Looking for Cassandra Jane (The Second Chances Novels) (17 page)

He saw me as he turned around to set a bag of oranges in the cart. “Cass!” he exclaimed. His face broke into a huge smile, and for the first time in my life I felt that Joey Divers was actually quite handsome (funny I’d never noticed before, or perhaps it was something college had brought out in him). Those unexpected feelings caught me off guard and I felt my cheeks blush as I realized I would surely need to kneel and confess the sins of my carnal flesh in order to become clean again. “Hey, Joey,” I said soberly, hoping my eyes wouldn’t betray me.

“It’s so great to see you!” He walked over to me and looked as if he was about to hug me—although we’d never hugged before, or at least not since we were quite small. But then he hesitated (probably due to my dour expression) and extended his hand. A confusing mixture of disappointment and relief washed over me as I took his hand, enjoying the strength and warmth for a long moment but knowing I’d have to repent of this as well later. What was wrong with me?

“How’re you doing, Joey?” I tried not to look into his eyes.

“Great. College is great.” He released my hand, then reached out and put his hand on my shoulder, leaving it there for just a moment. I knew it was meant to be a gesture of kindness. “How’s it going with you, Cass?”

“It’s going really good,” I finally said, stepping back just far enough to cause his hand to fall away from my shoulder. Then I looked down at the bunch of bananas hanging limply in my hand. “I got saved, you know.” I looked up at him then, waiting for some sign of approval—approval was critical to me in those days, almost an addiction I suppose.

“Yeah, Sara told me all about it in a letter last fall. That’s so cool, Cass. I’m really happy for you. I pray for you all the time.”

I frowned. “You do?” Did he think I was some sort of troubled case to be in need of his prayers? And then I remembered how I’d told Sara we should pray for him—for his jealousy problem with Sky. “Well, we’re praying for you too, Joey.”

He smiled again. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“We’ve been doing this citywide outreach thing,” I said as I placed my bananas in the cart. “It’s really been great.”

His brow creased slightly. “Yeah, I’ve been reading about it in the paper.”

“Well, don’t believe everything you read,” I warned him. “You know how newspapers are all so worldly and carnal. They twist everything around to make us look bad just because we’re trying to serve Jesus.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just pressed his lips together as if he was thinking hard about something. “You know, I think it’s cool you’re trying to serve Jesus, Cass. I really do.” He paused again, as if judiciously considering each word. “But I just want you to be careful.”

“Careful?” I eyed him with suspicion. Who was he to tell me to be careful?

“Yeah. I know how Sky seems like this really great guy and all. And I know he really seems to love Jesus too. But there’s just something about him that I think you should watch out for—”

“Joey Divers!” I pointed my finger at him. “I can’t believe that you of all people would talk like—”

“But, Cass—”

I firmly shook my head. “Now listen, Joey. I don’t want to hear you slandering your brother in front of me.”

“But you need to be careful—”

“Joey,” I said warningly, “I’m getting seriously worried about you. I don’t like the way you’re talking about Sky. It’s unchristian-like.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, Cass. Just one thing, though.”

“Yeah?” Suspicion laced all through my voice.

“Just make sure you’re reading the Bible for yourself and don’t let anyone else do your thinking for you.”

I frowned. “Joey, since when have I ever let anyone think for me?” I thought about Sky but then reminded myself,
That’s different.

He shrugged. “I don’t know, Cass. But just promise me you won’t. Okay?”

I nodded. “Except when it comes to Jesus. We’re supposed to let him rule in us, you know. His mind is supposed to be like our mind.”

“Yeah, well, just make sure you’re hearing from Jesus then, Cass.”

I wanted to remind him that Jesus sometimes talks to us through others but instead I just said, “Sure.”

“Well, I’ve got to get back,” he said. “My mom’s been under the weather lately and she was craving some fresh-squeezed orange juice this morning.”

