Mourning Becomes Cassandra (15 page)

“The good thing is,” he began abruptly, “suffering produces character, as we know, as well as better art. We just have to see if the genre ends up romantic comedy or tearjerker. And then, it’s not at all a bad time to be out on my ear, on the verge of divorce.”

>“You mean there’s a good time for divorce?” I asked skeptically.

“It means all bets are off. If I’ve got a few months of being on my own, I may as well spend them in Portland.”

Perry got a mischievous look in his eye. “Because an old director friend there broke up with his dramaturg, and now he needs a new one ASAP for an upcoming musical production. It’s about aspiring actors in Hollywood, and who would know more about that than me?”

I made a face. “It can’t be any good, can it, a musical opening in Portland? Sounds like a rehash of
A Chorus Line
.”

“I’m hoping not. I think Sam said it’s called
Waiters: the Musical
.”

Then I did laugh. “What? To differentiate it from
Waiters: the Board Game
or
Waiters: the Epic Poem
?”

“Cass, look, I don’t know if it’s any good or if it will even pan out, but I might as well explore it. And if I’m in Portland I’ll be able to get up and see you.” Given Perry’s propensity for unannounced visits of indeterminate length, I didn’t know if this was a good idea. We had never discussed Daniel’s policy on house guests, and I was reluctant to have unpredictable Perry be my hypothetical case.

When I told Mom she gave me no sympathy; I think she secretly saw it as an easy way to get rid of Perry for the time being, or at least until Betsy took him back again. “What’s the worst that can happen, Cass? He might come up for a few days without telling you ahead of time, but if he’s employed in Portland he’ll have to go back sooner rather than later.” As with most things completely out of my control, I put it out of my head, to be dealt with later. After all, Mom’s birthday dinner was more than enough to be going on about.

Dad had gone all out and reserved Marché in Menlo Park for her private party. Between the five-course wine-pairing menu and a guest list upwards of forty family members, I couldn’t help teasing him that he’d better hope Mom didn’t make it to her 70
^th
.

It wasn’t a bad evening, apart from the forty times I had to have someone take my hand, eyes full of tears, and tell me, “I’ve been thinking about you all the time, Cass. How are you? Are you okay? Do you think you might move down here? What are you doing all by yourself up there?” Their sincere concern made me cry with them until my head ached, but at least sympathy was preferable to Aunt Judy. Being the oldest of my father’s siblings, she was used to managing all.

“Cassandra, how long will the insurance money last?” she demanded. “Have you thought about how you’ll support yourself when it runs out? I know you quit work to stay home with Min, even though I told your father a woman should always keep one foot in the workplace. If you need help updating your resumé, have your cousin Greg take a look at it. I had him look at Janie’s, and it really helped her get that job. Of course, you are the spendthrift branch of the family. Just look at you and Perry, without two pennies to rub together. Look at this restaurant! My 60
^th
was at Chef Chu’s, and I’m sure that was fancy enough for everyone. You’d better eat more of this expensive food because you’re still looking too pale and thin. Like Troy. I didn’t mention it, but I had my misgivings when you married Troy—he always did look a little peaked.”

The whole family put up with Aunt Judy, but for once I found something refreshing in her matter-of-factness; the tone in which she discussed the complete wreckage of my life was no different from how she had tsk-tsked over the sunburn I got when I was twelve, after ignoring her sunscreen offer.

That was the worst of it though. Once the sit-down dinner began, I was safely flanked by two teenage male cousins who never thought once to ask me a question about myself, and I was free to pop some ibuprofen and have an extra glass of wine. Who knows? Given the choice of getting it over with in one evening, or having the sympathy and tears trickle in whenever I happened to meet each of them, I’m not sure I would have chosen otherwise.

The rest of the visit passed pleasantly enough. We got in some golfing and walks and a trip to the City. Mom and Perry and I would stay up into the night playing cards and catching up; they were as thrilled as I had hoped about my new work at Free Universe, and full of questions about Nadina. Before I knew it, it was Friday, and I was headed back up to Seattle.

My taciturn father surprised me by taking me aside shortly before I had to head back to the airport. “Cass, your mother and I are so happy to see you looking well again.” He fumblingly rubbed me on the shoulders, and I turned to hug him.

