Читать книгу Strange Bedfellows Part 2 - Кейси Майклс, Kasey Michaels - Страница 9

Melissa Etheridge was belting out another chorus of “Bring Me Some Water,” and Cassandra danced around the kitchen, caught up in the pulsing beat of the music. Jason had cranked the stereo to the “ouch” level, and the bass was thumping in her chest, the drumbeat in the background causing her to bob her head with the rhythm, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, the music singing in her blood.

She picked up the long-handled, plastic pot scrubber and used it like a microphone, growling the words into it as she shook her head, shook her shoulders, allowed herself to be moved by the beat, set free by the beat. She swung around in a circle, the pot scrubber turning into a guitar as she “air-played” the riff, felt her unbound hair slap against her cheeks.

She pushed in Jason’s chair with a flip of her hip, picking up the empty soda can and winging it into the recycling container before pulling the pot scrubber to her mouth, and complaining that she was “burning alive!”

The singer broke into the hard, thumping refrain once more, and Cassandra shifted into high gear—her hips swaying, her feet slip-sliding along the smooth tile as she opened the refrigerator, pulled out another can of soda, made her way to the office door, pulled it open and danced her way inside.

Jason looked over his shoulder, saw her and grinned as he came to his feet. He immediately turned up the stereo another notch, took the soda away from her, then leaned in close as the song blared to its heart-thumping crescendo—at which time, their knees bent, their heads pressed together, they sang the last line together.

Jason put his arm around Cassandra, to keep her from tumbling to the floor, and the two of them laughed at each other as the rock star began singing another song.

And then he looked toward the kitchen, and his expression turned hard. His eyes went flat and dull, and his lip curled. “What’s he doing here?” he asked, wheeling away from Cassandra, who had been laughing and trying to catch her breath.

“Curses. Foiled again,” Cassandra muttered even as she stood up straight, pushed the hair out of her eyes and turned to look at Sean Frame.

She was more than a little aware of her closely fitting striped knit top and her cutoff jeans—hadn’t she been on her way upstairs to change? She had a vague memory of thinking it was time to head for the stairs, right before Jason had put on the Etheridge CD. She crossed her hands over her waist and said as cheerily as she could, “Oh, didn’t I tell you your dad was coming to dinner? Gee. I must have forgotten.”

“You also forgot to lock your front door,” Sean pointed out as he walked into the office, which suddenly seemed much too small to hold the three of them. “I put the box of food on the kitchen table, then followed the noise. You two planning to take that act on the road?”

Jason sniffed. “Yeah. Right, Dad. Ha. Ha. Look, Ms. Mercer, I can’t stay.”

He brushed past Cassandra, on his way to the door, but she grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Jason, don’t go. I know I should have told you that your father was coming over. He—he wanted to say thank you for Friday night.”

Sean’s voice was pure black velvet and held more than a hint of teasing. “Yes, indeed, Cassandra. I certainly do.”

Her eyes wide, she shot him a shocked look. “I mean, that is—for picking him up.” As Sean’s smile, which had appeared when she’d made her first foot-in-mouth statement, widened appreciatively, she went on quickly, “No. I didn’t pick him up. Well, not exactly. I mean, I did pick him up. Well, at least technically. But I…Jason, can you please turn down the stereo?”

Jason did as she’d asked, and the silence in the office instantly became deafening.

“Yeah, well, I guess you two want to be alone. And, like I said, I gotta go now,” Jason muttered as he shut down the computer and began picking up the pages he had printed out.

“Jason, don’t be an idiot,” Sean said as his son brushed past him, which really helped matters a whole lot, in Cassandra’s opinion. Not!

“Jason,” she said, following him into the kitchen. “Your dad didn’t mean that the way it sounded. He brought dinner for the three of us, so let’s all just sit down and eat, okay? Can’t we do that?”

Sean followed them into the kitchen, then leaned up against the counter, watching his son, watching Cassandra. At least he wasn’t saying anything anymore, thank goodness. Because that sort of “help” she didn’t need!

Jason looked at his dad again. “No. I don’t think so.” He shook his head, his jaw twisted as his eyes narrowed, in anger, in pain. “You just had to horn in, didn’t you. You couldn’t leave well enough alone, leave me alone. Not even this once! I can’t have anything to myself, can I, Dad? Not anything…or anybody. Aw, hell, I’m outta here!”

And then he was gone, the front door slamming behind him, and Cassandra and Sean were alone together in the kitchen, a big cardboard box full of fried rice and spare ribs filling the air with heady aromas—which did nothing to block out the smell of tension, of disquiet, of hot, juvenile anger.

