Forgivin' Ain't Forgettin' (15 page)

“Oh.” She blinked. “My mommy died, too.”

Brittney dropped her fork against the stoneware plate. The pinging sound joined her hiss of exasperation. “Can I be excused?”

“It’s ‘may I.’” Trevor reached for the salt shaker. “And no, you may not.”

The child slouched even lower in the chair and wheeled her green beans around with the fork tines.

“Don’t play with your food,” Brandi pestered.

Brittney raised her fork like a torch, both fists knotted. She slammed them to the table. “Don’t tell me what to do!”

Trevor tamed his daughters with scolding stares. Cassidy cleared her throat and then tried to clear the air, too. “Someone tell me how Poopie came to be a part of the family.”

“We found her,” Brandi said.

“Truthfully, she found us.” Done with the salt, Trevor sprinkled pepper across his food. “She appeared in our backyard one afternoon. The girls latched onto her right away, and I was outnumbered three to one. We took her to the vet, where she was inoculated and flea-dipped, and she’s been with us since.” He shrugged his eyebrows and his shoulders, a gesture of penitence. “I’m sorry about her being in your room. If it’s any consolation, I can’t seem to keep her out of mine, either.”

Cassidy accepted Trevor’s apology . . . and accepted the cat, which she understood was as much a member of the family as a person and one the girls wouldn’t easily part with. Nor could she ask them to so soon after losing their mother. “How did Poopie get her name?”

Brandi giggled, and Cassidy saw even Brittney smile some.

“We had a difficult time housebreaking her,” Trevor recalled. “The litter pan was as foreign to her as sleeping on the floor. She kept leaving piles of—”

“Don’t, Daddy,” Brandi blasted, covering her ears with her hands.

He winked at Brandi and finished, “I gave her the name on her calling card.”

Brandi smiled at Cassidy. “I wanted to name her Powder.”

“She didn’t smell anything like powder to me,” her father said.

Cassidy let out a buoyant laugh, delighting in the company of this man and his children more than she’d ever imagined she could. She reached to the center of the table and forked up a chicken leg this time. She sipped from her glass of water as Brandi said in a small voice, “Mommy would’ve loved Poopie.”

Trevor dabbed the corners of his mouth and returned the napkin to his lap. His voice matched the softness pouring from his gaze. “Do you remember what I told you?”

Brandi bobbed her head up and down. “Whenever I feel sad about Mommy not being here is when she’s looking down blowing kisses to me.”

Cassidy’s heart swelled. The longer she sat with the man at the opposite end of the table, the more she considered him to be a warm and caring and patient father. It was clear Brittney was not through testing that patience this afternoon.

“I can’t eat any more,” the child said, using her forearm to nudge aside a plate of barely touched food. She fired on Brandi, “You’re so stupid.” Her voice rose. “Mommy’s dead. She can’t see you.” She jumped from her chair and ran from the room, Poopie dashing after her.

Abandoning her own meal, Cassidy put down her fork. To a degree, she agreed with Brittney. Cassidy didn’t believe the dead looked back, either. But Cassidy also recognized a mutinous child when she saw one. However, defiance wasn’t the only emotion affecting Brittney. The little girl was . . .

Trevor said what Cassidy had been thinking. “She’s so angry.” He sighed from deep within. “I really don’t know what I’m going to do. Nothing I’ve tried has worked.” Brandi, sobbing openly, climbed into her father’s lap. She looped her small arms around his neck. He looped his big arms around her waist.

Leaning back in her chair, Cassidy assessed Trevor. He looked as helpless as she felt. It seemed she should say something that might support this father. Though she was still unable to label him as one of her favorite people, she would gladly tell anyone how strong was his love for his little girls.

“Girl, don’t you ask me again. I told you I’m fine. I stayed home today because I was tired, not because I was sick.”

Cassidy marched behind Odessa from the counter to the table. The older woman hooked a hand over a chair, pulled it back, and sat with their young housemates. The children were gobbling up apples candied with chocolate, Trevor’s idea of fresh fruit, Cassidy supposed.

“Take note I said
was
tired. There’s not a tired bone in my body as of now.” She smiled. “The girls and I are going to do a jigsaw puzzle once they’ve finished their snack.”

“I’m ready,” Trevor stated, his footsteps clobbering the floor, sounding his return as he jogged downstairs, toting car keys.

