Brad would be . . . She shook her head sadly and then crouched next to Justin and Turner, helping them scoop the rocks into the bag that had carried their lunch.
When the task was completed, she took Justin by the hand and led him off the dock. “Come on, Turner,” he called, looking back as Turner paused to secure the canoe and paddles.
Smiling, Turner hurried to catch up, taking the bag of rocks from Cassandra and grabbing hold of Justin’s other hand.
“Swing me,” Justin cried, his eyes sparkling in anticipation.
Cassandra laughed when he squealed excitedly as she and Turner swung him between them on their way back to the cabin. It had been too long since she’d felt this happy.
CHAPTER 21
TURNER SPENT THE rest of the afternoon outside with Justin, letting him explore to his heart’s content. This gave Cassandra a break. Plus he hoped the fresh air and activity would wear Justin out so he would sleep in longer the next morning.
Their wanderings took them into some bushes between the lake and the cabin. There was an old log, half-decomposed, lying lengthways in a small clearing. Turner brushed away a chunk of bark and sat down to catch his breath. A wasp rose from underneath the log and hovered in front of him, compound eye to human eyeball. Moments later it was joined by another, and then a third.
“Look at the pretty flies,” Justin said, as a fourth and fifth wasp appeared.
The decision to leave was as easy as falling off a log. Literally.
Turner flipped over backward and rolled to his feet. Tucking Justin under one arm, he raced back into the front yard. When he was certain they hadn’t been pursued, he put Justin down.
“We can’t go back there, little man. The pretty flies will sting us.”
“But I want to play with them.”
“They don’t want to play with us.”
Justin squirmed, determined to go back and investigate, so Turner tried to distract him. “Let’s go this way. I think I just saw a squirrel.”
Justin grew excited. “A squirrel? Let’s go see.”
“We have to be very quiet or we’ll scare it away.”
Watching Justin tiptoe across the carpet of pine needles made Turner chuckle. Their safari progressed from tracking squirrels to stalking tigers . . . then to hunting elephants . . . and finally to seeking dragons. Keeping up with Justin and making sure he was safe was a full-time job. But he hadn’t had this much fun in years. Not since Camp Kopawanee. It was a delight to watch Justin explore and learn and grow. He delighted in the little boy’s . . . delight.
After dinner and a game of impromptu hide-and-seek, that coveted time arrived that parents everywhere look forward to: children’s bedtime. Cassandra put Justin in bed, gave him several drinks, and told him two bedtime stories. Justin remained wide-eyed and alert.
Turner came in and told a bedtime story his mother used to relate to him when he was a little boy. Justin still wouldn’t go to sleep. The plan to wear Justin out had clearly backfired.
Although Turner wanted some downtime to put his feet up and do some studying before going to bed, he could tell it wasn’t possible yet. Ruffling Justin’s hair, he said, “Hey, little man, I hear you’re pretty tough.”
“I’m strong,” Justin said, flexing his arms to show his muscles.
“Wanna have a pillow fight?”
Justin’s eyes glowed like sparklers.
“I don’t think that will help him calm down,” Cassandra said, doubt registering in her expression.
“We’ve got to do something to burn off more of his energy,”
Turner replied. “There are some extra pillows in the closet. I’ll get them.”
“Are you sure about this?” Cassandra said.
“No,” Turner replied. “But it’s worth a shot.”
He pulled down two large pillows from the top shelf in the closet and held one out to Justin. As the little boy reached for it, Turner snatched it away and hit him with it, almost bowling the little boy over.
Justin laughed and made a grab for it. Turner let Justin wrestle it away from him, putting on a good show for effect. Justin hit him with the pillow, and Turner flopped on the bed, pretending to be dazed and disoriented.
Laughing louder, Justin hit him again. Turner fell off the bed and landed on the floor, gasping for air like a fish flopping around on the dock. Justin was on him in an instant, and they rolled around, grunting and groaning.
Cassandra clapped her hands when Justin pinned Turner to the floor and raised his arms in celebration. Turner gave him a moment to appreciate the victory and then lifted him bodily, tossing him onto the bed. Justin landed on the mattress like a stuffed teddy bear.
As the little boy scrambled to recover, Turner tossed a pillow at him and knocked him back down. Then he threw the bed sheet over Justin and said, “Where’s Justin? Where did he go?”
“Under here,” came the muffled response.
“Mommy,” Turner said, addressing Cassandra. “Have you seen Justin?”
“I’m under here,” Justin repeated, giggling.
Turner let him wiggle free.
Justin grabbed the sheet and buried Turner beneath it.
“Where’s Turner?” he asked. “Where did Turner go?”
“I’m under here,” Turner replied, thrashing about as though unable to escape.