“I—I was just on my way upstairs. To change,” Cassandra explained, wishing she hadn’t had to witness such an embarrassing, painful family moment.

“No need, Cassandra. I’ve seen you dressed less professionally than this,” Sean told her as he slipped out of his suit jacket and undid his tie. “You won’t mind if I get comfortable, will you?”

“Look, I know you’re angry and all that, but calling him an idiot was nasty, Sean, and beneath you.” She spread her arms helplessly, then clasped her hands together. “I—I…oh, damn it! Why didn’t I warn him? That poor kid! Shouldn’t you be going after him?”

Sean pulled out a chair and sat down, reaching into the cardboard box. “No, Cassandra, I shouldn’t. And neither should you, just in case you were thinking about it. He’s made his statement and I think we both understand the why of it. He thinks I’m cutting in on his girl. Now, as I haven’t had lunch today and most of this stuff turns into unrecognizable goo when it gets cold, let’s eat.”

* * *

Sean ate, but every bite was an effort. Cassandra didn’t even bother pretending to do more than push food around on her plate. They sat across from each other in silence, Jason’s parting words hanging between them: “I can’t have anything to myself, can I, Dad? Not anything…or anybody.”

Finally, Sean gave up even the pretense of eating and laid down his fork. “I wasn’t just saying that to be mean, you know. He’s got a crush on you. And, from the looks of it, a pretty big one.”

Cassandra nodded, keeping her head down, then looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. “I had no idea. None. I should have. I should have known, right from the beginning. But I didn’t. I didn’t see it, didn’t think it. All the kids come over here. They always have. We play Monopoly, they help me with yard work, I cook them hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill. They shovel me out in the winter. It’s always been like that, from the beginning.”

“From the beginning? How long has this been going on?”

“Since a few months after I started at Burke, I guess. I—I just feel comfortable with these kids, you know, and they feel comfortable with me. Then we talk colleges and careers and SAT scores—and they don’t even know they’re learning anything until they come to me, sometimes months later, and say, ‘Hey, Ms. Mercer—I’ve decided on my major, I’m going to study biology.’ Or computer programming, or library science…” Her voice broke, trailed off.

“And you never thought you were getting a little too close?” Sean asked, gathering up the small white boxes and shoving them all back into the cardboard carton.

She shook her head. “Most of the ones who come here are the only child in their family, like I was. It isn’t really me they’re coming to visit, but one another. And they’re all good kids. Really good kids. They just sort of hang out here, you understand, and I act as chaperone. They come here during the school year and hold study groups, work on class projects together. I grew up in a quiet house. A neat, tidy, never-raise-your-voice-or-the-volume-on-the-stereo kind of house. It’s not much fun.”

“But they have fun when they come here, right?” Sean pushed on, watching Cassandra closely, believing he was beginning to understand a lot more about her than he had before this evening. “And you have a family.”

She wiped quickly at her eyes, stood up and turned away from him. “Something like that,” she admitted. “But I never imagined that…”

“That my son would develop a mansize crush on you?” Sean put in helpfully as she took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. This wasn’t at all easy for her, for either of them.

“Yes. That,” she answered quietly. She kept her back to him. “I should never have allowed my association with the kids go beyond the guidance office, no matter how well it was working out. It was unprofessional. Stupid. If you want my resignation, you’ll have it in the morning. I know you want to leave now. Thanks for the dinner. I can clean it up myself.”

Sean had no intention of leaving, never had. He stood up and walked around the table. Standing behind her, he put his hands on her shoulders, beginning to rub them, take some of the obvious tension out of her muscles. “I don’t want your resignation, Cassandra. And I know you meant well when you started inviting the kids here.”

She leaned her head forward, so that his thumbs could work at the tense muscles in her neck. “I never actually invited anyone. They just started showing up.”

“I see.” Sean felt the heat of her body under his hands, tried not to think about it. “It all just happened, huh?”

She nodded. “Kind of like that, yes. First a few of the girls, then the boys started coming. All the outsiders, the computer nerds, the loners. And then, a couple of months ago, Jason started coming, as well. And now they’re a group. Even as some of them graduated and went off to college last year, new, younger kids started showing up to take their place. They found an identity with one another, I think you could call it, a common bond. Their parents know they come here. I’ve talked to many of them at school, or on the phone when they call to remind their kids to come home for supper. You’re the only one who never called, but Jason swore you knew he was coming here.”

She pulled away, turned to look up at him. In her bare feet, without the high heels she usually wore, she looked so much smaller to him, so feminine, so fragile. “Your son is a smooth talker, Sean, if you don’t already know that. I think he could make people believe the Rocky Mountains are made of Silly Putty.”

