Forgivin' Ain't Forgettin' (31 page)
She looked at Minister. His eyes were soft and his smile warm. This was the man she’d fallen in love with. “Of course, I love our baby.”
“Then let’s do the right thing . . . the unselfish thing. Let’s give him a chance at a whole family—a mom and a dad. And I promise, we’ll get married as soon as I get my master’s and doctorate degrees. Then we’ll make lots of babies and raise them together.”
Cassidy peered at Colvin. His gaze was sad and pleading. “I didn’t have a mom and dad,” she said. She tried to make him understand. “I want my baby to have two parents.”
“It’s quiet outside. We should leave now,” Minister said gently. He extended his arms.
Cassidy kissed the baby’s forehead and placed his frail, writhing, towel-covered body in the cradle Minister made with his hands. She followed Minister to the door. Before she walked out, she turned and looked at Colvin. He was still on his knees, but he had curled over and buried his face in his hands.
C
assidy put the wooden spoon on the counter and answered the ring of the phone. “Hello,” she said into the handheld cordless.
“Hello,” the female on the other end greeted her. “Is Cassidy Monroe in?”
“This is Cassidy.”
“Cassidy, my name is . . .” Cassidy listened as the woman introduced herself and shared the reason for her call. “Sister Whittle gave me the names of people who might be interested in working with us, and your name was on the list . . .”
When the woman finished, Cassidy answered softly, “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“That’s okay. We’d still like you to come to our next meeting. It’s on . . .”
Cassidy reached for a pencil and jotted down the information on a napkin. The notepad on the kitchen desk was a more reliable place for recording information, but what did it matter? Cassidy didn’t believe she’d be going to the next Sparrow Ministry meeting.
The woman chirped on like a sparrow, “We like for the members of our team to be properly trained so they can be effective servants. So many of the young women who come to us for help are in such an emotionally fragile state, harboring feelings of guilt and embarrassment as if pregnancy outside of marriage is a permanent barrier between them and God’s grace. But we know that’s not true, amen?”
Cassidy breathed deeply, unable to speak as she studied the scripture on the small chalkboard she’d hung on the wall. Writing the scriptures where she could read them often was a method of self-encouragement as well as a way to help Brittney and Brandi learn new verses.
“Amen?” the sister questioned again.
“Amen,” Cassidy said with less force than what the woman was certainly expecting.
“Well,” she said in the friendly voice she’d been using since the start of the conversation, “I hope to see you at the next meeting.”
After closing the call, Cassidy restudied the verse on the wall.
The Lord is gracious, and full of compassion; slow to anger, and of great mercy.
She closed her eyes and said it several times, making the words a part of herself, although a part of herself still refused to accept that God was not infuriated with her for having premarital sex and then leaving her baby.
She returned to the stove and began stirring the contents of a large stainless-steel pot, making a dedicated effort to appear totally absorbed with the dinner preparations as Trevor walked through the deck-side entrance into the kitchen.
“Hi, Daddy,” the girls chimed.
He strolled across the room to the table where the sisters were seated. Cassidy glanced at him when she was sure he wasn’t looking at her. “Hi, angels,” he said, and stamped a kiss to two cheeks.
“Hi, Coach,” the third smile said.
Trevor gave the same big, affectionate grin he’d given the girls and pounded hands with Herbie. “What’s going on, little man?”
“We’re creating.” Brandi’s zeal was as dazzling as the sunshine beaming in from outside. “Cassidy said we could make anything we want.”
Trevor scanned the potpourri of arts and crafts supplies. Construction paper, crayons, cotton balls, pipe cleaners, clay, glue sticks, scissors, and a dozen other items covered the table from edge to edge. He carried his gaze upward, and Cassidy briefly met his eyes. They were round, clear, and fixed, as if he were trying to climb into her head and decode her thoughts. She lowered her gaze to the pot of vegetarian chili, a recipe she’d stumbled across while surfing the Web. Solidly aware of Trevor as he neared the stove, she gripped the spoon tighter, stirring the entire time, attempting to hide any clue of inner misery.
“Cassidy,” he acknowledged in a scratchy whisper, stopping beside her.