Justin pulled the sheet off him and said, “There you are.”
Turner grabbed him, and they wrestled around a while longer. He threw Justin back on the bed and picked up a pillow.
But instead of hitting him with it, Turner swung around and hit Cassandra.
Her mouth gaped open in surprise. When he hit her again, she laughed and reached for the other pillow, swinging wildly at him.
He ducked and hit her again, causing her to momentarily retreat.
“Get him, Mommy,” Justin cried excitedly. “Get Turner!”
Cassandra hesitated briefly and then moved in for the attack. She hit him firmly, causing Justin to squeal in delight.
Turner hit her in return, causing the little boy to squeal even more.
She swung the pillow at Turner in a wide arc but missed him. Her follow-through put her off balance, and when
he hit her from behind, she fell onto the bed. Before she could recover, he placed the pillow in front of him and jumped on top of her, pinning her down.
The play fight ended abruptly when he looked into her face and saw genuine panic. A cry rumbled in her throat, and she flailed her arms and legs in an effort to escape. He scrambled to his feet and clutched the pillow awkwardly, picking at a feather that poked through the pillowcase. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right,” she replied, sitting up and breathing rapidly.
“I just freaked out for a minute.” She picked up Justin. “That’s enough for tonight.”
“I’m sorry,” Turner said again.
She looked at him apologetically. “I’m sorry too.”
An awkward silence followed.
Justin squirmed in his mother’s arms. “Let’s fight some more, Mommy. It was fun.”
“Not tonight,” she said, her voice breaking slightly.
“It’s bedtime, little man,” Turner added, reaching over and smoothing down Justin’s hair. “But we’ll do some more fun stuff tomorrow, okay?”
Justin considered the offer and said, “Okay.”
Turner gathered up the pillows and put them away. Glancing at Cassandra, he said, “I’ll be out on the front porch.”
He left the bedroom and sat in the rocking chair on the porch, reflecting on what had just occurred. He chastised himself for spoiling this perfect day. He should have known that jumping on Cassandra and pinning her down was the wrong thing to do. It reminded her of Brad, and it had terrified her. He had seen it in her face . . . again.
He continued to rock back and forth in the chair, his mind far away.
A while later he was surprised to see Cassandra standing beside him, her hands folded in front of her. “Justin asleep?” he asked.
“Finally,” she replied, joining him in the other chair and looking out across the yard.
The night deepened, enveloping the surrounding trees and the lake like spilled ink, leaving Turner with a peaceful sense of isolation.
Clearing her throat, Cassandra said, “I’m sorry about how I reacted, Turner. I—”
“I’m the one who needs to apologize. I got too rough.”
She forced a smile. “I can see we aren’t going to agree on who should apologize to whom.”
“Let’s say the apologies cancel each other. Deal?”
“Deal,” she replied, reaching over and shaking his hand.
“But I’m the one who’s more sorry,” he whispered.
Cassandra broke their clasp in mock exasperation and was silent a moment. At length she said, “When we were back in high school, did you ever think we’d end up here?”
“I didn’t even know this place existed back then.”
She looked at him narrowly. “You know what I mean, wise guy. I’m talking about ending up in this situation. We had our whole future ahead of us. I had such dreams, such plans.”
“Life doesn’t usually turn out the way we expect it to.”
Cassandra sighed. “It started out promising enough. Even my marriage to Brad began like a storybook tale.”
Turner looked at her dubiously.
“It’s true,” she persisted. “Because he was the captain of the football team and I was head cheerleader, everyone assumed we were meant for each other. The peer pressure was immense. Plus he was charismatic and persuasive, and he promised me he’d settle down.”
“So he changed?” Turner asked in surprise.
“At first, yes. Following graduation, he started working for his dad in construction. He had such enthusiasm and was ready to set the world on fire. He kept talking about the future and what an exciting life we could have together.”
“So eventually you agreed to marry him,” Turner said, more as a comment than a question.
“Yes. And it was the biggest mistake I ever made. But of course I didn’t know it at the time.” She stared off into the darkness before continuing. “Our wedding was special. It was outside at a country club, like I wanted, and most of our high school friends were there. My dad came from New York to give me away, and my mom even showed up sober. Everyone gave us such a wonderful send-off.”
“How did you end up in Las Vegas?”
“Brad’s dad had some contacts there in construction. They offered Brad a job contracting million-dollar homes. We did great for a few years. I started taking some college classes in interior design. Eventually we had hoped that Brad could build spec houses, which I would then design—you know, pick paint colors and carpeting and fixtures.”
“Interior design?” Turner made a face. “My apartment must have driven you crazy.”
“Now that you mention it, there are one or two things I could have done to it.”