Sean took her hand and led her into the living room, waiting until she dislodged a huge, fairly ugly cat he was sure was Festus—because he definitely looked like a Festus—from the couch and sat down beside her. “Look, Cassandra,” he began, wondering what he would say, what he could say, “I’m not here to pass judgment on your methods, although you probably couldn’t tell that from the run-ins we’ve had at board meetings the past two years.”

“You’re right,” she said, smiling softly, leading him to believe she was slowly regaining her composure, “I couldn’t. But, please, don’t let that stop you. You were saying?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I’m off balance here, Cassandra, do you know that? For two years, you’ve been the enemy. Not only the enemy, but a whole other Cassandra Mercer. Uptight, professional, downright bossy at times. So sure of yourself and your theories.”

“I tried to be professional,” she explained quietly, her proud chin tipping a little, showing her underlying temper, the one he’d never supposed existed when she was being cool and polished and oh-so dignified as she spoke at board meetings.

“And you had the role down pat, for two whole years. Then, last Friday night, I was shocked when you stopped your car and offered me a ride during the storm. I met a new Cassandra Mercer. One with a temper, a sense of humor and a fairly wicked tongue. A woman with fire and passion and—if I can say this without your taking a swipe at me?—some of the sexiest damn underwear in history. And now look at you—your hair down, dressed in cutoff jeans? I know from your personnel file that you’re twenty-seven, but right now you don’t look much older than Jason. Who are you, Cassandra? Who are you, really?”

She shook her head, then pushed a hand through her hair, so that the golden brown strands moved away from her face, then fell in a sleek curtain, obscuring her profile. “I’m one of the loners, Sean,” she said at last, turning to smile at him. “Only child, misfit, too brainy for my own good. And very, very good. Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, right down to the straight-A grades and being the only girl in the senior class who wasn’t invited to the prom. Your typical outsider, that was me. Telling myself it didn’t matter, that being popular wasn’t all it was cracked up to be—then spending my Saturday nights at home, helping my mother correct term papers. I look at these kids, and, well, I guess that saying that’s going around sums it all up. You know it—been there, done that, got the T-shirt.”

“I was the captain of the football team,” Sean told her, which he knew said a lot more than the few words he’d spoken.

She grinned at him. “Ah, yes! I know the type. You were one of them, weren’t you? Cheerleaders following you around. Had your own little clique, which, of course, was the in crowd. Hanging out together after school, riding around town on Saturday nights, scoping out the girls. Drinking with your buddies under the bleachers. So, were you king of the prom?”

“Yeah,” Sean said shortly, wincing, and considering going home and burning his high school yearbooks. All of them featured one Sean Frame prominently—photographs of him as class president, football captain, as well as a member of the Honor Society. Jason didn’t appear in any of his undergraduate yearbooks except in the obligatory junior class picture.

He grinned sheepishly, guiltily. “I was also one of the guys who made fun of the misfits. I may have been an orphan, but I attacked high school, and college, like they were mountains to be climbed, both academically and socially. I wanted to fit in, and I made damn sure I did, no matter what it took, no matter that I left school at three to go back to a foster home or the children’s shelter. People thought I was noble. I wasn’t, Cassandra. I was ambitious, and fairly ruthless. And a real first-class jerk, now that I look back on it all—now that I’m mature enough to stand back and look at the reasons Sally and I ended up in the back of the ‘68 Chevy.”

“Have you ever told Jason any of this? It might help him, you know, learning about your background, your struggle.”

Sean shook his head. “He doesn’t know anything about my childhood—or his own, if you want to get technical about it. I wanted to protect him, protect his mother. No, that’s not true. I wanted to protect myself.”

“You two really have to have a talk. Maybe all three of you should have a talk. A whopping great bunch of talks!” Cassandra’s smile was sweet, and knowing, and decidedly unsettling. “Jason told me his dad is Mr. Perfect. I don’t think it was a compliment, frankly. Did you ever consider that Jason might be trying his best not to be like you, or what he perceives to be the real you?”

“Are you saying that Jason deliberately set out to be one of the misfits?”

She laid a hand on his arm. “Oh, no, no! None of them are misfits! There are no misfits, you see. There are only kids. Some of them just have a more difficult time growing up, that’s all. A harder time fitting in, because they’re already individuals, unwilling or unable to be part of the herd. And they’ll be fine, just fine, once they go to college, get out in the real world. It’s just that a teenager’s world is so small, that the different ones, well, they sort of stick out more, you know?”