She turned toward him, and the two kissed on the mouth, a brief action, something one might see on a 1960s sitcom. Trevor laid his hand on Cassidy’s back, and her spine became a stiff line. “Dinner will be ready soon.” She posted a smile, but it was taut with artificial joy.
The hand on her back remained as Trevor inched the front of his body against her side. He lowered his head, and his full warm lips pressed into her cheek as he caressed her with the tip of his tongue. She poked up her shoulder, insisting he stop. He got the message and dropped his hand from her back, although his feet stayed rooted. “Why are you acting like this?”
“The kids are here,” she reminded him.
“It has nothing to do with the kids.”
There was frustration inside his whisper. Cassidy glanced at the children to make sure they were involved with their art projects, then she returned her attention to the chili. “I need space right now.” Her tone was hushed. “I told you that last night.”
“What you
need
is deliverance.” He paused, suddenly aware that his voice had taken a leap upward. They both glanced at the children before looking at each other. Cassidy couldn’t sustain a mutual gaze for more than a breath and bowed her head. Trevor’s hand was on the counter, a hardened fist, a reflection of the air engulfing them. “I can’t take this,” he continued, his tone returned to a strained whisper. “You’re completely shutting me out.”
Brandi unknowingly put a stop to an exchange that would have gone on longer. “Come look at what I’m making, Daddy.”
Cassidy watched his fingers unfold, then looked up at him. Sadness, so raw it undoubtedly reached from his soul, filled his eyes. Cassidy shifted her gaze again, pain pushing her spirit lower. Trevor was right. She was shutting him out. He wanted to cuddle. He wanted to kiss. But cuddling and kissing usually led to something more. And something more usually took them to the bedroom. And it was there, in the bed, that her body reminded her time and time again that she could not perform all a wife should be able to. Not once during their most intimate moments had Trevor put pressure on her to do what she couldn’t. Nor had he ever uttered a comment that made her feel inferior. Yet Cassidy knew her handicap had to be an excessive hardship for him. Married before, Trevor was a man used to experiencing more. So how could he be truly happy and satisfied with her, a woman unable to meet his needs the way they needed to be met?
“Guess what?” Brandi said.
“What’s that, baby?” Trevor walked over, lifted her into his arms, kissed her chin, and she giggled.
“Cassidy’s going to be Herbie’s mommy just like she’s me and Sis’s mommy.”
One . . . two . . . three . . .
Three full seconds crash-landed before Cassidy dared breathe and look Trevor in the eyes. Bewilderment followed by mistrust and disapproval were discernible on Trevor’s face. He returned Brandi to the chair and shot another severe expression across the room. “Can I speak with you in our bedroom?” he said, and he pivoted, not waiting for an answer.
Cassidy snapped off the stove and thudded behind Trevor. The savory aroma of the chili, seasoned with herbs from her backyard garden, had drifted all the way up to their second-floor bedroom. She closed the door and kept her hands behind her, a grasp on the knob. “It’s not what you think,” she said.
He spun and faced her. Shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked once on his heels. “Did you tell Herbie we were going to adopt him?”
She shut her eyes and backed her head against the door. “No. I could never tell Herbie something like that unless I knew for sure.”
Every seam of the room was stitched in silence. She surveyed Trevor, his face coffin-hard, his glare digging into her, his hands still buried. “Then why do the kids think you’re going to be his mother?”
Cassidy repeated the conversation that had gone on between the children less than an hour ago. She’d been in the laundry room, out of sight, but in hearing range.
“I wish I could live here,” Herbie said.
“Me, too,” Brittney said.
“Me, three,” came Brandi’s vote. “My daddy could be your daddy, and Cassidy could be your mommy.”
“Let’s go ask Cassidy right now.”
“Okay.” The younger children squealed with exhilaration over Brittney’s idea, and they all ran into the laundry room.
Brandi voiced the question that flamed in each child’s eyes. “Can you be Herbie’s mommy, too?”
“I didn’t know what to say. I knew I couldn’t say yes, but I couldn’t bring myself to say no. I needed time to think, so I told them we’d talk about it later.”