“Perry said the same thing when he saw me. I must have really looked terrible at Easter,” I joked.

“We were very, very worried. We had the whole church praying for you,” he said soberly, and much as I cringed to think of my name and story trumpeted in their church bulletin, I was touched.

Joanie and Phyl had lots to catch me up on when I got home. Cingular had offered Roy a job at last; Jason had run into a door chasing Benny and broken his nose (“It’s swelled up like a football!” beamed Phyl); and Wayne was improving slightly in everyone’s estimation.

“It turns out he visits his mom so often because she’s disabled and he wants to check up on her, since his dad died a couple years ago,” explained Phyl. “But his mom is always telling him to get a life and says that, if he really wanted to make her happy, he’d get married and produce a few grandkids.”

“Ooh, yes, caring son sure beats browbeaten mama’s boy,” I agreed. “And if you married him, at least your future mother-in-law sounds like she would have a sense of humor.” Phyl made a face.

“How was the open house last night?” I asked. “Even while eating at my favorite Thai place from college I was sorry to miss it.”

“All right,” reported Joanie. “There was lots of Rock Band, but it was kind of flat without you.”

“I don’t even play Rock Band,” I laughed. “If anyone missed me, it would be Phyl, to have no Scrabble partner.”

Phyl added in a slightly hurt tone, “As a matter of fact, I think Daniel missed you too. He even asked Joanie where you were, and when she told him he looked almost disappointed. I bet he’d be thrilled if I were gone.”

“Now, now, remember how you’re trying not to give a rip about my brother. If Cass was always sighing and moping over him, he’d be thrilled to have her gone too,” Joanie explained for the hundredth time. “Daniel’s fondness is inversely proportional to yours.”

“Heart-warming, I’m sure,” I said dryly, “Wait till he hears my brother Perry is going to be in Portland and swinging up here to stay whenever he feels like it. Do we know how Daniel feels about house guests that aren’t his?”

“Oh, he probably wouldn’t even notice,” Joanie said dismissively. “We’ll just stash Perry in our spare room, and chances are he won’t even run into Daniel. If I were you, I wouldn’t even bother asking.”

Not being as unscrupulous as Joanie, I decided I would ask Daniel whenever I managed to have the conversation about hard drugs. Between his travel and my own I had only seen him a few times in passing, and usually with other people around.

“What are you guys up to, tomorrow?” I asked.

“The singles group adopted a few families in East Bellevue, and tomorrow is the extreme home makeover for the first family,” said Phyl. “I think they put me down for heading up the landscaping.”

Joanie moaned. “I didn’t have any skills to list: can I use power tools? No. Have I done any painting work? No. Landscaping? Never. Which means they’ll put me on cleaning detail. I hope this isn’t one of those super pack-rat families with newspapers piled floor-to-ceiling and dirty dishes from three different decades.” She looked at me suddenly, and her voice took on a wheedling tone. “Wanna come help me, Cass? It’s Chaff-sponsored, but we’ll all be too busy and grime-encrusted to hit on each other.”

“Tempting, Joanie, but I’m going to have to say no. I wanted to get started on some Free Universe stuff, and then there’s a mentor bowling thing in the afternoon.”

Phyl and Joanie exchanged a glance, and Phyl said, “I guess that means James Kittredge won’t be at the home makeover tomorrow either. Lots of ladies might be disappointed.”

“Lots?” I echoed. “Isn’t he still with Brooke Capshaw?”

Joanie snorted. “That is way-old news. They only went out a few times, and she says she had to call him for two of them. After that he made the rounds with a few other ladies, but I don’t think he’s looking to get serious. Does he get flirty with you?”

“Not a bit. He’s charming and all, but totally polite and professional.” I paused, frowning. “Maybe because of the mentor thing and working together in future—or maybe he just doesn’t find me attractive.”

“Idiot!” said Joanie scathingly. “And maybe because he thinks you’re married, remember?”

A grin broke across my face. “Oh, yeah, I’m sure he’d be dying for me, otherwise. I’m certainly not going to enlighten him. I’d rather be friends—friendships usually last a whole lot longer than romances.”

