The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels (21 page)

"I know I wasn't always the best husband. But I've changed. A lot has happened to open my eyes." His voice softened, his eyes pleaded. "Cassie, I need you right now."

She sighed, feeling herself weaken. Not from concern, but curiosity. "Why?"

He hung his head. "My father's dying."

* * *

She shouldn't have come here, Cassie thought, watching Timothy order two snow cones from a street vendor.

The summer air was cool, the sound of kids playing Frisbee and the loud flux of tourists rushed past. Here she was sitting on a bench waiting for Timothy—her ex-husband. The situation had an odd, disquieting feeling. She knew why she had fallen for him. It was not only because he was handsome, although that had been a deciding factor in the beginning. He had been so attentive then, flooding her with compliments with his smooth deep voice. She hadn't felt the need to constantly be "on." He had wanted a friend and she had been one. At that time she would have been anything he asked.

"Strawberry," Timothy announced, handing her the cone.

"My favorite, you remembered."

"Of course." He sat, his voice deepening to an intimate level. "I remember a lot about you."

She held up her hand. "Hold on. I feel a line of bull coming."

"I'm serious. Remember when we used to come here to help you break through your writer's block? We'd stretch out on a blanket and watch the crowd and brainstorm."

"Yes." She had been her happiest then. She'd enjoyed being married, having someone to listen to her ideas and care about her success, but there was so much more to marriage than that. "While I do admit that we had some good times together, they obviously weren't enough to keep your attention."

"Debra meant nothing. You were so busy and I needed someone there for me. I didn't want to bother you so I strayed. But I did it for us."

Cassie bit into her snow cone and frowned. "You had an affair to save our marriage?"

"In a way, yes. I've heard affairs can make a marriage stronger."

She held her forehead. "Damn, I am so sorry. I didn't realize that sleeping with another woman and spending nearly twenty thousand dollars on her was a purely selfish—excuse me, selfless—act on your part to save our marriage. If only I had known that sooner, then perhaps I could have found my own lover and our marriage would have been as strong as ever."

Timothy furrowed his brows as he watched a group of kids. "Why can't you be serious?"

"I can be, but not when I'm shoveling myself out of crap."

He sighed and bit into his melting snow cone.

"So tell me about your father," she said, eager to change the subject.

"He's dying," he said.

"Yes, we've already established that, but don't expect me to coddle you. You never liked him."

"I know but he's still my father."

Cassie stared at him, unmoved by his sentiment.

His voice changed to normal. "Okay, I admit I'm worried about inheriting the business."

"Right, that means you'll have to work. That must be a scary prospect." She patted his knee as she would a little boy. "Don't worry, you'll be fine."

"I know." He rested his arm behind her. "I would just like to have someone by my side during this time. Someone I could trust."

"Your mother's still alive, isn't she?"

He touched her shoulder. "Cass, I need you."

She moved away. "My name is not Cass. Despite the fact that I like some of their music, I am not a former member of the Mamas and the Papas."

Once they had gone to a costume party and Cassie had dressed up as Cass Elliot and been a hit. Timothy remembered this and began humming "Monday, Monday."

"I'm not going to dance so you might as well stop humming."

He stroked her cheek. "Cassie, I know I hurt you. I've always been a selfish bastard, but with you I really tried. I tried to give you whatever you wanted: jewelry, trips, parties. I realize it wasn't enough, but I can learn. What we had was special."

"You're just scared. If you relax, you'll be fine." She stood.

He frowned as she walked away. "Where are you going?"

"To get another snow cone," she called over her shoulder.

He followed her, his face a tight mask of disapproval. "Don't you think one is enough?"

"No." She approached the vendor. "One strawberry cone please." She turned to him. "Aren't you glad you're not married to such a pig ? Oink, oink."

"You're not a pig. You just need to watch your weight."

"Sort of hard to watch it when you're wearing it." She took the cone and paid the vendor, then began walking.

