Looking for Cassandra Jane (The Second Chances Novels) (36 page)

Elizabeth invited me to visit her church, but (as ridiculous as it sounds) I was afraid of getting swept up in some crazy religion that might suck up what little remained of my spiritual self-preservation and then render me completely brain-dead. And so I politely declined.

Instead I just faithfully went to my classes, worked at my reception job, did my homework, read the Bible and prayed, and regularly wrote letters to Joey (although I never told him about my personal struggles and phobias—I tried to sound healthy and normal and happy). And thankfully, despite Joey’s full load of classes, he wrote to me regularly too. He even wanted to come visit me during Christmas break, but his mother became quite ill and he had to go home instead.

By spring the legal trials against the commune were scheduled. My teachers were understanding and allowed me to make up for things that I missed. I found giving my testimonies, plus seeing Sky and the others in the courtroom, to be highly stressful. I think that’s when my hair began to fall out. Elizabeth assured me this was normal and encouraged me to cut it (so I wouldn’t get too freaked when I saw huge dark globs of hair piling up in the shower). So I did. But then, more than ever, I started to feel like I had lost myself, or lost my soul, or lost something (besides my, hair) and that’s when I began having confusing and frustrating nightmares that made me afraid to sleep at night.

Finally, while meeting with Elizabeth shortly after the trials had ended (with numerous convictions for everything from selling a controlled substance to statutory rape to second-degree murder—somehow the DA managed to convince the jury that Skip had been killed during a scuffle) I told her that I was afraid I was losing my mind. Once again, she assured me that I was having a normal response to all that had happened in my life, and to just give myself time. I really tried to believe her. I hoped she was right. But just the same I began reading psychology books in the office where I worked.

Before long I thought I might have every mental disorder in the book. Or perhaps, and worse, I was simply a mental hypochondriac. All this obsession with the mind finally convinced me that if I should continue my higher education, perhaps I might consider majoring in psychology.

This is not to make it seem that I gave up on God during this time, because believe me, I did not. I still prayed and read the Bible every day, and I know this was my greatest lifeline, but even so I can see now that I was still floundering. And yet I seemed to get a little better each day. I’m sure I gained some satisfaction from my careful daily routine of going to classes and work. But I never engaged in any sort of social life to speak of, and I didn’t attend church or any other kind of religious functions. I’m sure everyone who knew me thought I was odd or a hermit or (because of the newspapers) “that crazy girl who’d lived in a commune.” But I tried not to think about these things too much.

Twenty-seven

J
oey came to visit me
just after spring-term finals ended, almost exactly one year since he’d rescued me from the Funny Farm. Once again, he only had a few days before he had to return to his own summer classes and part-time job. And on his last day there, we sat down together on the same cement bench on the edge of campus, his old blue car parked on the street nearby. We were just talking and joking and enjoying the sun and our last few minutes together, when Joey suddenly suggested it might be time for me to move back home.

“Home?” I echoed. “Now where would that be?”

“I mean you could transfer to the university. Maybe we could get you housing near mine.”

I considered this, briefly. And for a moment it sounded almost possible, but in the next instant I felt flooded with complete horror. How could I possibly just pack it up, pull up my roots, and move on—just like that? “I—uh—I don’t know, Joey. I mean, I’ve sort of started to feel at home here.”

“Yeah, Cass, and that’s great. I can tell how much you’ve grown in the last year. You seem so much more confident and at ease—”

“But that’s just it, Joey, if I have to start over—well, I just don’t know if I can handle that. I mean, I’ve got my room here and my job, and there’s Elizabeth—we’re still doing counseling sessions, you know, and…”

“…you’re just not ready to leave,” he finished for me.

I wanted to say that I was too frightened to leave, that the mere idea of moving completely overwhelmed me and threw me into a complete panic. But the problem was I had enjoyed that brief experience when Joey said he saw me as more confident and mature. And as silly as it seems now, I just didn’t want to shatter that image.

