Mourning Becomes Cassandra (31 page)

Phyl’s eyes were round and Joanie was sputtering by the time I finished my little lecture. It wasn’t that I’d never laid it all out there before in our friendship, but losing everything had stripped me of patience and diplomacy.

I was pretty sure Joanie would let me have it in return, and she didn’t disappoint. “I’m afraid of intimacy? Me?” Her voice rose an octave, and she was soprano to begin with. “Who the hell is it who’s been hiding out in a cave the past year and a half? Don’t tell me about those dumb teenagers you’re hanging around with or those nerdy programmers at Free Universe. If anyone with potential tries to get closer, you’re the ice queen—look at how you’ve been keeping James at arms’ length! And don’t give me that ‘it’s too soon’ crap, Cass! You know perfectly well you’re just afraid.”

“Not without good reason,” interjected Phyl, but I cut her off.

“So I’m afraid!” I conceded. “‘Once bitten’ and all that, but what on earth are you afraid of?”

Her temper evaporated, and she deflated abruptly. “I don’t know. Probably of divorce. My family isn’t really big on marriage, if you didn’t notice. I guess I think if I could just find that perfect soul mate, divorce wouldn’t even be a possibility.”

“I don’t believe in soul mates,” I declared. “There are six billion people on earth, and about half are men. Are you telling me that out of three billion men, you think there’s only one perfect person you’re compatible with? I bet there are at least 100,000 I could make a marriage work with, but I’m pretty easygoing. Still, I bet there are at least 25,000 men who you could stand to have around for the next fifty years.”

“You think Roy is one of the 25,000?”

“Sure, but I thought Keith was, and Peter was, and Steve would’ve worked, too. They were all good Christian men who loved you. Not ugly, not dumb, not mama’s boys.” I covered her hand with my own. “If you like Roy, and you haven’t ruled him out, why don’t you just ask him tonight what’s going on? You’re not usually afraid of being direct.”

“Understatement,” said Phyl.

Joanie fidgeted. “I’ve just never been in this position. But, yes—yes, I will ask him. Even if he breaks up with me, I’ll be expanding my emotional horizons. Come on, Phyl, we better head over for Chaff. That Roy just better show up.”

As Phyl was pulling her coat on, she ran over and added in a low voice, “I wanted Joanie to run our decorating plan past Daniel, but she’s such a grump—if you get a chance—?”

Suppressing a sigh, I nodded. Things had been rather awkward between Daniel and me since our midnight conversation the other week, and I couldn’t tell if I was the problem or if he was. He was quieter, to be sure, and I was uncomfortable, so the few conversations we had in the interim were stilted. But clearly his new interest in making normal-people conversation had outlasted the one night, and now I found that I was the one being evasive.

After the girls left, I cleared a space at the table for my Free Universe projects. Riley had made all kinds of edits on my truffle-hunting pig draft, and I riffled through the stack of pages, shaking my head. He seemed to be laboring under the assumption that gamers would appreciate each pig having its own distinct voice, realism apparently having its limits. An hour later, I had nothing to show for my time other than a few random pig exclamations (“Oinkreka!”) and a whole lot of other lines I’d crossed out in frustration. No wonder farmers chopped them up and made them into bacon.

A rustling and thumping on the front porch drew my attention, and glad of the distraction, I hopped up to investigate. Peering through the safety glass I made out lots of greenery and a bright blond head, and throwing open the door, this strange sight resolved itself into Daniel, wrestling a six-foot Christmas tree up the steps. “Daniel!” I cried in delight. Had he been any other person on earth, and had he not been struggling with a heavy fir tree, I probably would have hugged him, but as it was I settled for clapping my hands and bouncing on my toes in excitement. It was a beautiful Douglas fir, and I inhaled the sharp scent with delight, squidging against the wall so he could get by. “I can’t believe you did this! Phyl and I were just debating whether we should hit up Wayne or Roy to help us get one home.”

Daniel looked absurdly pleased by my response. “You only had to ask me. I didn’t know if you girls already had a stand, so I bought one too. Can you get it out of the passenger seat?”

Backing out of the driveway was a pick-up truck, which answered the question of how on earth he got the tree home, and I wondered how much extra delivery cost. Zipping back inside, I directed Daniel to the corner Phyl and I had chosen for our potential tree, and between the two of us we managed to get the trunk into the stand and adjust the screws so it wouldn’t tilt. “It’s perfect, Daniel!” I rejoiced. “Thank you so, so much.”