"You're pretty, you know." He shoved his hands in his pockets, examining her profile. "You'd be prettier if you lost a few pounds. Just exercise and watch what you eat. When you get upset eat a cookie or something."

"Eat
a
cookie?" She laughed. "That's like eating
a
peanut or a grape. Sorry, but there are certain foods that must be eaten by the handful."

"You can joke all you want, but obesity can lead to many health problems like diabetes or heart disease."

Cassie threw her head back. "Oh, so now I'm not just fat, I'm obese! Soon you'll be calling in the cranes."

Timothy's lips thinned. "I'm just giving you the facts. You're not obese yet, but you could be. Cassie, I only say this because I care about you."

There was that nasty word again—
care.
Instead of making her feel good it made her feel guilty. It seemed to give people permission to toy with her feelings.

"Thank you for caring about me. I do exercise and try to stay healthy. Is that okay for you?"

An arm snuck around her waist. He pulled her close. "I love you, Cassie."

She wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe that their marriage had been based on more than his need for a wife. That his love for her had mirrored her own. Did one ever get over a first love?

She looked at his appealing earnest face, feeling comfortable in his familiar embrace, and sighed, suddenly feeling impulsive. At least he wasn't dangerous. "Let's go to a movie," she heard herself say.

* * *

If she knew she'd have so much fun with him, she would never have gone. They laughed through a slapstick comedy, took a bus ride around the city, then ate in a Georgetown restaurant. Timothy ordered a salad for her, but she didn't mind because she knew he only did so because he cared. They talked about old friends, old times, and vaguely about the future. When Timothy kissed her at her doorstep a rush of emotion filled her— excitement, pleasure, dismay, shock—but none of it was love. She smiled at him as he waved good-bye, knowing they could never go back to what they once had. He could never enthrall her again because she wasn't the woman she had been. He would never be the man she had thought he was. Feeling renewed, she went inside and went straight to bed.

* * *

She was glad to wake up in her own place, free from the men who tried to shackle her with their "care." She had been vulnerable to both Drake's and Timothy's charms, but now she was back on her turf and could begin to think rationally again. She showered, then headed for the kitchen, avoiding the computer monitor in the corner that seemed to be sneering at her.

The phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Cassie? Hi, Patricia Rodgers. How's the book coming?"

She winced. Although she enjoyed her editor's southern drawl hidden behind an acquired New York accent, she always regretted hearing from her if she didn't have good news. Patricia was always optimistic and full of energy. Cassie had no desire to deflate that energy by telling her the truth—that being stabbed would be less painful than writing this book. "Oh, it's coming along well."

"I'm glad to hear that. Just wanted to make sure we're on schedule."

"Completely," Cassie assured her.

"You realize this book is important?"

Her career breaker or crusher. "Yes. Don't worry."

"Great. Talk to you later." She hung up.

"Hopefully much later," Cassie muttered, replacing the receiver. She went into the kitchen ready for brunch, but stopped at the sight of the big white object in front of her. She stared at it in dismayed fascination, then dialed Drake.

"What is this thing in my kitchen?" she asked, pointing to the object, as if he could see her.

She heard him yawn. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She let her hand fall. "You replaced my refrigerator."

"So?" He yawned again.

"Stop yawning. Didn't you sleep well?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Missed you."

She tried to ignore that, but her face still grew warm. His voice sounded extra sexy when he was sleepy. "You shouldn't have replaced my refrigerator."

"Why not?"

"It was mine. You had no right to replace it."

"But it
moved
."

"It worked."

"Cassie," he said patiently, "I don't know if you realize this, but appliances aren't supposed to move."

"And what about my cutting board?" she asked, spotting a new one near the sink. "And knife block?"

"You don't like them?" He sounded surprised. "I got top of the line."

"That's not the point." She opened the fridge and nearly dropped the phone. "Drake!"

"What?"

"It's filled with food!"

"You're kidding!"

She closed the door. "Don't be funny."