The nursing home had called and said Oliver Toby was demonstrating abnormal behavior. When the staff couldn’t reach his family, they called Cassidy. Since she couldn’t use her car, Trevor had offered to take her to check on her friend so she wouldn’t have to take the bus.

Cassidy showered Odessa with a gaze of uncertainty.

“I’m fine. Now, get going,” Odessa ordered.

“What’s with everyone calling him Oliver Toby? Why not Dr. Toby or just plain Oliver?” Trevor turned onto Chew Avenue. There was little traffic, and he drove at a moderate speed.

“His mother called him Oliver Toby from birth, and it stuck. Even when he was a practicing professor, his students called him Oliver Toby.”

“What do you think he’s so upset about?”

“I don’t know. But it must be something terrible to make him break down and cry.”

Trevor scowled. “He was crying?”

“That’s what the nurse said.”

“In front of people?”

“I guess.” Cassidy shrugged. “What’s the big deal?”

“From the description you painted of this Oliver Toby, I imagined he was an emotionally strong man.”

“Are you suggesting that men who cry are weak?”

“It depends on what they’re crying over. Whatever it’s about, I don’t think crying should be done all out in the open, with everyone watching.”

“Wait here,” Cassidy told Trevor once they arrived, and she went to find her friend.

Oliver Toby occupied his favorite spot in the garden, and Cassidy glanced up at the green leaves swaddling the arms of the kingly-looking tree behind him. She eased down beside her friend, joining him on the iron bench. She curled her hand around his.

“I’m leaving,” he whispered.

She dived into the solemn pools of Oliver Toby’s eyes as her fingers clamped tighter over the stony protrusions of his knuckles. She kept her voice calm, although a sliver of misgiving crawled through her. “Leaving?”

“My son told me this morning. He’s taken a job in Denver, and he’s getting a bigger apartment. He wants me to go with him, and we’ll live together again.” He sighed. “How can I say no? He’s my boy. I love him. And I don’t want to stay here, so many miles from him.”

The totality of what Oliver Toby said began to sink in, and Cassidy blinked hard. A sense of abandonment washed over her, and she felt tears in her eyes. It was selfish of her to pull the spotlight onto herself, but she asked, “What about our date day?”

“You’ll have to fly to Denver every week?” he jested.

There was no playfulness in Cassidy’s heart. She stared directly at the man who’d become a father figure, so he could see her wound.

Oliver Toby rubbed the back of her hand. “I’m feeling equally bad. After all, I’ve lived in this city all my life. My church family is here.” He gazed at the clear blueness above them. “Moving to a strange place and starting over is a scary step for someone my age.”

She pushed the emotion from her throat with a forceful swallow. “I promise to come and visit.” She found a smile she didn’t think she had. “And I’ll write you every week.”

He smiled, too. “You better.” After a long pause, he said, “As frightening as moving is, I know I’m not going anywhere God isn’t. And I know He has a plan for me. The way I see it, there’s something God wants me to do in Denver.”

Cassidy looped arms with Oliver Toby, willing herself to look on the positive side of things with him. They talked a few minutes more before she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Who’s the young man who gave you the ride?”

She raised her head. “I never said it was a young man.” She remembered. She said she came with a friend.

“I suppose it was the sparkle that highlighted your cheeks when you mentioned this friend.”

“A sparkle of irritation,” she said. “He’s such a pain.”

Oliver Toby chuckled. “Are you going to introduce me to him?”

She shrugged. “I guess I have to. But that can wait. This is our time now.” Again she leaned her head on Oliver Toby’s shoulder, but suddenly, it was the man waiting inside the building who filled her thoughts.

Trevor opened the bathroom door and peered into Cassidy’s bedroom after trying to wake her with several knocks. The light from the bulbs above the bathroom mirror glowed over his shoulder, through the darkness, and he could see her blanket-covered profile.

“Cassidy,” he whispered, and she shifted slightly. He called her name again.

“What’s the matter?” she murmured. She leaned on one elbow and shielded her face from the light with her other arm.

His voice remained a whisper. “I need to talk to you. Can you come closer?”

“Just a minute,” she said, and he pulled the door shut while she climbed out of bed. “What is it?” she whispered a few moments later as she opened the door and peeked around it far enough for him to see her face and one shoulder.