On Saturday I got up early, wanting to have some Free Universe work under my belt before I saw James that afternoon at bowling. Riley had sent me three scenarios, of which I found the Antarctic exploration concept the most intriguing, but it would also require the most research. Thinking ruefully of my
Star Wars
novelization, I wondered if I was always drawn to whatever I knew the least about.

Riley had only basic notes. Players could choose an actual historical expedition to lead or create one of their own. If they chose an actual historical expedition, they could see if their own leadership choices, coupled with a hundred years of hindsight, could alter outcomes: could Robert Falcon Scott beat Roald Amundsen to the South Pole? Or, failing that, could Scott’s ill-fated team survive that final trek and make it to that last cairn? For those who preferred epic sea voyages there was even an option to play Ernest Shackleton and captain the
Endurance
. I spent some time online, but flipping back and forth between various sites and scrolling across maps and photos limited by my 15-inch computer screen grew tiresome, and my mind kept returning to that shelf of polar exploration books Daniel had in the Lean-To.

I looked at the clock: 9:30. Surely he must be stirring by now, reading the paper and having his coffee in the Palace kitchen. Alternatively, he and a girlfriend might still be snoring away or otherwise engaged. There was nothing for it but to go see.

The kitchen was deserted, but the coffee pot was hot, and there were a few mugs in the sink. No telling how many of the mugs were from last night’s tea. After loading them in the dishwasher I checked in the garage for Daniel’s Corvette—not there. Maybe he’d gone golfing. Grabbing the key to the Lean-To, I zipped out the back door and went to let myself in. His place was spotless, bare and silent, as usual. Phyl was a better cleaning lady than I because the kitchen was sparkling, but perhaps love and frustration led to harder scrubbing.

An hour later I was lying on the floor, books spread in every direction, having taken several pages of notes. It was hard to confine myself to getting down facts—dates and jumping-off points, ponies versus dogs, sledding versus man-hauling—when I kept getting absorbed in the stories themselves. I had just read Scott’s farewell letter to posterity and was wiping away tears when I saw motion out of the corner of my eye and glanced up to see Daniel standing at the bottom of the stairs in nothing but a tan and boxer shorts.

“Good heavens, you’re home!” I shrieked, sitting up hastily in a flurry of paper. Trying to look anywhere but at him, I began gathering all my notes and pens. “I wouldn’t have barged in uninvited if I’d known, obviously. I checked for your car and didn’t see it in the garage, and I figured it was already stinking 9:30 and—”

“Cass, it’s fine,” Daniel interrupted, his voice amused, as it always seemed to be when he addressed me. “I lent a friend the car for his wedding today—I’m just hoping it doesn’t come back to me covered in Silly String or trailing cans.” He didn’t seem in a hurry to go put some clothes on, so I focused on putting my notes in order and getting them clamped on the clipboard.

After watching me a minute longer he said, “I feel like I haven’t seen you for weeks—and you’ve taken up a new hobby. Fascinating books, aren’t they? I wasn’t aware Antarctic exploration was one of your interests, too.”

Not surprising, considering he didn’t know what any of my interests were, beyond church and Dickens and Scrabble, but I bit back this ungraceful comment and only said, “It’s for a little work I’m doing. Would you mind if I borrowed a book or two and took them back to my room for a while?”

He padded over and crouched down next to me. “Your place or mine.”

He was so near to me I could see his muscled arm and feel heat coming off his body, and I blushed furiously, shaking my head. “Oh, no, that won’t be necessary. I’ve—I’ve got enough notes to get started.” Blindly I turned away and started shoving books back on the shelf, and I heard him chuckling under his breath as he began to help me, rearranging them where I’d put them in the wrong order.

“What’s this?” came another voice from the stairway. It was Michelle the architect, whom we hadn’t seen in weeks, draped in a too-big bathrobe that must have been Daniel’s, her long dark hair loose around her shoulders. “Do you guys even clean his place on weekends, when he has company?”

Even in my confusion and embarrassment I was aware of the muted hostility in her question. What had I done to warrant this? Another mystery for the ages, I supposed. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I’m so sorry, and I’ll get out of your hair now.” Before I could take a step, Daniel was in front of me, and when he didn’t move aside I was forced to meet his eyes. They were still laughing at me.