Authors: Gayle Roper
“Brenna.” Cass looked over her shoulder as she wiped the kitchen counters, a part of cleanup Jenn routinely ignored.
The girl paused at the swinging door.
“If anyone needs me, I’ll be out in the patio area getting things put away for winter.”
“Need some help?” Dan asked. He looked gorgeous in his jeans and navy long-sleeved T-shirt.
Cass didn’t know what to say. Sure, she wanted help, especially his, but he was a guest. “I’m going to have to start paying you instead of the other way around. You don’t have to do anything. You’re our guest.”
“Your bored guest.” He held his hands out in appeal. “Please. After all, someone told me recently that I like to help.” He gave her a goofy grin as he rehearsed her words back at her.
Cass shook her head at him. “Guy, you’ve got to get yourself a real job!” She pulled her rattiest sweatshirt over her head.
A flash of emotions passed over his face—frustration, anger, impatience, resignation. “Tell me about it.” Then he grinned. “But you can keep me off the streets today.”
Cass pulled the back door open. “If you want to work, who am I to turn down the help? Sure, come on.”
She gave him the pressure sprayer filled with a strong solution of detergent and bleach. “Every nook and cranny,” she ordered, pointing to the four shower stalls used by guests for rinsing sand and seawater off after a day at the beach.
Dan eyed the first stall with its wooden door and its slatted floor for runoff. “Looks pretty clean to me.”
Cass gasped and clutched her heart. “Pretty clean doesn’t cut it, sir. This is SeaSong.”
Dan grinned. “Yes, boss.”
“And if you splash yourself, rinse off right away. The solution’s awfully strong. And rinse down each stall with clear water after the bleach spray.”
Cass herself took a sudsy solution and washed down all the outdoor furniture. Then she carefully rinsed it with the hose and dried it with old towels. She was carrying a wicker rocker to the shed when Dan lifted it from her arms.
“Just show me where.”
By noon work that would have taken Cass multiple days was done.
She glanced at Dan, his navy shirt sporting a couple of quarter-sized bleach spots as well as several smaller ones. His hair stood on end where he had run a wet hand through it. His sneakers were drenched, as were his socks and the bottoms of his jeans, from hosing the showers down after the bleach. He looked wonderful. He
was
wonderful.
“Thank you!” She looked at the clean showers and glanced at the locked shed with its cache of furniture. “I can’t believe we got so much done.”
Oh, how I could get used to help like this
.
Yeah, if you’re an idiot. He’s not staying
.
Maybe he will
.
In your dreams
.
Maybe the Lord won’t tell him his new plans for a long, long time
.
A long time or tomorrow, it doesn’t matter. If you don’t watch yourself, you’re going to be hurt big time. I repeat. He’s not staying
.
Cass shut her eyes for a brief moment to let that unpalatable truth sink in. Jesus, she reminded herself. He was enough. He had been for years, and He would be again.
So why did she feel so hollow inside?
Dan rubbed his hands together. “I haven’t had a chance to do much physical labor in years, so it was fun. What do we do this afternoon?”
“Go watch Jared play.”
Cass smothered a smile as Dan manfully swallowed his dismay. “Sure.” He even attempted a smile. “Why not?”
Knowing she had essentially trapped him, she said, “Come on. The least I can do is give you a sandwich.”
Jared played well, and Seaside won by ten points. Cass cheered and screamed and had a wonderful time. Dan sat quietly beside her at first, but as the game heated up, so did his involvement. Before the end of the first half, he was hollering as loudly as she was.
When they left the football field after congratulating Jared and Paulie and the other team members, they turned toward the boardwalk. They didn’t talk, content just to enjoy the crisp autumn day.
Cass had on her deep green fleece jacket over a cinnamon sweater. She held her face to the brisk breeze, a smile on her lips. “I love autumn.”
“That’s because it’s your birthday time, and you get presents.”
Cass smiled wryly. “Magazine subscriptions and Home Depot gift certificates. So personal.”
He grinned sympathetically. “Poor Cass. But don’t forget the flowers and the dinner party.”
“As if I could.” She still felt like singing every time she thought of all he—they—had done. “And there’s my bracelet.” She held out her arm so he could see it. As the sunlight glinted off the butterfly disk, she didn’t bother to tell him that she hadn’t taken it off since she’d gotten it.