“When were you planning on decorating it?” he asked.

“Well, we didn’t even imagine we could get one before the weekend, but now that we have one, I’d better get started tonight, so everything will look nice for tomorrow’s open house.”

I don’t know exactly how it happened, but the next thing I knew Daniel was in the garage with me, helping me get down various boxes of decorations. Nor did he beg off once we were inside; when I was lifting the lid off the first plastic container of ornaments, Daniel was perched on the arm of the couch, digging into his dinner.

Like an idiot I started with my own ornament collection—had I thought about it I would have consigned it to the attic for a couple years. “When my Grandma McKean died, I got her little glass birdhouse ornament—she was a big bird-lover,” I said eagerly, rummaging through the top layer and not bothering to worry about whether or not Daniel gave a rip about my grandmother. “I hope it’s not broken.” Grabbing a likely-sized lump, I ripped the tissue paper off to discover, not a glass birdhouse, but rather a pair of ceramic booties emblazoned with “Baby’s First Christmas,” followed by the year and, handwritten, Min’s birth date. Tomorrow.

Really, I had been doing okay about Min’s approaching birthday. Okay, well, other than the one afternoon I spent on that website for kidnapped kids that takes a child’s picture and computer-ages it, I had managed to tamp down any other emotions welling up. Having the ceramic booties roll out suddenly into my lap wasn’t fair. Emotional ambush.

I don’t know how long I sat frozen and mute with grief—it could have been one minute or ten; all I know is that after some stretch of time I felt someone gently pluck the booties from my lap, wrap them back up in paper, and replace the lid on the ornament box. “Cass,” came Daniel’s tentative voice. Some still-functioning part of my brain noticed that he sounded uncertain. “Cass, I’m sorry.”

My face was wet. Oh, crap. Crying. In front of Daniel. It seemed to happen more frequently than I liked.
Do you mind?
I wanted to ask.
Your sympathy makes me totally uncomfortable, and I wish you would go back to acting like a shallow playboy.
Turning blindly, I flipped the lid off another random box. Phyl’s stuff, thank God. Obviously hers, since it all looked either handmade-by-poor-people-from-various-developing-countries-to-foster financial-independence, or else store-bought but manufactured Responsibly and Sustainably.

To give myself time to pull it together, I went and fetched the step stool from the pantry, but when I climbed up on it, clutching Phyl’s Ugandan woven-raffia angel, Daniel was on his feet. “Here, you fool, let me do it. Just show me where you want it.” Grudgingly I pointed. After he hung it for me, he said casually, “So your grandmother liked birds?” Suspicious, I turned on the step ladder and found his blue eyes most disconcertingly just below my level. There was no nasty gleam in them, however, and I relaxed a little.

“Why do you want to know?” I asked cautiously.

Daniel gave a short laugh. “I’m not
dying
to know, to be honest, but you volunteered the information, and I’m trying to get to know you.”

“But why?” I demanded, more aggressively this time. “Why do you suddenly want to get to know me?”

“And why are you so damned bristly?” he countered. “Why can’t I want to talk to you?”

Because it made no sense, for one thing. Mutely I handed him some sort of carved star and pointed to another high branch. Why, after months of alternating evasiveness and inappropriate flirtation should he suddenly decide he wanted something meaningful? “I just don’t get it,” I said finally. “I’ve never seen that you put yourself out for anyone, except maybe Joanie, and you always treated me like I was some kind of—I don’t know—some kind of challenge: let’s see if I can make Cass blush today! So why change things now?” Handing him another ornament, I noted his grim expression. For a few minutes we were silent, as I continued to hand him ornaments and point to where I wanted them hung, until the highest reaches of the tree were complete. “Thank you for your help,” I added awkwardly.

“You’re welcome.” I thought he would leave the room then, having better things to do than converse with bristly women, but he didn’t. “You know, Cass,” he began again, “It’s not like you’re the easiest person to get to know and it’s all my fault for being such a cad. You have a way of…keeping people at a distance. You may not trust me, but I would say you’re not likely to trust anyone.”

