Mourning Becomes Cassandra (39 page)

“Hell no!” she exclaimed with evident sincerity. “It’s not like you two are super buddies. It was just an idea I had. I thought you might, for my sake.”

“I’ll mention it,” I repeated. “Not just for your sake, but also for Mike’s because, believe it or not, I’ve been praying for Mike, too. But no promises. It’s not my business.”

“Got it got it got it,” said Nadina. “Now shouldn’t you get back to work, especially if you have to do my part too? Look at Louella trying to wrestle that steam cleaner.”

At the lunch break I brought Kyle and James their sandwiches, only to have James burst out laughing when he caught sight of my bedraggled, mud-spattered self. He, of course, was still pristine, not a fleck of dirt on his microfleece pullover. “Whoa, Cass—you look like they had to fish you out of the river!”

“Yeah, well, Mister, some of us have actually been working, while you and Kyle sit here pointing and clicking.”

“Harsh,” said Kyle. “Dude, I think I’m getting a repetitive stress injury.”

“That means you need to take more breaks,” James advised, winking at me. “Reconstructing their system from back-ups is painful and messy, but someone has to do it.”

Kyle was inspecting his sandwich. “This has mayo. I’m gonna go see if they have one without.”

The second he was out of the room, James was grabbing for my hand. “No, don’t!” I protested, resisting. “I’ll get mud all over you, and Kyle will know we were mashing when he was looking for no-mayo sandwiches.”

“Would you be embarrassed?” he prompted.

After Kyle returned, we ate companionably, James and Kyle occasionally wiping their hands off to click some key or bypass some dialogue box. When I left them to check on Nadina, I found her outside with Sonya and Louella, sitting on the exposed-aggregate planter box and making a face over her bag lunch.

“What is it now?” I asked. “You’re turning into a total princess-and-the-pea.”

Thrusting her sandwich in my face, she demanded, “Does this smell right to you? Or is it going bad?”

I took a cautious sniff. “Smells okay to me, and surely it was made in the same batch as everyone else’s, and they were all fine. Just eat it, Nadina.”

Naturally, when faced with a direct command, she rebelled and pushed the lunch away decisively. “No way. Something is wrong with that sandwich. I’ll give it to Tan.”

“Oh, nice—poison your classmate,” I said.

“C’mon, Cass, let’s go wash windows.”

It was handy to work with someone who was 5’10”: she took the upper panes, while I handled the lower, but by this point her complaining reached a pitch that made me long to wring her neck. “Oh my God, I could never be a janitor because this fake Windex smells like pine puke…how come they only ever offer turkey or ham or friggin’ vegetarian sandwiches—why not pastrami? … Why the hell do we have to clean the windows when the water didn’t even reach up here?... I don’t see that friggin’ Pastor Anne doing anything besides talking on the phone and bossing us around…How the hell did Kyle and James get such a lazy-ass job?... I am butt-tired—gotta go sit down.”

I found her zonked on that same pew from the morning an hour later, snoring. Actually snoring! She really must have the flu. Quietly I reached out my hand and laid it to her forehead. Felt normal. Was she lying about Mike not giving her any trouble? Hiding something from me?

Waving my fake-Windex-infused washcloth above her nose, I waited for her to wake up, which she did suddenly, sputtering and slapping my hand away. “God, Cass—what the hell?”

“I am slightly concerned about you,” I said. “Maybe we should ask Pastor Anne for some ibuprofen.”

“No, I feel a little better now, since I got a nap. Are we done yet? Do we get to get back on the bus?”

“Soon, I think. Were you this much of a whiny lump when you were in Cleveland?”

“I dunno,” she replied indifferently. “Ask Aunt Sylvia. All I know is that I got lots of sleep there because there wasn’t much to do besides play bridge with her buddies and watch TV and eat. Plus, she didn’t make weird food. In flipping Cleveland they don’t put stinking hummus and pesto on everything.”

“I give up. You go back to your nap, and I’ll call you when it’s time to get on the bus.” That suggestion, at least, didn’t draw a complaint, and she was stretched out with her eyes shut before I’d left the room.