Trevor swirled, sighing through his nostrils, offering her his back, obviously dissatisfied with the way she’d handled the situation. He turned and glared some more. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for Herbie to be over here playing as much as he is. You and the girls are getting too attached.”
Trevor had left himself out of the equation, but Cassidy knew with every bit of her heart that Trevor was crazy about Herbie, too. The phone rang, and Trevor marched over and swiped the ringing device from the cradle. He plopped and slouched in a suede recliner while he talked, massaging his forehead as if he had a headache. And maybe he did. The Herbie situation, her refusal to get counseling, her refusal to be intimate, it all was frustrating to him.
Well, she was suffering, too. Didn’t he know how hard all of this was for her? She didn’t ask to be cursed with vaginismus. At times, she wondered why God, in His omnipotence, wouldn’t answer her prayers and heal her. Cassidy hurried into the bathroom and shut the door. She crossed her arms and chose pacing rather than throwing up her arms and frightening the children with a high-pitched scream. Walking more slowly, she clutched her head, covering her ears, trying to silence the voice that was telling her what she didn’t want to hear.
You need to talk to Trevor. Tell him everything. With Me, you are strong enough to do it.
“But, God,” she initiated protest, then stopped as the scripture she had quoted more than twenty years ago in a Sunday school play lined her memory.
Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee.
“How’s the cake?”
Brittney grinned, a crumb of chocolate clinging to one front tooth. “It’s good, but I like yours better.” She ate two more forks of dessert. This time when she smiled, the crumb on her tooth was gone, but a smudge of frosting colored her top lip.
Trevor smiled and let her enjoy her cake. She would clean up when she was done.
Their server for the evening breezed by their table but stopped on her way back. “More coffee, sir?”
“Yes, thank you.” Trevor added cream and sugar to the dark brew. He put aside his spoon, then took a first sip and felt the heat roll from his throat to his belly. Brittney finished her soda, then wiped her mouth with the linen napkin, all signs of cake removed now. Their table was adjacent to a window, and the moonlight falling across the river flickered like diamonds. The shimmer in Brittney’s eyes as she blinked at him was just as awesome, and it warmed his soul as much as the coffee had warmed his body.
“Can we come here next month?” she asked.
“If that’s what you want.” Ever since Cassidy suggested it, Trevor had taken the girls out, one at a time, on a date. Tonight was Brittney’s turn, and she and Trevor had dressed in some of their best clothes and started the evening with a walk and a talk along Penn’s Landing. As always, the time together was priceless. Brittney was growing up fast, her face losing much of its baby look, and subtle but solid nuances of maturity were settling in. Scary to consider that in less than ten years another gentleman would be sitting where he was now, drinking up Brittney’s smiles.
“Daddy?” Her voice grasped his full attention, and he listened with his heart as much as his ears. “Are you and Cassidy going to stay married?”
Worry blurred the shine in Brittney’s eyes. Trevor had hoped the problems in his marriage would not be noticed by his children, as he and Cassidy made every effort to keep their arguments behind the bedroom door.
Trevor stacked their dirty dishes and the floral centerpiece to one side of the cloth-covered table. “Put your hands up here,” he said, stretching his arms forward, modeling what he wanted her to do. She stretched her arms on the table, and Trevor covered her hands with his. Unprepared for her pop quiz, he searched for the right words before speaking.
“You know how much I loved Mommy, right?” She bobbed her head. “I love Cassidy the same . . . and Cassidy loves me, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t going to be problems.” He smiled in an attempt to diminish her anxiety. “Do you remember how much trouble you had with fractions?” She didn’t answer, but her eyes were riveted to his, and he knew she was hanging on to every word. He continued, “You stayed after school for tutoring, and then you were fine.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Well, that’s what Cassidy and I are going to do, baby. We need help with our marriage, and Pastor Audrey is going to be our tutor. He’s going to help us.”
This morning Pastor Audrey had stopped by Seconds and invited him and Cassidy to a marital counseling session. Because Cassidy was away, visiting Oliver Toby, Trevor hadn’t discussed it with her yet, but he hoped she would see the importance of such a meeting and agree to go.