It’s not that I ever felt him look down on me, but on the other hand he was so together and successful that I always felt a little flaky in contrast, like I could never quite live up to him. And just then, I really wanted him to see me in a better light, even if it wasn’t a true light. To admit I was terrified would undo all that.

“Well, like I told you before, Cass, it’s your life and you’ve got to make your own decisions. The only one who should ever direct you is God, and I can tell by your letters that you’re leaning on him more and more.”

I nodded. “Yeah, it’s been a hard, uphill climb this past year, but I really believe things are changing for me. And I know God is seeing me through this.”

“Have you been able to go to church yet?”

“Well…” I sighed. “No. But maybe I’ll do that this next school year. Elizabeth keeps inviting me.”

“You should really give it a try, Cass. It’s not good to be too isolated, you know.”

I could hear disappointment laced through his voice, and I wondered if it was because I hadn’t gone to church or because I didn’t want to move yet.

“Now, you’re sure you don’t want to reconsider moving back? Maybe think about it for a while? I have to admit it’d be great having you live closer to me, Cass. It would really shorten the commute.” He smiled and his dark eyes glowed warmly.

Suddenly the idea of living near Joey became very tempting, but at the same time I felt worried that I would become too dependent on him. I hated the idea of becoming a helpless, cloying female, literally sucking the life out of my best friend. I knew I didn’t have the strength to just pick up and leave all that had become familiar this past year if I had to completely stand on my own two feet. As it was, I could barely make it through a week if Elizabeth was forced to cancel on me for some reason. The whole idea of giving all this up just scared me witless. “I can’t explain it very well, Joey,” I said, now fighting back tears. “But I just think I need to stay here.”

“But, Cass,” he tried again, “we could spend more time together. It’d be great.”

“I can’t do it, Joey. This is my life right now, it’s all I have, and I just can’t leave.”

“But, Cass…” He looked right into my eyes. “What if I said I love you and that I’d like to marry you?”

Shocked, I studied his face. Was he serious? Or was he just doing this out of pity? Perhaps he could see right through my wimpy facade—maybe he knew that I was barely holding on, ready to tumble into pieces at any moment.

But how could I allow him to rescue me, yet again? And especially with a marriage proposal that from all appearances seemed motivated by pity.

“Joey,” I said slowly. “You can’t mean that. I know you feel sorry for me and you’ve been a wonderful friend and everything. And I know you want to help me. But you don’t have to—”

“Oh, Cass!” His head dropped and he stared down at the ground, thumping his cane into the dirt with what seemed anger, or maybe just pure frustration.

“Joey,” I tried again, “I really do appreciate your help and all. But this is a decision I have to make for myself. I can’t keep letting other people tell me what to do all my life. Can I? You’ve said yourself that I need to think for myself and not let anyone else tell me what to do. And the fact is, I feel I need to stay here.” I clasped my hands tightly in my lap, as if to show my firm resolve, when really it was to hide my trembling.

And so it seemed it was settled. Joey didn’t try to convince me that his proposal (if it truly was such a thing) was really motivated by love. He simply gave me a quick hug and climbed back into his car and drove across the country again. How many times had he done that for me? I wondered. Three? Perhaps this would be the last.

And then I went to the safety of my little room and cried. I think I cried for a couple of days. Elizabeth thought I was having a breakdown. And maybe I was, but I told her I was just tired.

Looking back, I’m not entirely sure how I survived that summer. In many ways I felt more alone than ever before. And yet I suspected that God was with me. More than ever I found myself reading from that little Bible Joey had given me the previous year. And I remember how one particular line (one that Joey had underlined in red) seemed to literally leap off of the page at me. It was actually the second half of a verse in Matthew. It was something Jesus had said: “Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.” And although I would admit it to no one at the time (not even myself) I suppose a part of me just clung to those words, hoping that somehow I would discover them to be really true.