“Give her my regards.” I looked at him for a long moment, suddenly wishing things were different, that I had spoken to him in the old familiar way. But it was too late. I had changed—was changing. “And you take care now, Joey.”

“You too, Cass. And be careful.”

As I walked home I felt a little sorry for Joey that he couldn’t see what a great thing God had brought into my life. But looking back now, maybe I was just too afraid to think about what Joey was implying. Besides, I had other things to think about just then.

I quietly put the groceries away back at the Glenn’s hoping to avoid any direct conversation with Mrs. Glenn. I’d been trying to lie low, hoping to appear more helpful and available around the house since I knew she was none too pleased with how much of my time and energy had been taken up with what they both now called my “Jesus freak group” during the holidays, especially since they’d done a little entertaining and had found themselves slightly “shorthanded” one evening last week. (In my opinion their form of entertaining was extremely wicked and carnal and quite honestly disturbing to my spirit). And naturally the more enlightened and spiritual I became the less and less I felt inclined to cater to their worldly and sinful ways, not to mention that of their friends! I’d performed my regular chores and, when it was required, some of the prep work for their parties as well. But afterwards I’d always just clear out, not showing my face until the next day when it was time to clean it all up again.

Tonight was their big New Year’s Eve bash and Mrs. Glenn had informed me early on that she wanted me to stick around for much of the evening. “I don’t want you slipping off to your room tonight, Cassandra,” she warned me.

“I have a prayer meeting—”

“I don’t care. I need you on hand in the kitchen. At least until ten—you got that?”

I nodded, knowing that any argument would only work against me. And I suppose I felt somewhat unwilling to rock the boat since I knew that this week would be my “payday,” and the amount they paid me was somewhat unpredictable and quite frequently based on the way they felt I’d “performed” in the days just prior to when the CSD check arrived in the mail.

Initially Mrs. Glenn had balked at her husband’s idea to “pay” me but finally she agreed. Although she insisted they shouldn’t just hand over the entire check, and as a result the amount varied each month. But still it was better than nothing.

I’d managed to accumulate a nice little nest egg in my savings account and at this rate I thought my chances of going to the university had improved greatly (plus I’d been keeping my grades up at school and even had hopes of scholarships). So in some ways my future was looking brighter than ever.

All this I felt was thanks to the way Jesus was taking care of me now. As Sky would say,” His hand was upon my life and he was taking my ashes and turning them into beauty!” And so I cheerfully promised Mrs. Glenn that I would remain “on hand” until ten o’clock—at which time I planned to run on down to Sara’s, where my friends would be in the middle of an all-night prayer vigil for the city of Brookdale.

I was stuffing celery with Cheez Whiz around nine o’clock when I first noticed the sickening sweet aroma of marijuana mixing with the acrid cigarette smoke that had already filled the air. I rolled my eyes in disgust as I continued filling the celery sticks with the bright yellow spread and sincerely prayed that Jesus would just make them all sick to death of their nasty and sinful ways.

The blaring music out in the living room was so loud my head actually throbbed and as usual the house was filled with rowdy guests who acted more like teenagers than teenagers (at least the ones I currently ran with). I felt like a can that said Contents under Pressure, and the pressure seemed to be increasing by the moment. Still I just bit my lip and continued to pray—Jesus could get me through this. But when I noticed a guy huddled over the counter in a corner of the kitchen with a suspicious little pile of white powder, I knew I’d had enough.

“You know that garbage is going to take you straight to hell,” I said loud enough to be heard over the din of music as I banged the enameled plate of stuffed celery right next to him and shook my head in obvious disapproval.

He glanced up with a dark scowl, then slowly broke into a crooked smile. I’d guess he was pushing forty but like so many of the Glenn’s friends was trying to act younger. His hair was below his ears but slightly thinning on top and he wore a burnt orange turtleneck and bell-bottom jeans as if he thought he was still in college. Without blinking an eye he carefully scooped his powder back onto the piece of waxed paper, folded it, then slipped it into his pants pocket. “I thought you kids liked getting high,” he said, moving closer so I could hear him better.

