Forgivin' Ain't Forgettin' (21 page)
Trevor inched the Expedition forward, passing Rave. She stood alone and had donned a pair of sunglasses. He pulled out of the lot with the impression that behind those black lenses her gaze was still linked to him, and it was no less vicious than earlier.
He left the parking lot and started home, all Rave-thoughts behind him as he realized he did not have his Bible. Believing he’d left it on the pew, he drove back to the church and returned to the area where he’d worshipped. The Bible wasn’t there, so he made a visit to the Lost and Found. No one had turned in his Bible.
S
top talking and finish your breakfast,” Trevor scolded. “We need to leave soon.”
Brandi stared as Trevor peered over the newspaper at her before looking at the watch on his arm. She pushed a spoonful of cereal into her mouth, watching as he touched his thumb to the tip of his tongue before turning the page of the newspaper.
Cassidy, sitting at the center island, sipped warm tea and took small bites out of a wheat cracker. She glanced at Brittney, who had finished eating and was in the corner playing with Poopie.
Brandi decided to speak before her bowl was bare and buttered toast eaten. “I covered Grammy with another blanket so she wouldn’t be so cold,” she said.
Trevor folded the newspaper and frowned. “Mother Vale complained of being cold this morning?”
Brandi poked out her chin. “No. She
felt
cold. So I got a blanket from the hall closet and put it over her. I didn’t even wake her up,” she added, and made an “I’m a big girl” smile.
Apprehension suddenly fanned Cassidy’s heart, and she pushed from the stool, its four feet scratching the floor, and the floor screeching as if it were upset with the stool. “Aunt Odessa!” Cassidy yelled as she ran upstairs.
Casseroles came all afternoon. The latest was a zucchini in a disposable pan.
“Let me take care of that for you, honey babe.” Emma waddled over and emptied Cassidy’s hands. She made space for the tray in the refrigerator while Harold Purdue and a few of Odessa’s closest Knitting Circle girlfriends sat around the table sprinkling their stories about Odessa with laughter and tears. Cassidy watched from the sidelines, wishing the childlike wish that somehow she could bring Odessa back. A heart attack had taken her away. When Cassidy and Trevor found her, she had been dead for hours, the blanket Brandi had supplied pulled up to her chin and a smile on her face that gave her the presence of being in the arms of a very pleasant dream.
“Don’t ya want somethin’ to eat, Cassie baby?” Emma said. “I’ll be glad to dip ya up a bowl of my gumbo.”
Emma thought her shrimp gumbo was the balm for every sorrow. “No, Ms. Emma, I’m not hungry,” Cassidy answered. Cassidy had never been able to eat much when she was hurting. Tears hemmed the rims of her eyes, and she walked out of the kitchen before Emma noticed and locked her in a hug and started singing “It Is Well with My Soul” again. Grief seemed to be sucking the energy out of Cassidy, and she climbed the stairs, the lift and land of every footstep lethargic. “Jesus,” she whispered, powerless to say more, thankful for the comfort that this one word delivered. Earlier, she had locked herself in Odessa’s bathroom and wept. Lena came over, and the two of them had sat in the middle of the bathroom floor and talked and prayed until Cassidy felt like coming out and greeting the first wave of visitors.
Cassidy continued her climb up the steps, tiptoeing to the third floor, to check on the children. She recalled the devastation on their faces when given the bad news about Odessa. Both girls had cried to exhaustion, Brandi in Trevor’s arms, Brittney in Cassidy’s. Then Trevor put them down for a nap.
Cassidy cracked the door and peeked in on them. Sound asleep, they appeared to be fine. Cassidy eased down the steps. Trevor and Dunbar were in the living room, a man dotting each end of the sofa. As if choreographed, they stood in unison as she entered the room. “You look tired,” Dunbar said, stepping around the coffee table and rushing forward. “Maybe you should lie down.”
“Maybe later,” she said.
Dunbar held her hand in his. “I have a service to attend to tonight, so I have to get back to the parlor. But I should be done by ten. I can come back.” Trevor had planted his body in front of the fireplace, and Dunbar looked at him.
“No, that won’t be necessary”—Cassidy squeezed Dunbar’s hand—“but thank you.”
Dunbar and his sister, Irenia Smith, were handling the arrangements for Odessa, and he said, “I’ll be by tomorrow so we can finalize everything.”
