Reflections of Yesterday (26 page)

Cassie had her feet braced against the chair. When she saw she had a voice message and who it was from, both feet dropped to the floor like a bag of concrete.

Habitat for Humanity.

This was it. Cassie was about to learn if she’d been accepted as a candidate for the program. She’d had to supply every bit of identification she’d accumulated in her entire life, including her birth certificate, her Social Security card, an income tax return, and bank statements. Plus she had to have worked six months with proof of income.

Megan Victory, who’d helped Cassie through the application process, mentioned that in addition to everything else, Cassie had to show proof of a savings account. Cassie opened an account with the minimum deposit. She learned that before she would be eligible to move into her new home, she’d need to have enough saved to pay the first year’s home insurance premium.

Anyone applying through Habitat had to be serious about wanting a home to go through this process. Once all the paperwork was compiled and Cassie had filled out the application, she met with the family selection committee. Following the interview, she then had to be approved by the board of directors. It’d been a month she’d been waiting for their final decision.

For a long time Cassie simply stared at her phone, unable to find the courage to play the message. Her biggest fear was that she hadn’t been considered a good candidate.

Teresa, the shop owner, came into the break room and grabbed a soda out of the communal refrigerator. She took one look at Cassie and paused. “You feeling okay?”

Cassie looked up from her phone and knew she must have gone pale. “I don’t know yet.”

“Yet? What’s the problem?”

Thrusting out her arm, Cassie handed her cell to her friend. “Here, listen to the message and let me know what they say.”

“Who called?”

Cassie didn’t have time for explanations. “Just listen, and don’t ask questions.”

Teresa reached for the phone, pushed the appropriate buttons, and pressed it to her ear. Intent on watching Teresa’s face, Cassie didn’t notice that Rosie had come into the room.

“Mr. Greenstein is here for his haircut.”

Cassie’s gaze didn’t waver from the shop owner. “He’s early. Tell him I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

Rosie left the room and Teresa handed the cell back to Cassie.

“What did they say?” Cassie asked, doing her best to keep the quiver out of her voice.

“Well, my dear, it looks like you’ve been approved.”

Cassie closed her eyes in order to absorb the sheer magnitude of the news. “They approved me?”

“They sure did!”

“They approved me,” she repeated, louder this time, so excited that it was impossible to hold still. She leaped to her feet and pumped her fists into the air. “I’m going to have a home. A real home for Amiee and me.” No more stove with no oven and nonworking burners. No more leaky bathroom faucets and a hot–water heater possessed with an evil spirit.

“They want you to stop by their office tonight after work, if possible.”

“I’ll be there.” Cassie danced around the table, so overcome with joy that she could barely breathe. For the first time in her young life, Amiee would have stability. She would live in a neighborhood, have a sense of place and of belonging. At last Cassie would be able to give her daughter the roots Amiee had never known.

Cassie understood that this house wasn’t a gift. She’d be expected to volunteer a number of hours, making her own contribution in return for this amazing opportunity. How many hours depended on what kind of house was available to her.

A foreclosure would require one hundred and eighty hours of volunteer work and not necessarily on the house that would be hers, but on whatever house needed work. Three hundred to five hundred hours was what was expected if her home was being built from the ground up.

“I told you about the conversation I had with my sister, didn’t I?” Cassie cried, covering her mouth with both hands, unable to hold back her glee. This good news was almost too much for her to absorb, especially following on the heels of hearing from Karen.

“Cassie,” Teresa said, laughing, “I believe you’ve told everyone.”

“Have I?” She must have done something very right to have received two tremendous gifts in a row. First the offer from her sister and now this. Cassie longed to toss out her arms and twirl around and around as if to say her life and her heart were open and receptive to all the good things that awaited her. She’d paid her dues in misery. She’d made mistakes and learned her lesson. From this point forward, Duke and all the anguish he’d brought into her life was done. Finished. Caput.

Cassie’s last appointment of the day was Mrs. Wilma Scott, who came in weekly for a wash and blow–dry. The elderly woman was close to eighty and continued to live in her own home. Raising her arms above her head had become difficult, so she had a standard appointment once a week to have her hair washed and styled. Cassie had grown fond of the older woman and enjoyed their weekly meetings.

When she’d finished, Wilma gave her a generous tip and Cassie walked the eighty-year-old to her vehicle. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to drive,” she muttered, as Cassie held open the driver’s-side door. “I suppose there will be the time when I’ll need to consider moving into one of those assisted-living complexes. At my age it’s difficult to make significant changes, but then that’s life.”

“It is,” Cassie agreed, as she handed Wilma the seat belt, stretching it out to make it easier for the older woman to snap it into place. “I’ll see you next week.”

“You do good work, Cassie. I wanted to look especially nice tonight. I’m taking my nephew and his wife out to dinner. They have two girls in college and can’t afford an evening out, so it’s my treat.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” Cassie told her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been treated to dinner by anyone. If she could manage a dinner out, Amiee would insist on KFC.

“John and I never had children of our own, so I’ve adopted my brother’s three. I enjoy spending time with them. Thank you, Cassie. No one does my hair better than you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Scott.” Cassie closed the car door and stepped back as Wilma pulled out of the parking space and headed down Fourth Avenue.

As soon as she’d finished cleaning up her station, Cassie collected her purse and headed for the Habitat for Humanity offices. Her heart hummed with joy the entire way. She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. She sent a text to her daughter and promised to be home as soon as she could. But she didn’t tell Amiee why she’d be late; she’d save that surprise for later.