“So why else do you love autumn?”
“I love autumn because it’s a time for dreams,” she said. “A time for wondering and longing and stretching.” She looked at him. “I first approached the people about SeaSong in the autumn.”
He nodded. “And look at me. Here I am in autumn, waiting for God’s leading.”
“Do you dream about where He’s going to take you?”
“I don’t even have enough imagination to know where to start wondering, let alone feeling anything as magical as a hope and a dream.”
“Nothing’s so sweet as autumn dreams,” she said. “They’re the ones that come true.”
“Always?”
She was suddenly uncertain. “I first thought of buying the house next door in the autumn. That’s one dream that might not make it.”
They angled across the boardwalk and sat on one of the benches that looked across the beach to the ocean. On the horizon, great ships looking like bathtub toys carried their cargoes on mysterious journeys, their smokestacks sending gray plumes into the brilliant blue sky.
“Where do you think they’re going?” She pointed to the ships.
But Dan was looking at her, not the ships, his gaze intense.
“What?” she said, suddenly self-conscious. “Spinach in my teeth?”
“Have I told you how lovely you look today? That jacket makes your eyes so green.”
“Dan!” She couldn’t believe he’d just blurted such a thing out. She stood, looking everywhere but at him. “You’ve got to stop that.”
“Stop what?” He stood and leaned on the rail beside her.
“You can’t go around saying things like that.”
“Like what?” He cocked his head at her, daring her to answer the question.
She flushed. “You know. What you just said.”
“What did I just say?”
“You know.”
He furrowed his brow as if in thought. “I’ve said a lot of things.”
She finally looked at him, her exasperation overcoming her shyness. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
He grinned. “Yep.”
She looked away, frowning. “It’s not nice to embarrass people.”
“It’s not nice to dismiss people’s compliments either.” He spoke quietly, but his words were full of emotion.
Her mouth dropped open, and she spun to him. “What?”
“You heard me. When someone pays you a compliment that he clearly means, you are not supposed to brush it off. You’re supposed to smile and say thank you.”
She flushed again, her eyes skittering away from his. “So you told me before.”
“I’m new at trying to say the right thing, Cass. If I can learn to speak, you can learn to accept.” He reached his hand to her chin and made her look at him. “Believe me when I say this: You are beautiful.”
Cassandra looked at him, confused, stunned, amazed. She searched his eyes.
He means it. He honestly thinks I’m pretty. Dan thinks I’m pretty
.
No one had thought her pretty in years, if ever. Oh, the nephews dutifully said, “You look very pretty, Aunt Cassandra,” at the wedding of yet another person years younger than she. Sometimes one of the brothers said, “Very handsome, Cassandra.”
Handsome. Like one of the guys. Now there was a compliment.
But Dan had just said, “Cass, you are beautiful.”
The wind had been playing wildly with her hair, her nose was bright red from the sun, and she weighed more than she should. Still, when he had looked at her, his eyes darkened, his lips parted, and he said the magic words, “You are beautiful.”
And suddenly, she felt beautiful. “Thank you,” she whispered, wondering if he saw the joy that leapt in her eyes.
He dropped her chin and stood close, his shoulder pressed tightly against hers as they leaned on the rail
“Why have you never married?” he asked, his eyes on shops across the boardwalk.
His unexpected question shocked the truth out of her. “No one has ever asked.”
He shook his head. “The men in New Jersey certainly are a foolish bunch.”
Her pulse raced and her mouth went dry at this new, oblique compliment.
Dear Lord, I’m too old for this, too inexperienced. Not that I’m complaining
.
“You’re telling me there’s never been a man wise enough to love you?”
Cass shrugged. “There was Glenn in college. I thought maybe he was the one.”
“But you decided he wasn’t?”
“I think it was mutual. I decided he was a wimp and he decided I was a tartar.”
Dan grinned. “You’re that all right.”
Somehow he made it sound like another compliment. She
grinned wryly. “To my mother’s everlasting dismay.”
“Listen, Cassie, there’s nothing wrong with being a strong woman.”
“No.” Cass spoke without thinking, the bitterness and hurt seeping out. “It’s being a
big
, strong woman that’s the sin.”