I continued my second year of college, living it out very much like my first—quiet, controlled, safe. Strangely enough, my little “trust fund” remained intact, and for some reason it never occurred to me to wonder what kept these funds flowing. During the first year, I had simply assumed that the state had provided for my expenses (in exchange for my testimony) but why would they still keep it coming? Still, I told myself, perhaps it’s like Joey said, it comes from God, so why question it? And so I continued my education and my part-time job that helped with the little extras of living and I tried not to think too much about what the future might bring.

I enjoyed my classes and did quite well. I had been on the dean’s list since my first term there, and toward the end of my second year, Elizabeth suggested that I start making plans to transfer.

“Transfer?” I echoed, a rise of fear catching me by the throat.

She smiled patiently. “Yes, Cassandra, you know we’re only a two-year college.”

“Oh.”

“Where would you like to get your degree from? I think you could get into almost any school—and probably with scholarships to boot.”

“I don’t know if I want to leave.”

“But, Cassandra, why would you stay here?”

“Maybe I could just work full-time at the psych office and stay in my room and…”

She frowned. “Cassandra, you’re an intelligent young woman, and you need to continue your education.”

I took in a jagged breath. “But what if—what if I don’t want to?”

She firmly shook her head. “I think you’re allowing your past to hold you prisoner again, Cassandra.”

And that’s when I just totally broke down and told her how deathly afraid I was to make a change (any change). I told her how much I clung to my daily routines, how I hadn’t made a single friend, and other than Joey and God (and maybe her) there was no one in the entire world who really cared about what happened to me.

We went back to meeting twice a week again after that. And by the third meeting, Elizabeth helped me to decide it would be best to transfer to the university where Joey was going to school. She assured me they had a fine psychology department, and I would be in somewhat familiar territory, only about a hundred miles from where I’d grown up. Still, I wasn’t completely convinced and wondered if I might not chicken out at the last minute anyway.

Naturally, I didn’t inform Joey of this decision, since I felt so unsure of my ability to carry it out. And I continued my receptionist job throughout the summer, taking a few art classes (which I enjoyed immensely) just to fill in the time. And then at the end of August, Elizabeth drove me to the bus stop (in her little red Porsche) and hugged me good-bye. Then she held on to my arms with both hands and said, “You’re going to be just fine, Cassandra. I know that underneath all this fear and anxiety that’s been dogging at your heels, there lives a highly spirited girl who’s going to come out on top of it all.”

I blinked at her choice of words but thanked her for all her kindnesses during the past two years. Then, finally, I made myself turn away from her (the closest thing to a mother I’d had since my grandma died) and I woodenly climbed the steps to the Greyhound (feeling like a convict scaling the platform he’d soon be hanging from). Then I turned and, forcing a smile to my lips, waved good-bye.

With blurry eyes I made my way down the aisle until I found an empty seat at the back of the bus. And there, as the bus began the first leg of its cross-country journey, I sat and mulled over Elizabeth’s parting words. Wasn’t that exactly what my grandma used to say? That I was a “highly spirited girl”? And didn’t that usually come right after someone else (like my daddy) had just come down upon me, maybe even saying something like I “had the devil” in me?

And that’s when it began to hit me. All this fear and anxiety I’d been experiencing during the past few years. Certainly
that
wasn’t from God. No, I had learned about fear from people like my daddy and Sky. That kind of fear had nothing to do with God—not the God I now knew and prayed to daily. And for once I thought that maybe my daddy was right.
Maybe I did have the devil in me!

And so for the next two days (while riding nonstop on that old Greyhound bus through the sweltering heat of August) I began to pray that God would just “beat the devil outta me.” I sat with my knees pulled up in front of me, praying that God would help me to escape my fear-filled, wretched, little life, all the while devouring page after page in Joey’s little Bible as I searched out every verse I could find that made any reference whatsoever to fear.