"You couldn't expect me to give you a fridge empty of food."

She opened the freezer, then began pushing buttons on the outside panel. "This must have been expensive."

"It gives me peace of mind. I don't have to worry about your refrigerator attacking you at night. As for the stove—"

She rested a hip against the counter. "The stove stays."

"It's not self-cleaning."

"It stays."

He sighed, resigned. "Fine. I hope you're as loyal to me as you are to broken-down appliances."

"They aren't broken down."

"Okay." He yawned again.

Cassie wrapped the cord around her hand. "I'm going against my better judgment in thanking you, but this in no way means I encourage such arrogant behavior."

"Certainly."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. So when's your date with Greg?"

She unwrapped the phone cord. "His name is Glen."

"Like it matters."

She would always blame his smug teasing tone for her next comment. "I went out with Timothy yesterday."

His voice didn't change. "Did you have fun?"

"Surprisingly, yes."

"He didn't hurt you?" he asked cautiously.

She suddenly regretted bringing up the topic. She didn't know how she had expected him to respond, but this wasn't it, "No. It was fine."

"What did you do?"

"We went to see a movie and then he took me to dinner." She told him the name of the restaurant.

"Good place. What did you have?"

"He ordered a nice green salad."

There was a pause. "And?"

"That's it."

"If that—Timothy can't afford to spend more, then he shouldn't have taken you there."

"It wasn't the price, it was a... precaution."

"A precaution?"

She rolled her eyes. She wished she didn't have to always explain things to him. If Timothy knew the statistics she'd think he would too. "You know an obese woman is susceptible to many diseases."

"So is a malnourished one. Fortunately, you're neither." His voice deepened with regret. "He did hurt you again, didn't he?"

It had been subtle, he had wrapped it in the guise of caring, love, and affection, but he had hurt her by making her weight an issue, by ordering for her as if she didn't have the mental capacity to order a sensible meal. "He doesn't mean to," she said, beginning to feel depressed. "He's too self-focused to know that what he says and does hurts." Her voice lowered. "I had two snow cones," she confessed like a naughty child.

"So don't have two today. Cassie, there is nothing wrong with you."

She closed her eyes, wishing she could believe him. Wishing she could imagine what he saw in her. "Drake?"

"Hmm?"

"How do you see me?" Her voice was a whisper as if the subject were taboo. "Truly?"

"I've already told you. I think you're beautiful."

"Beautiful." She repeated the word, but still could not apply it to herself. She was cute, sweet, but far from beautiful. She looked down at herself. Especially with a body like this. "But what about my size? I'm not exactly model material."

"No. They like to choose weird-looking women." He yawned again. "I'm happy with the real thing—true beauty."

She laughed. "I wish I lived on your planet."

"Give me time and I'll take you there."

"Get some sleep."

"I'll try."

She put the phone down and scowled. Damn the man, he always made her feel good. She knew she deserved it, but at what price—marriage? It was impossible. She couldn't risk her freedom no matter how good he made her feel.

* * *

"Was that Cassie?" Eric mumbled into the couch cushions where he had fallen asleep last night.

"You weren't supposed to be listening."

"Blame it on my ears." He stretched and reached for his glasses on the coffee table. "Timothy sounds like a real jerk."

"He is." Drake sat and ran a tired hand down his face, pensive, "I don't like him bothering her."

"I'm sure she can handle herself. If you're not careful you'll end up the villain."

"How do you know?"

"Experience," Eric said smugly. "There was this girl— excuse me, woman—I really liked who was dating a jerk. I had a little face-to-face with him and she told me what a creep I was and promptly fell into his arms."

"Hmm."

He stretched his legs out. "When are you going to see her again?"

"Not sure. She's got a date on Thursday with a guy named Glen. A poetry reading," he added, his voice full of disdain.

Eric nodded. "At Baden's. I heard James Sheffield is reading there. He's great. I helped him through some financial trouble." He narrowed his eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Drake began to grin. "You like poetry, right?"