She nodded, and Dunbar pecked her cheek. She walked him out onto the porch. When she returned, Trevor was in the same spot. He’d picked up a framed picture of Odessa, taken when she was twenty-five. Cassidy stood beside Trevor, and they admired the young face behind the glass.
“I feel responsible,” she confided. Her throat was taut with emotion, and it hurt as she swallowed. “I should have insisted Aunt Odessa see a doctor. There were signs she wasn’t herself.”
Trevor returned the picture to its home on the mantel. His words were gentle. “Don’t even go there, Cassidy. Mother Vale was her own person. There was no making her do anything. She died peacefully, and I believe she wanted that.”
Cassidy nodded yes. “Aunt Odessa always said she would prefer to go home to be with the Lord a few years early than suffer a few years longer. I wish we could have said good-bye, though.” It was as if her aunt had just walked off. “Did you get to say good-bye to Brenda?”
“No,” he replied, and neither of them seemed to know what to say next, so they stood in the silence, scanning the assortment of mantel pictures.
“Have you spoken with Portia?” she asked.
“Yes, she’ll take care of everything until you return. I’ve also made arrangements for SAFE and Seconds so that I can be with you for the next day or so.”
Trevor’s face, voice, exuded a strength that Cassidy lacked, yet she protested, “No, I don’t want to take you away from your work.” She nodded in the direction of the kitchen, and a benign smile worked its way onto her face. “Don’t forget, I have the whole gang in there.”
“But I want to be here.” He extended a slow but confident hand and cupped the side of her face. His thumb slid back and forth across her cheekbone.
Cassidy’s lids grew listless, drooped, and shut as she leaned her face into the core of Trevor’s hand, without explanation as to why his touch seemed to console more than any other today. When her lids eased apart, Cassidy’s unsettled gaze lifted to Trevor’s stare, and he gingerly urged her forward until the gap between them was filled. She followed his lead, curving her arms around him. With her head against him, she could hear his heart pounding. Cassidy closed her eyes, a fresh wave of grief spanning her heart, and she silently longed for Odessa . . . and for the beautiful baby she’d lost years before.
Trevor entered the bedroom as Brandi said, “That was a good story.” He smiled, humbled by the sight of Cassidy on the bed, shoulder blades against the headboard, one of his daughters on each side of her. She had been reading them a bedtime story, comforting them despite her own torn heart. She was so much braver than he had been when Brenda died.
Seated on the side of the bed, Trevor massaged one of Brandi’s bare feet and met Brittney’s eyes. “Girls, I need to talk with you.” Over the weekend, while they were out of town, he’d been praying diligently, asking God to give him the right words to say to them and the courage to say it. His intentions were to take them to the park this afternoon, spread a blanket, and have this talk. But once the children had been told about Odessa, Trevor changed his mind and let them grieve. Yet he didn’t want another night to pass without saying, “Daddy needs to let you know how sorry he is.” Cassidy started to move from the bed. “No, stay . . . please,” he said.
“Are you sorry because Grammy died?” Brandi crawled onto his thighs.
“I’m very sad we’ve lost Aunt Odessa.” He joined gazes with Cassidy. “I feel as if I’ve lost a member of my family. But there’s something else I’m sorry about.” He checked to ensure he had both daughters’ attention. “On the day Mommy died, I did something that wasn’t very smart . . . or brave.” He paused, Brittney receiving the larger portion of his focus. Her head was against Cassidy’s shoulder and her eyes turned down. “I didn’t come home to be with you that day because I was afraid to face your pain, and I felt really bad that I couldn’t bring Mommy home. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me. I’m sorry I chose to cry alone instead of with you.”
Brittney raised her eyes to his. “You cried when Mommy died?”
“Yes, baby, I cried. I cried at the hospital and in my office and sometimes in my bedroom.” How well he remembered rolling to Brenda’s side of the bed one night, clutching the last nightshirt she’d worn and sobbing until he was empty of tears, but remarkably still so full of pain. During that sleepless, solitary night, angry at God for taking Brenda, he’d been tempted to shut God out of his life. But somehow he found the strength to pray and to reflect on all the blessings God had poured into his life over the years, Brenda one of them. Not much later, he fell asleep, and he slept through the night. When he awoke in the morning, although he yearned for Brenda, the road ahead of him didn’t look as dark.