First Joanie, now him? I might have been able to blow off Daniel’s criticism, if Joanie hadn’t said almost the exact same thing not two hours ago. I was cold? Untrusting? Had I always been, or was it because of what happened to me? And Joanie accused me of fearing romantic intimacy, but Daniel was saying I was even afraid of friendship. This was absolutely pathetic, that someone like Daniel—who had no wife and no friends any closer than collegial types like Wyatt Collins or golf buddies like that Tom—even Daniel found my ability to form deep bonds lacking. My immediate reaction was an urge to go hole up in my room and pout.

He must have seen from my face that his arrow had reached it target. “Hey,” he said, more gently, with a smile playing around his lips, “if I hurt you, it was half in self-defense. I’m not saying I’ve behaved like a quality guy, or blaming you for being gun-shy. I guess I’m just asking if we could start over. I can—I can see why Joanie likes you, and I like you too. I like having you in my life.”

“Oh,” I breathed, completely nonplussed. Looking hard at him, I couldn’t detect any false note. His expression was open, wary, watchful. He really did want to be friends. This man who always had women hanging all over him and who didn’t appear to lack anything the world had to offer. Maybe if everyone around you falls over himself to approve of you, you begin to welcome people who can still find your flaws. I wouldn’t know, but possibly endless approbation got old.

I was spared having to think of something to say by the sounds of Joanie and Phyl returning. Joanie took one look at the trail of pine needles and Daniel standing there holding an Inuit crêche, and she flung herself at him with a screech. “Daniel, I love you! Thank you so much!” Around her strangling arms, his eyes sought mine. I nodded and gave a tiny smile. Friends.

With the girls home, decorating went quickly. Daniel retreated to the Lean-To, in the face of all the chattering and feminine arguments over where to place what, and I was glad because it gave me a chance to accost Joanie. “Well? Was Roy there? What happened?”

Joanie hesitated, distracted. “Phyl, you can’t put the flipping stable animals so close to the Holy Family. We’ve got to keep an eye out for the barnyard
feng shui
.” When Phyl docilely backed the camels and oxen and whatnot away from the manger, Joanie answered me nonchalantly, “He broke up with me.”

“He—he what?” I gasped.

She slung herself on the couch, next to where I was perched on the arm, and put her arms around my waist, leaning her red-gold head against me. “He dumped me.” Automatically I began petting her hair, as if she were Benny, all the while shooting Phyl incredulous looks. Phyl only smiled sadly and shrugged, waiting to let Joanie tell her story, which she did, after a few minutes. “He came to Chaff late and sat in the back, so I didn’t even see him come in, but luckily I got up to get by the door before it was over, so I cut him off before he could escape, the blinking coward.” At least she was sitting up in her remembered anger and had renewed fire in her eyes. “I said, ‘Hey, Roy, are you up for getting coffee?’ and he just kind of mumbled and shuffled his feet, so I pulled him into the hall and was like, ‘What the hell? You’re acting weird.’ And he said, ‘Yeah, Joanie, it’s like I said—I need a little time—and I’m thinking we should take a break.’ And I said, ‘Was it something in stinking particular that made you feel this way?’ I can’t cuss around Roy, of course, because he has ears like somebody’s maiden aunt. And he tried to evade the question, and only by constant hammering did I get it out of him that he heard from that gossip-mongering, nose-in-everyone’s-business hag of a hypocrite Lauren Potts that I’d had three broken engagements, like it was any of her blazing business to be talking to anyone about my life.”

“So was it the number of broken engagements that freaked him out, or the fact that you didn’t tell him and he had to hear from Lauren Potts?” I pursued.

“Oh, both, probably,” snapped Joanie dismissively. “I told him he just should have been happy for me that I called them off before passing the point of no return, and for crying out loud, wasn’t he glad that I didn’t marry any of those guys? He just gave me this sanctimonious, I’m-so-disappointed-in-you look that made me want to hit him and said, ‘I’m sorry you didn’t feel you could be honest with me.’” Growling in frustration, she booted the ‘Noel’ throw pillow into the hallway. “I hate church people! I hate gossipy women! I hate men! Why don’t we get a dog of our own? I need something to kick!”

Fighting back an urge to laugh, I gave her a firm hug. “What a crappy evening. What a stupid Roy. And whoever Lauren Potts is, she only talks about you because you’re beautiful and everyone likes you.”

Joanie kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you, Cass, for crumbs of sympathy. And you too, Phyl, for listening to me on the way home. I told Phyl I was dreading telling you because I thought you’d say ‘I told you so,’ since you did just tell me to come clean about the ex-fiancés.”