“Maybe some kids.” I turned from him to rinse my hands in the sink. “But not me. I’d rather get high on Jesus.” I dried my hands, then leaned against the counter, folding my arms and looking at him evenly, waiting for his reaction.

“You one of those Jesus freaks I been reading ‘bout in the paper?”

I forced a smile and stuck out my hand. “Yes I am, as a matter of fact. The name’s Cass, and my heart belongs to Jesus.” This was the line I’d used on our recent door-to-door campaign.

He grinned and shook my hand. “My name’s George, and I’d like to hear more about this, Cass.” He moved closer and I could smell alcohol on his breath. A little alarm went off inside me as I was suddenly reminded of my own daddy and I felt sorely tempted to just pull back and run the other away. But then I sternly reminded myself that this poor excuse of a man was just another sinner in need of hearing the good news about Jesus and how to be saved.

“Really?” I poured potato chips into a big wooden bowl, then wadded up the bag and tossed it into the garbage.

“Yeah, I think this sounds real interesting.”

Suddenly I envisioned myself leading a repentant and kneeling George in the sinner’s prayer right there on the Glenn’s fake brick linoleum kitchen floor. I could just imagine Sky’s smiling approval as I told him and the others about the amazing conquest I’d made on New Year’s Eve. “Now you’re sure about this?” I asked him, remembering Sky’s words about not casting our pearls before swine—a warning he gave us about trying to talk to people who weren’t inclined to really listen to our views.

“Yeah, tell me more.” He leaned forward with what I felt was sincere interest and without hesitation I launched myself right into God’s plan for salvation. I kept one eye on the kitchen clock as I paced myself in telling the gospel message—so as not to be overly late for tonight’s prayer vigil. I wound it all up at just a quarter till ten. “And so you see, that’s about all there is to it,” I said with a satisfied, maybe even smug, smile.

“That simple, huh?”

I nodded, then glanced at the clock. Not wanting to show up at the prayer meeting smelling like French onion dip, I still hoped to take time to scrub off the effects of playing scullery maid all evening. “The rest is up to you, George—’cause you’re the only one who can choose which way you’ll go.” Then despite my hurry to be done and out of there, I forced myself to wait one more full minute, just in case he wanted me to pray with him or something.

“Well, thank you for telling me all that,” he said, his face just inches from mine. “It’s been right interesting.”

“Okay, then if you’ll excuse me I’ve got to get ready for a prayer meeting we’re having tonight.”

He chuckled. “You goin’ to go pray for us sinners, are you?”

“You bet we will.” I nodded with spiritual pride and confidence, then waved as I ducked down the stairs to my quarters below. In the last month or so I’d actually grown to appreciate my little windowless dungeon and in some ways it had become something of a sanctuary from all the noise and din above, although I could still hear the loud beat of the bass thumping from the eight-track stereo system just above the ceiling of my bedroom. Just the same it was relatively quiet and peaceful down there, and I sang happily to myself as I quickly showered, a feeling of spiritual pride rising in me as I mentally replayed the words of truth that I’d so boldly shared with that poor sinner George upstairs. It would be fun to tell the group tonight—maybe we’d even say some special prayers for George’s salvation.

But when I came out of the steamy bathroom and turned the corner to enter my bedroom there was George, sitting as bold as you please right there on my little twin bed, a big Cheshire cat grin playing across his pudgy face almost as if he thought I might’ve actually been expecting him.

I felt my heart slam like a rock against the inside of my chest, but I tried to remain calm as I pulled my skimpy pink towel more tightly around my body. “Please leave!” I said in what I hoped was a persuasive tone, although I could hear my voice trembling like a little girl about to cry.

“Aw, now don’t you be sending me away so soon, angel girl,” he said. “I just wanted for us to do some more talking about all this God and Jesus stuff.” He patted the bed beside him. “Come on over here and tell me more.”