He cradled Brittney’s chin. “I made a big mistake. I should have let you know how much I missed Mommy.” Ready to start handling things differently, he said, “Sometimes it still hurts when I think about her and how I can’t reach out to her, but do you know what I do?”
Both girls, wide and misty-eyed, shook no.
“I talk to God about it. And that’s when I feel His presence and His love, and I know I’m going to be all right.” Tears trickled from Brittney. She covered her face and let out sobs that wobbled her small frame. Trevor signaled to Cassidy to take Brandi, and he pulled Brittney to his chest. He let her cry, rubbing her back, rocking her until she was done. “I’m truly sorry I hurt you.”
“We forgive you, Daddy. Don’t we, Sis?”
“Yes,” Brittney panted through her anguish.
The quick forgiveness from his children pushed tears from Trevor’s eyes, and he let the drops fall, open and free. Brandi crawled to him and wiped his face. As Trevor held her baby-soft palm in place against his cheek, he decided a tissue could not have been more delicate. He positioned the children so they could share his lap and kissed their foreheads. “I love you both,” he whispered, “so much.” Trevor carried his gaze to Cassidy. “Thank you . . . for everything.”
Cassidy nodded and brushed away the tears that were standing on her face.
Suddenly, Trevor felt the truth of God rising on the inside of his conscience.
You must forgive, too. Give the anger you have for Brenda’s killer to Me.
Brandi’s eyes sparkled like Brenda’s had when she was happy. “Can I say a scripture, Daddy?”
“Sure you can, sweetheart.”
Brandi began reciting a familiar Psalm. At the start of the second verse, Brittney spoke with her sister and another tear slipped from Trevor.
C
assidy opened the back door and stepped onto the wooden porch. The sconce high up on the wall produced rays of white light that showcased Trevor from head to naked feet. “Are you sure that’s something you want to start?” she asked.
He smiled, ogling her shoeless feet. “You make it look so comfortable.” He sat up straighter, and the lawn chair shifted backward as it accepted his new angle.
Cassidy set a decanter of insect repellent on the railing. The small flame inside the decanter’s belly shimmered. “I thought the service was beautiful,” she said of the funeral that had taken place earlier that day. She stared through the window behind Trevor’s head. With the screen in place, it was difficult to see clearly into the kitchen Odessa had loved, but Cassidy could see the curtains Odessa had hand-sewn. A breeze, handling them as gently as Odessa had, sucked the curtains against the screen, then blew them away.
Cassidy lounged against the railing, both hands gripping the paint-chipped wood. “Thank . . .”—she paused, sought and held Trevor’s eyes—“thank you for being so supportive through everything.” At one point following the burial, when she had been surrounded by church members offering their condolences, he had even reached through the crowd and pressed a note into her palm that reminded her he was close by if she needed him.
Cassidy turned suddenly and faced the skinny crooked tree standing barely three feet tall in the corner of the yard. She arched her neck and observed the full moon as the same breeze that had moved the curtains made the empty clothesline sway.
“Sky,” Trevor said.
Sky.
He was calling her that more and more. Secretly, Cassidy had come to like it. She had no clue why he called her Sky, though. Whenever she asked him why, he’d smile and change the subject. “Yes,” she answered.
“Come sit next to me.”
A plane roared through a sky freckled with stars as Cassidy turned and found Trevor’s hand, palm side up, in the space between them. Their surroundings grew quiet as she stared into a pair of eyes that whispered,
Come to me . . . I won’t hurt you . . . trust me.
She took a step forward and reached and laid her hand against his warm palm. His steady grip tightened over her fingers, and he led her to the chair beside him.
“Tell me something about you I don’t know,” he said.
A memory of the night she lost the baby formed in Cassidy’s mind. But that memory was too complicated to put into words, though sometimes she wished she could find the courage to talk it through with someone. She studied their joined hands, deciding to disclose accounts from her childhood and high school days. “I was in the twelfth grade when I decided I wanted to teach,” she said. “One of my friends had to babysit her brother after school each day. He was failing math, and my friend didn’t have the patience to help him, so she asked me. Soon I was tutoring him and four of his friends.”
The sky had turned several shades darker by the time Cassidy and Trevor strolled inside.