After we returned from Snoqualmie, James followed me to the Palace for dinner. It turned out to be one of those Saturday evenings when everyone was home, one of those Saturday evenings becoming more common, now that Joanie and Daniel weren’t dating.

“Nadina was right—that fake Windex does smell like pine puke,” said Joanie, helping herself to more of the beef phad khi mao she had whipped up. I had been regaling them with the day’s adventures, including Nadina’s litany of complaints.

“She’s just never been much of a whiner,” I mused. “Or lazy. Or a picky eater. Today was uncharacteristic for her.”

“Did she say anything about how Mike was doing?” asked James. “Mike is Nadina’s boyfriend,” he added to Daniel, by way of explanation. “He got arrested and did time before Christmas for drug possession.” Daniel said nothing, and I wanted to kick James under the table—he didn’t know the Palace rule: we always assumed that, unless he gave us to understand otherwise, Daniel was not terribly interested in the minutiae of our daily lives.

“She didn’t volunteer anything, of course, but I dragged it out of her,” I answered. “I just don’t know if it’s the truth. She claims he’s really walking the line: going to the drug treatment center, throwing away all the paraphernalia, saying he’s going to get a job—everything!”

“Hooray!” cheered Phyl, ever the optimist.

“What kind of job, fresh out of jail?” asked Daniel, causing us to look at him in surprise.

I squirmed, thinking of the favor Nadina asked of me. Putting James on the spot in front of others was not my intention. “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think he knew yet. Apparently he’s very interested in music and the whole Seattle music scene, or he was, when he wasn’t stoned out of his mind. Nadina thought – she suggested – she was thinking I could ask you, James, if you all needed any more help at Free Universe.” Seeing him hesitate, I rushed on. “Of course I told her that you all had already taken on Kyle as your charity project, and that you’re Kyle’s
mentor
, for Pete’s sake. Who knows anything about Mike, except that up until a couple weeks ago I thought he had no redeeming qualities?”

James leaned back from the table thoughtfully. “Not exactly a ringing endorsement. I’ll have to think about it. I can’t imagine Murray being thrilled to work with someone like Mike. I hadn’t told anyone much about Kyle, except to say he was exactly our customer base and brilliant, besides.”

“Is this important to you, Cass, to help Mike find work?” spoke up Daniel again. His blue eyes held mine steadily.

More fidgeting on my part. “Well, of course I’d love it if someone would give him a chance because then he could have some hope of succeeding in his new choices. His dad wants Nadina and him to start paying rent, and I’m worried it’s all going to fall on Nadina. But on the other hand, I could hardly recommend him to anyone. He might rob you or come to work high or whatever. I’m kind of caught in the middle emotionally because ––well, I’ve kind of committed to pray for him, but then I’m afraid to be part of the answer to prayer. Like someone who votes for some public project but doesn’t want it built in her backyard.”

“So the answer is yes, it’s important to you, but you’re afraid of the consequences,” said Daniel. This must be his lawyer tone. I shrugged and nodded, much as I imagine his clients did. “One of our clients owns a big recording studio in Lake City,” he continued. “He started there years ago cleaning toilets. I could ask him if they need a toilet-cleaner. It’d be humble, but if Mike was serious about getting into music and serious about going straight, he wouldn’t care how low he had to start out.”

Halfway through this speech I had begun shaking my head emphatically. “No. Absolutely not, Daniel. This has nothing to do with you and less than nothing to do with your clients. Didn’t I just say Mike could ruin everything?”

James laughed. “That’s right. Let him ruin Free Universe.”

Turning on him indignantly, I said, “You know that’s not what I mean. I don’t want Mike to ruin anything, but at least you have some idea of what it would involve.” I shook my head again at Daniel. “How could you even suggest saddling a client with him? It could jeopardize your whole relationship. What’s Hecuba to him or he to Hecuba, that he should weep for her?”

“Who the hell are we talking about now?” protested Joanie.

“Someone in the music business would have a better idea than most, about people like Mike,” Daniel answered, ignoring his sister. “And I’m only suggesting he be the office grunt. You forget—I know exactly what I’m talking about. I was fired from more than one job in high school and college for either not bothering to show up or showing up stoned.”