“Jason doesn’t exactly fade into the background, I’ll give him that,” Sean said, considering everything Cassandra had said, considering what she hadn’t said. Jason felt it was impossible to live up to his father’s achievements, so he was doing his best to make his own mark, his own way. Was that it? Was that what his son was doing? “There are times, like when I visit the school for assemblies, and see the whole student body in the auditorium, then spy Jason, that I think he sticks out like a sore thumb.”

“I know. If you’re not an athlete, or very pretty…if your skin is more like the ‘before’ than the ‘after’ photo in the acne cream ads…if you understand physics while the rest of the kids are still stuck on fractions…if you’re honest enough to admit that you actually liked reading Shakespeare…Well, for those kids, high school can sometimes be worse than a four-year trip to hell.”

Sean scratched his cheek. “And you’re saying that Jason is one of the individuals—isn’t that what you called them? So why the lousy grades? Why the broken windows in the gym?”

Cassandra stood up and began to pace, obviously unaware of what the sight of her long, straight legs was doing to Sean’s concentration. “I believe Jason was trying to fit in, and hunting for a new way to do it. He’s always been trying to fit in, find a niche somewhere, find an identity. Good grades didn’t do it at his old school, so he started cutting class when he transferred to Burke, acting up in class, deliberately not doing well on his tests. We both know his grades were good, even exceptional, until he transferred here for his junior year.”

“His grades were excellent. I thought he was failing his courses to punish me for taking him away from his mother, although he said he’d wanted to go. It never occurred to me that he was afraid of being unpopular, that he’d ever been unpopular.”

“I think he felt he’d be more accepted if he hid his talents, his brains, so he set about becoming a rebel, and it came back to bite him. Which is why he changed his tactics lately, going out for football, allowing the group that comes here to see his intelligence, his promise, his real personality. As for the rest of it, the clothes, the haircut, the belligerence—well, I believe that to be nothing more than a cry for your attention, although I still find it difficult to believe he broke those windows.”

Sean felt the muscles in his jaw begin to tighten. “Whose attention?”

She stopped pacing and bent down to pick up Festus, who had been threading himself between her legs, meowing. She held the cat’s enormous belly against her face, rubbing her cheek against its fur.

“Your attention, Sean,” she said quietly. “Yours, your ex-wife’s. And, yes, maybe a little of mine, now that I think about it, now that I look back on the way he behaved once he heard about the group that comes here, and why they come here. But mostly your attention, I believe.”

Sean felt sick to his stomach. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to listen to Cassandra’s theories, her explanations. They hurt too much. “Well, he’s damn well got it, I’ll give him that,” he said bitterly. “But why this way?”

“I guess I’d have to be a seventeen-year-old boy to answer that one,” Cassandra said, still standing in the middle of the room, still keeping her distance. “At least he didn’t decide to experiment with drugs, or slit his wrists, like one of the girls did last year when her parents separated and her best friend moved to Vail. That was a tough one, but she’s fine now, doing well in school, coming over here with the rest of the gang.”

She sighed, allowing Festus to hop down to the carpet, for he was beginning to squirm in her arms. “I wouldn’t be a teenager again for anything. They’re all so young, so vulnerable, so very confused.”

Sean sat back against the couch, his legs spread out in front of him. “That’s a hell of a thing, Cassandra—to feel grateful that Jason didn’t try to kill himself. Jason is my son? God, I feel like I’m living with a stranger!”

Cassandra returned to the couch, sitting down beside him once more. She no longer looked quite so young, although she was still the most beautiful, the most desirable woman he’d ever seen. And probably one of the most intelligent. “How did you get past the misfit stage, Cassandra?” he asked, then instantly wished back the words as her golden brown eyes darkened.

“By flunking out of two colleges,” she said shortly, her smile wan. “Did I mention that my parents were both college professors? Dad had a heart attack when I was put on academic probation at the third college they shoved me into—and that’s when I finally woke up. I woke up to a lot of things, a lot of old problems and the new problems I had made in trying to forget them. You see, they were never going to change, my parents were never going to see me as anything but their product, the melding of their exceptional genes. And, at that time, as their greatest disappointment. I so wanted them to see me for who I really was, or who I thought I really was. Except that I didn’t know who that could be—I just knew I wasn’t happy being Cassandra Mercer, daughter of. Cassandra Mercer, superbrain. Cassandra Mercer, plain Jane nerd.”

She laughed softly. “Not that I could change my outside all that much. I’m still the professors’ daughter, even with the both of them dead these past five years. Why, I had to fight down the impulse to wear white gloves to my first employment interview. I still wear my glasses most of the time, although I only need them to drive, and I have a pair of contact lenses around here somewhere. I’m still a whole bunch of different Cassandras, trying to make up one livable whole.