Dan reached out and put an arm around her shoulders, giving her a hug. “I personally like a woman of substance, both in character and size. I’ve never understood men’s attraction to cute little things or anorexic models. When I hug someone, I want to feel a real woman in my arms, not a skinny, little person who will break if I squeeze her.”
Cass ducked her head. “Well, I won’t break, that’s for sure.” It was barely a whisper. All she could think was how much she wanted him to hug her, really hug her. Right now. Right here on the boardwalk.
They stood quietly, she tucked to his side, the air between them charged. Cass’s heart galloped, and her shoulders tingled where his arm rested on them. When he leaned down and kissed her temple, her eyes slid shut. The longing for more from this man was a physical ache in her chest.
A pair of seagulls squawked overhead. Cass and Dan blinked and looked up to watch their fight for position on the lamppost nearby, and the tension between them was broken. He removed his arm and gave her an awkward little pat on the back. She smiled self-consciously. They both became busy watching the people walking on the boardwalk.
“Hey,” Dan said. “Isn’t that Brenna?”
Cass followed his line of vision and saw the girl go to a public phone at the top of the boardwalk ramp. She dialed a number, listened for a few moments, then hung up without speaking.
“Look! She’s done it again!” Cass couldn’t believe it.
“I’d like to know what she’s listening to,” Dan said. “Somehow I don’t think it’s the correct time or a prayer for the day.”
They watched from across the boardwalk as Brenna walked slowly from the phone, head down, wiping ineffectively at the tears washing her cheeks.
“Tears like falling leaves,” said Cass. “Shattered autumn dreams. But why?”
H
OW
MANY TIMES
recently had he picked up the receiver and heard nothing? Five? Ten? At first he’d assumed it was some pervert breathing hard, but he changed his mind. The calls didn’t come in the middle of the night like the nutty ones usually did. They came at odd hours with no pattern, and they all came from the same 800 number, displayed in digital numerals on the caller ID he kept in his room. No pervert had an 800 number.
Against all good sense, he’d begun to consider Sherri. In fact, he’d called the mysterious number two days ago to see what he could learn.
“SeaSong Bed-and-Breakfast,” some chirpy lady answered.
Bed-and-breakfast? What would Sherri be doing there? And where was there?
“Hello. I saw an ad for the SeaSong, but I can’t remember exactly where it’s located,” he said. “My wife and I are thinking of coming, but we need directions.”
“Seaside is very near Atlantic City,” the woman said. “Where are you coming from? Philadelphia? New York?”
“Near Atlantic City? New Jersey?” Visions of Miss America rose.
“Yes.” She sounded as though that was more than obvious.
“Then I’m fine with directions. All I need is my trusty map. See you.” And he hung up.
Seaside, New Jersey. No way was a pervert going to call California from New Jersey just to breathe hard. Sherri? And why didn’t she say something? He pondered the riddle and could find no satisfactory answers.
He’d had a late night last night and slept in. He had only a slight hangover headache, thank goodness, but his stomach gurgled with need. He couldn’t remember if he’d had any dinner last night, or if he’d just drunk the night away. He shrugged carefully, not wanting to jiggle his head. Who cared anyway? He pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and left his bedroom without bothering to shave or brush his hair. Saturdays were for relaxing, even if Hank did call it indolence. He was a millionaire now. He could be and do anything he wanted. Scratching his empty stomach, he wandered into the dining room, late for lunch.
Was it Sherri who was calling and not speaking? It was the question of the hour. As if his thinking caused it to happen, the phone on the sideboard rang.
Patsi, semialert for once, picked up before Tuck could beat her to it.
“Hello?” She waited. “Hello. Is anyone there?” She pulled the receiver from her ear and stared at it as if she could tell by looking who was calling. She glanced at Hank. “The line’s open, but no one’s talking.” Then her face blanched, and her eyes went wide. “Sherri.” Patsi’s voice was a whisper, half hope, half fear.
A chill climbed Tuck’s spine. Why couldn’t it be a pervert? He’d rather have a pervert any day.
Patsi slapped the phone back on her ear. “Sherri? Is that you? Sherri? Speak to me, darling. Tell me you’re all right. Tell me where you are. We’ll come get you. I-I love you, Sherri. We love you. Please come home.” She started to sob so hard she could hardly talk. She shook from head to foot.