He was sincere. He meant it. And what he said actually made some sense, I thought reluctantly. I couldn’t help worrying it would all end in the worst way—Mike stealing some software and equipment to get drug money, or showing up baked and trashing something valuable. Sad to think that, if Mike never showed up at all, that might be the best case scenario.

“You say your client has some experience in the drug scene?” I asked, after a moment.

Daniel merely raised an eyebrow and regarded me, amused.

“And you would warn him about all the possibilities for total disaster Mike would bring on his studio, if he said yes?” I persisted.

He folded his napkin and laid it beside his plate. “No, I think not. I think it would be better to bring you along when I talk to him about it. I’m sure I couldn’t paint it in horrific-enough colors to suit you.”

“Probably not,” I admitted. I felt a rush of gratitude toward him—strange, unreadable man. Why on earth he should suddenly take an interest in the fate of the downtrodden was beyond me—maybe it really was sympathy he felt for Mike, a there-but-for-the-grace-of-God-go-I kind of thing. “Daniel, thank you. I still say your client would be nuts to take Mike on, but I appreciate you being willing to risk your working relationship to suggest it. You’d better not let the senior partners know.”

Daniel didn’t reply, but James leaned across the table to slap him on the shoulder. “Yeah, thanks, Martin. You’ve really taken one for the team.”

For some reason, I felt an irrational twinge of annoyance. Not that I wanted James to take Mike on, but I wanted him to want to, if that made any sense. After all, James was the one familiar with the situation and all the players, and even Nadina assumed he would leap on a chance to help me out.

By the time I rejoined them mentally, the conversation had moved on to other topics, but I felt Daniel’s eyes upon me. Raising mine to meet his, I had the funny feeling he knew what had just been passing through my mind.

Daniel was as good as his word.

On Tuesday, just as I was starting a load of linens, I was startled to hear the door to the Lean-To opening. Feeling a stab of panic, in case this was November-with-Kelly Redux, I dashed out of the utility room to make my presence known before things got too hot and heavy.

It was only Daniel, immaculate and completely clothed in his button-down shirt and khakis, and my subsequent relief was not lost on him. “For God’s sake, Cass—give me some credit.”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized hastily, seeing I had offended him. “I was going to break for lunch now anyhow, so I’ll be out of your way.”

“That’s what I came about,” he said, taking a quick step between me and the door. “I’m meeting Ray Snow at Yarrow Bay Beach Café and wanted to know if you could join us. It occurred to me this morning that I don’t even have your phone number, so I had to take a chance and swing by.”

“Ray Snow?”

“The client who owns the recording studio.”

“Oh!” My hand flew to the bandanna covering my hair. “Cripe, Daniel—look at me! Give me five minutes, at least, or he’ll never agree to Mike.”

Fifteen minutes later we were pulling into the garage at Carillon Point. Although my hair was brushed and I raided Phyl’s closet for a cute sweater, I felt as nervous as if I were going for my own job interview. Plus, as a sop to meeting someone hip enough to work with musicians, I had pulled on a crazier pair of Joanie’s shoes, and they echoed loudly on the concrete. As did Daniel’s shoes, but he didn’t seem the least bit self-conscious about it. They must take some kind of class in law school like How to Ooze Self-Confidence and Totally Obliterate Other People.

I tried not to stiffen up as we entered the bar and I felt Daniel’s hand on the small of my back, directing me. He needn’t have bothered—the Yarrow Bay clientele tended toward upscale business types, and Ray Snow could only be the guy with the wild glasses and long shaggy hair and faded black t-shirt.

Ray raised his bushy eyebrows, and I wondered how many of Daniel’s “friends” he had met over the years. “Not that kind of friend,” I said without thinking, and then turned pink. Fortunately for me, the waitress chose that moment to stride up, sling coasters on our bar table and ask for our order. It took a second to catch her eye, since she seemed more interested in checking Daniel out, but I managed to request my iced tea. Neither Daniel nor Ray ordered any food, so I was glad I hadn’t either.

“How’s business?” Daniel asked when the waitress left to grab our drinks. “Must be slow because you’re on time.”