“Only one or two?”
“Or ten or twenty,” she said, hiding a smile. And then her expression grew serious. “We had the perfect home in the perfect neighborhood. Then the Great Recession started and projects dried up. Brad got moody and depressed. And it didn’t help that I got pregnant soon after business went bad.” She sighed, remembering. “The morning sickness was so terrible that I was practically bedridden and had to drop out of college. Brad was furious. He blamed me for being careless and even refused to get me any medication for nausea.”
She toyed with her hands briefly and then said, “Despite my condition, Brad expected me to carry my full load of responsibilities, especially now that I was home all the time. If his shirts weren’t ironed, he got upset. If his dinner wasn’t ready on time, he got more upset.” She grimaced. “And when I lost my figure, he became restless. He began going out in the evenings with his buddies from work and coming home at all hours, drunk and disoriented.”
Turner frowned. “Not exactly husband of the year.”
Murmuring in agreement, Cassandra continued. “Following Justin’s birth, Brad became jealous of the attention I gave our son. It became a strange game of who-do-you-love-more? If Justin cried, I wasn’t allowed to check on him until I first prepared Brad’s meal. Ironically, the longer Justin cried, the more upset Brad became, but he seemed to enjoy watching me squirm.”
“That’s the Brad I remember.”
“Sometimes he’d apologize afterward and ask my forgiveness. But then he’d turn right around the next time and be controlling again.”
Turner muttered to himself.
“The only thing that got me through was God. I turned to Him and started to attend church, and I read from the Bible and prayed constantly. My earnest hope was to find a way to save our marriage.”
Arching an eyebrow, Turner asked, “So how did that work out for you?”
Cassandra made a face at him. “I know you think my prayers weren’t answered because our marriage failed. But I was blessed in other ways. I found the courage to leave.” She wet her lips and continued. “I was prepared to stay for the sake of our son and endure it. I was ready to do almost anything to make our marriage succeed. And frankly the thought of leaving Brad terrified me. I had worked so hard for what we had. Our home was lovely, and I didn’t want to give it up. I prayed to know what to do. And then on the night when Brad got angry and punched me because of the trophies, I knew what I had to do, and I found the strength to do it.”
Turner stared down at the porch floor.
“You may not believe that God loves us and helps us in our time of need, but you have to realize that I believe it, Turner.”
“I do, Cassandra. And I only wish I had your faith.”
“Give it time,” she said. “You may have given up on God, but I don’t believe He has given up on you.”
Wishing to change the subject, Turner asked, “Have you decided what you’re going to do and where you’re going to go?”
She shrugged apologetically. “Whatever I decide, Turner, I won’t tell you. It’s best if you don’t know. That way, if Brad hassles you again, you won’t be able to tell him anything, and he’ll l
eave you alone.”
Turner wondered if she really believed that or whether in her desperation she was clinging to a naïve hope. If Brad had tormented him in high school over minor matters such as the social pecking order, how much more would he harass Turner in an effort to find Cassandra and Justin?
They fell silent as the evening breeze wafted across the porch and tantalized the air with fragrances of spruce and rich earth. The moon peered above the treetops, bathing the yard in a silver glow, and an owl hooted from somewhere in the distance.
“It’s so peaceful here,” she said at length. “I’m going to hate to leave, but I can’t stay here forever. I’ve got to go to the bank and finish my business. And you’ve got classes to attend.”
Turner considered their return. It was going to be problematic, all right. Cassandra would have to slip through the net that Slick and Twitch had undoubtedly drawn around the bank, conduct her business over a period of a day or two, and then make good her escape. He, on the other hand, was going to show up at the motel and his college classes and be a sitting duck for Slick to pick up and hand over to Brad, who had already told him he was a dead man. And he knew that no matter how much he professed his ignorance concerning Cassandra’s ultimate whereabouts, Brad would never believe him. And the condition he would be in when Brad finally came to that realization might make death seem welcome.
There was no way he could simply drop back into his former life. And Cassandra’s former life was gone forever. He could see no alternative but for them to go to the police, as Loretta and Mary had suggested, and ask for protection.
The challenge was to convince Cassandra. But first he had to prepare a rebuttal to her argument that Brad would simply march through a restraining order, storm the castle, overpower the sentry, and carry away the occupants.
But without police protection, they had no protection at all, not even a castle wall to deter the imminent invasion and give them time to slip out the back. But he knew Cassandra wasn’t ready to accept this line of reasoning yet.
The statement she had just made—give it time—applied to her, as well. She needed more time before she was ready to see the truth in what Loretta and Mary had told her. She needed to go to the police for help, and it was up to Turner to convince her.
The Return of Cassandra Todd Page 12