Megan Victory glanced up when Cassie entered the office. A man stood next to Megan’s desk, dressed in work jeans, with a tool belt strapped to his waist. He glanced toward Cassie and frowned. It seemed he didn’t like what he saw, which might possibly be her hair. Teresa had recently cut and styled it as part of a stylist competition held at the Tacoma Dome. One side of Cassie’s head was shaved close and the other side was left long and cut at an angle so that it fell forward over the side of her face. Teresa had added purple highlights to the tips of her brown hair.

“Cassie,” Megan said, “meet Steve Brody.”

“Hi,” Cassie said, doing her best to ignore his less-than-welcoming stare.

He acknowledged her with a sharp nod and no smile.

“You’ll be working your sweat equity with Steve supervising your hours,” Megan explained. “Steve’s a volunteer working under Stan Pearson, who’s employed by Habitat.”

“Five hundred hours if it’s new construction,” Steve reminded her. He looked down at her hands and her carefully manicured French nails. “You better trim those back if you expect to be of any use at the building site.”

Cassie bristled and glared back at him. “Let me worry about my fingernails.”

“It’s called sweat equity for a reason,” he returned, “with emphasis on the
sweat
. When you’re working with me I expect you to work, and to work hard.”

Cassie looked at Megan. “Don’t worry, I’ll carry my share.”

Megan frowned and glanced toward the project foreman. “Steve, is there a problem?” she asked.

Steve met her look and then reverted his attention back to Cassie. “Not on my side. I apologize if I was rude. I simply want to make it clear exactly what I expect.”

“I got the message,” Cassie said pointedly.

“Good.” He held her look an extra-long moment without flinching.

“Okay, I’m glad we’ve got that settled,” Megan said, rising to her feet. She leaned forward and rested her palms on her desktop. “Steve, I’ve gotten to know Cassie over the interview process and I believe you won’t have any worries. She’s an excellent candidate. I don’t have any doubts that she’ll prove herself.”

He crossed his arms. “I’ll look forward to that.”

Cassie was grateful for Megan’s support and thanked her with a smile. She wasn’t about to let Steve Brody intimidate her. Nor would she let him walk over her. It was unfortunate that they’d started off on the wrong foot, but as far as she was concerned, the problem was his and his alone.

“I expect you at the work site tomorrow at six p.m.,” Steve said, directing the comment at her. “We’re working on a project for the Young family.” He handed her a sheet of paper with the address.

Cassie mentally reviewed her schedule for Friday. Her last appointment was set for five for a wash and set, which meant she’d be cutting it close. Also there was Amiee to consider.

“Problems already?” Steve asked.

Cassie squared her shoulders and refused to give him the upper hand. “I’ll be there at six.” And she would do everything within her power to make it happen.

Steve left first, and the instant he was out the door, Cassie faced Megan. “What’s his problem?”

Megan’s look was full of apology. “I can’t say. He’s probably had a bad day. Try not to take it personally.”

“Don’t take it personally?” Cassie repeated. “Why would he take such an instant dislike to me?”

“My guess is that it’s because you’re pretty and petite. I think you might remind him of his wife.”

“Someone actually married that Neanderthal?” Not a great question, seeing as she’d married Duke.

“Alicia died three years ago.”

That brought Cassie up short, and she was immediately apologetic. “Oh … sorry.”

“Alicia had cancer and did a lot of volunteer work at the store when she was going through her treatments. After she died, Steve started doing volunteer work with Habitat. He’s an electrical contractor with something like fifty employees, so he’s always working, either at his own business or here. Personally, I think he uses Habitat as a means of dealing with his grief. He’s a great guy once you get to know him.”

“Children?”

“None. From what others told me, Alicia miscarried three pregnancies. It was later that the doctors learned she had cancer, which might have been the reason she was unable to carry a baby to full term.”

His wife’s death might explain some of his bad attitude, but not all. “Did you ever meet his wife?” Cassie asked.

“Once at a fund-raising event. It was clear Steve was crazy about her. He’s been angry with the world ever since, so when I say don’t take it personally, don’t.”

Cassie would do her best to avoid clashing with Steve Brody, although she didn’t know if that was possible.

“Kill him with kindness,” Megan suggested.

“Can’t I just kill him?” she joked, and they both laughed.

Megan’s idea wasn’t far off base, though. She would do her utmost to play nice with the bad-tempered Mr. Brody.

Read on for an excerpt from Debbie Macomber’s

The Inn at Rose Harbor

Chapter 1
 

Last night I dreamed of Paul.

He’s never far from my thoughts—not a day passes when he isn’t with me—but he hasn’t been in my dreams until now. It’s ironic, I suppose, that he should leave me, because before I close my eyes I fantasize about what it would feel like to have his arms wrapped around me. As I drift off to sleep I pretend that my head is resting on his shoulder. Unfortunately, I will never have the chance to be with my husband again, at least not in this lifetime.

Until last night, if I did happen to dream of Paul, those dreams were long forgotten by the time I woke. This dream, however, stayed with me, lingering in my mind, filling me with equal parts sadness and joy.

When I first learned that Paul had been killed, the grief had been all-consuming, and I didn’t think I would be able to go on. Yet life continues to move forward, and so have I, dragging from one day into the next until I found I could breathe normally.

I’m in my new home now, the bed-and-breakfast I bought less than a month ago on the Kitsap Peninsula in a cozy town on the water called Cedar Cove. I decided to name it Rose Harbor Inn. “Rose” for Paul Rose, my husband of less than a year; the man I will always love and for whom I will grieve for whatever remains of my own life. “Harbor” for the place I have set my anchor as the storms of loss batter me.

How melodramatic that sounds, and yet there’s no other way to say it. Although I am alive, functioning normally, at times I feel half dead. How Paul would hate hearing me say that, but it’s true. I died with Paul last April on some mountainside in a country half a world away as he fought for our nation’s security.