“Derek’s in a bit of a jam,” he said. “I need to go check on him.” Cassidy opened the door an inch more. She was wearing her blue robe. “Would you—”

“I’ve got the girls covered,” she cut in. The kindness in her eyes assured him she didn’t mind looking after his children.

“I won’t be long.” He smiled and walked to the other end of the bathroom.

“Trevor,” she called, and he turned. “I’ll be praying.”

“Thank you,” he said, and they both stepped backward but not before exchanging looks that wandered deep into the other’s consciousness.

“I hate her,” Derek growled, pulling on the sweatpants Trevor had loaned him. Trudy had put him out of the house wearing nothing but his boxers. This was not the first time Trudy had put her son out half-naked and not the first time the owner of the deli on the corner of Derek’s block had let the youngster come inside and telephone for help.

“Does it make you feel better to hate her?” Trevor asked as they stood near the back of the small eat-in or take-out restaurant.

“No,” Derek rumbled. “But
she
hates
me
. Always telling me how much I remind her of my father and how he ain’t nuttin’ but no good and I’m gonna end up in jail just like him.” His bottom lip slid forward. “Why can’t I hate her back?” There were two patrons inside the deli tonight, and they glanced back at Derek as he slipped into one of Trevor’s old workout T-shirts. Trevor also brought along flip-flops. They were too large for Derek but would protect his feet from sharp debris along the pavement.

Derek’s face was hard with contempt, his lips twisted into a frown. There was no point sending Derek home when he was this close to imploding and when Trudy most likely was as explosive as always. Trevor purchased two hot chocolates and chose a booth for them. They sipped their drinks as steam spiraled from their cups.

“You ain’t answer me,” Derek said, his voice less of a grumble. “Why is it wrong for me to hate Trudy when she hates me so much?”

“Were you serious when you asked God into your heart?”

“Yeah, I was serious.” Derek swiped the back of his hand across his lips.

“So you’re a young man of God now, which doesn’t mean you’re not going to make mistakes. But it does mean you made a commitment to live your life in accordance with God’s Word to the best of your ability. And His Word commands us to—”

Derek intercepted him with a moan of “Love everyone.”

He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love.
Trevor silently recalled the verse and was instantly drawn inside himself, forced to examine his own heart. He didn’t hate the man who had killed Brenda, but he couldn’t say he loved him, either.

Derek’s eyes were calmer by the time their cups were empty. “Come on,” Trevor instructed, and they stepped outside, the neon lights from the deli lighting the first segment of their trail up the street. They reached a house near the corner and climbed the six steps to the porch. The Hineses’ screen door had been removed, and Trevor knocked on the steel front door. Trudy opened the door and held on to the knob and the jamb, dressed in a red teddy and a brazen smile with Trevor’s name on it.

“Hey, baby, where you been?” The alcohol in her system slurred her words. “I’ve been waitin’ for you.” Trudy had not glanced at Derek once.

“Miss Hines, Derek would like to come home.”

Derek shifted in place, head bowed, apparently embarrassed by the whole scene.

“Well . . . it depends.” Trudy stared at Trevor. “Are you comin’ in, too?”

Derek sucked his teeth in disgust. “You need to go get some clothes on.”

“You need”—she poked a finger at him—“to keep your mouth shut.”

“Look,” Trevor butted in, blowing away Trudy’s smoke before it became a flame, “Derek just wants to come in and go to bed. He works in the morning and needs his rest.”

“I got needs, too.” Suggestion sizzled in her eyes as she teetered toward Trevor. Derek reached and caught his mother’s arm, lending support.

“Get off uh me,” she snapped, jerking away.

“Please, Trudy.” Derek’s tone was respectful. “Coach ain’t here for you. Now, let me come in.”

Trudy slowly stepped aside, her stare a weapon rather than a welcome.

“Good night, Coach,” Derek mumbled, and the house received its missing occupant.

“I don’t know what gets into that boy.” Trudy patted her hair into place as Trevor turned to leave. Her raspy yell grated against the quiet night. “Oh, you don’t want me now. But day is gon’ come when you gon’ need me to do you a favor. Day is gon’ come.”

chapter fifteen

A
tall, lean woman clothed in suit and pumps, conservative in style and shade, greeted Cassidy as she entered the waiting room outside of the pastor’s office.