Letting Go (Triple Eight Ranch) - By Mary Beth Lee Page 0,61
was done.
Cass could see the words so there or the end tacked on for good measure, and she knew Anna had every right in the world to ask the question.
“I don’t want you to apologize,” Cass said, looking away, awash with guilt for not being here sooner.
Anna sat back in the corner of the couch and crossed her arms over her chest, her bleach blonde hair just as harsh as the rest of her. “Good. I wasn’t going to.”
This could last all night if she let it, so Cass purposefully changed the subject. “I’m glad Momma got up.”
Anna nodded, sinking deeper into the arm of the couch. “Yeah. She just needs something… I guess she just needed you.”
Cass thought about saying faith or God or peace. But the hypocrisy of those words taunted her, so she settled for a different word altogether. “Family,” she said. “She just needs her family. She’ll be okay.”
She always had been before. It was just a spell. The excuse from ages past echoed in Cass’s mind.
Anna clicked the volume on the television up, obviously done with the conversation. “Yeah. She’ll be fine now.”
But she didn’t sound all that convinced. There was nothing they could do about it, so Cass didn’t figure they needed to talk about it.
At least the anger that struck out of nowhere and everywhere all at the same time had sucked back up into whatever black hole it stayed hidden in.
Cass wanted to go back to the computer. To lose herself in mindless e-mails and message boards.
But she needed to talk to her sister. No, she needed her sister completely. Not just words. She needed some of Anna’s determination. Her stubbornness. Her refusal to back down.
On the television a get rich quick infomercial actor told her to call this number now to start on a life of dreams come true.
She wished life were as easy as calling an 800 number.
“You going to call John?”
Cass blinked at how astute her sister was.
“Hmm?” She pretended not to have heard.
“Your husband. The good reverend. You going to call him? It’s getting late.”
As if to accentuate her sister’s words the grandfather clock chimed. Boom. Boom. Boom.
She’d always hated that clock and its dark chimes sounding like the old radio mysteries’ foreshadowing of evil yet to come. All it needed was the high-pitched scream at the end. Maybe some organ chords.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
I can guarantee you’ll see results.
Yachts. Planes. BMWs. Life summed up in one big wad of cash.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
“Hel-lo. Cass.”
Money back if you’re not satisfied.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Cass blinked as the clock finished its midnight serenade and looked at her sister who was giving her the crazy eye. “It’s an infomercial, Cass.”
It was easier to let Anna really think she was actually paying attention to the TV.
“You’re right. It’s late. I better go call.”
Cass practically ran from the room before Anna asked something else. Before she saw too much.
Grabbing her cell, she punched in the number. She should’ve called earlier. But she’d put it off. Cass, the runner. Avoidance was a mainstay in her life. After three rings John finally picked up.
“Hey there, sweet lady.”
He’d been asleep. She could hear it in the sexy rumble of his deep voice. She closed her eyes and wished for everything—even though it was impossible.
“I just wanted you to know I made it. Sorry I woke you up.”
He laughed, and she envisioned his voice smoothing over all her hurts, all her inadequacies. “You don’t have to be sorry, Cass. How’s Anna?”
Cass ran her hand over the pink and white stripes of the quilt that covered her bed. It matched the wallpaper in her room.
Eighteen years and Momma hadn’t changed it a bit.
“She’s good. A little hard. Still stubborn. The girls are beautiful. Delia’s something else. I don’t think Justine likes me much.” Her voice broke as her throat tightened, and she was surprised by how bad she wanted to cry.
“Justine’s been through tough stuff for a little girl. Give her time, Cass. She’ll see you love her.”
This man was so perfect. So gentle. But she was so tired of sharing him. Or sharing herself. Of pretending. What was wrong with her? She swallowed the grief of question screaming through her mind. She couldn’t compete anymore. Not with the church and the parishioners and his life and, worst of all, his God.
She didn’t say any of that, though. She couldn’t. “The baby’s not so much a baby now.”
“They grow up fast,” he said gently, and she knew what he was thinking.