Page 7 of Cassie
Flip. Flip. Pause. Flip. Pause. Flip. Flip. Faith leafed through the work he had done. She made it through a half a dozen more before stopping again, this time for far longer. Staring down, he took in what she was looking at. The shape of the face on the paper, circled round with hair just being released from the hoodie as it was pushed back. Cassie’s hands were raised, tense fingers shoving at the bunched material, her sweet eyes and gentle smile fixed on the person standing in front of her. Seen from the rear, the male figure had reached out, cupping one hand behind her neck, tension in the muscles of his arm steadying her in a way that would be supportive for whatever she was dealing with. The man’s other hand rested along her jaw, his broad thumb caressed the apple of her cheek. The soft smile curving her lips, hesitant but full of desire, was all for him.
“Daddy,” Faith said softly, gently adjusting the paper on the desktop, lining the drawing up and moving the other sketches to the side so she could see it in its entirety. “This one. Oh, yeah. So good.”
He swallowed. “Yeah?”
The arm around his shoulders squeezed hard, and he felt the brush of her lips against his temple again. “Oh, yeah.” She paused, and then asked with a questioning lilt to her voice, “That’s the lady from the show?”
Frowning, confused, because Faith hadn’t been able to come to Saturday’s opening, he said, “Yeah, but how did you know? You had a school thing.”
“Not this show, silly,” she said quickly. “Theshow.”
Theshow meant the first show he had allowed after Hope’s death. It had made such an impact on Faith, she always talked about it as ifThewere its official title. “You remember her from there? That long ago?”
“Yeah,” his daughter breathed. Her voice light, a happy sound, one that he loved hearing in his house. “She was awesome. Said the nicest thing.”
“Yeah? What was that?”
“Sammy and I were tellingThestory,” and she didn’t have to explain beyond that for him to understand she meant the story of how Sammy and Hope came to be his, how Faith came to be theirs, and how their family had formed out of love and happiness. One of Sammy’s favorite stories, it centered on the idea of home being a person and not a place. Something that rang true for a kid who had lived hard and homeless for much of the first eight years of his life, a truth Sammy had held onto as he grew up, even with their house and his bed being a stable factor since then. Losing his mother so young had made its mark, and knowing she counted people as the greatest treasures in her life left their boy with the understanding she held him close, even gone.
“And she said it was a nice story, which it is of course. Then she asked about Mom, and Sammy told her about the paintings being her.” All true, that first showing had only been pieces about Hope and his lives together, short as that pairing had been. None of that artwork had ever been sold. He wouldn’t allow it. They were part of his heart, part of his kids’ legacy to see and know the love he and Hope had held together. “She said you were lucky because you had her. Had Mom.”
Faith’s voice had gone a little thin, and he knew she was grieving for what she had never known, the love of her mother. That tore at him in a way that never healed, knowing he wasn’t enough, could never be enough, no matter how he tried to fill both roles. “I told her Mom died. Not trying to be mean or make her feel bad, but I wanted her to know that light was gone from the world. All the beauty she saw in front of her. Gone.”
He closed his eyes, because it was true. Hope’s beauty was so much, had filled him up so much. When she died, a big part of him died with her. It had been months before he worked again and even then all inspiration had been drawn from their kids and his memories of Hope. In all the years since, he had never as much as dated, not being able to bear the idea of a woman who stood beside him the way his Hope had.
“She got it, like really got it. Called it a profound loss for all of us. Then she turned around and made me understand something important.” Faith paused again and touched her lips to his cheek this time as he turned to see wet shining from her eyes. “Told me again that you were lucky because you had her.Mom. And, I got it. For as long as we had her, we had everything. I just needed to remember that. Remember all the time, that she was so much a part of everything you taught me. Everything you did held parts of Mom.” She turned to look at the paper and reached out a hand, touching the edge reverently. “She matters, Daddy.”
He nodded, that jolt through his chest coming again at her words. He had known the moment he saw Hope that she was it for him. And yesterday, when he touched Cassie, he had known, too. She was something important to his life.
Like Faith said, she mattered.
***
Sammy
“I wish you was at my game last night.” Sammy tipped his head back, looking up at the stars wheeling overhead. The granite at his back was cold and hard, chill from the stone seeping through the jacket he wore over an old jersey. “Wish you coulda been there.” He shifted, settling in, scooching his ass a little closer to the headstone.
“Jonny and Kane did good. You’d of been proud of ’em, Mama.” He sighed, eyes tracking the flight of a jet as it passed overhead, lights twinkling coldly against the blackness. Bodies packed in that tin can like sardines, every one of them headed towards their life, unaware of his silent observation of their passage.
“Daddy and Faith were there,” he said with a smile. “She sat up in the box nearly the whole game. You’d’ve laughed at Faynez leaning on the railing. She looks so much like Daddy when she does that.”
Arms propped on his knees, his hands were dangling, wrists loose and relaxed. A stark contrast from his posture last night, when he’d wound up seated, facing his opponents across the sheet. “I sin binned, Mama. Kane pissed me right off. I can’t even remember what he said now.” He glanced down, fingers stretching and flexing into a fist, seeing the bruising and swollen knuckles. “His head is so hard, it’s a wonder I didn’t bust a knuckle giving him the beatdown he deserved.”
Raising a hand to his face, he scrubbed his cheek, fingertips mapping tenderness there. “He mighta got a shot or two in hisownself.” Leaning over, he plucked a bottle from the ground where he’d tucked them upon arrival, fumbling a bit as he worked the lid open. Tipping it up, he took a long drink, pulling deeply at the beer. “Kane’s first game. Wanted to mark the event.” He gestured with the bottle towards his torso. “Dug out that old jersey. You ’member it? The one from the first game we went to see the Tridents play. Coach Spence pulled it out of the case, signed the back and put it on me himself. You laughed and laughed, because it hit me midshin.” He looked down, shrugging so his jacket fell open, seeing the team logo emblazoned on the front. “Fits a little better now.” He grinned and snorted, lips to the mouth of the bottle. “Hard to believe I made it, Mama. Everything you did for me, all our plans? I did it. Did it all.” Tipping up the bottle, he pulled at the beer again.
“Miss you, Mama.” He twisted so he could see the wording on the granite, fingertips tracing the etched letters.Beauty and Grace and Love. Then on the second line there were two words, these making his heart clench in his chest because for a kid growing up who didn’t have much, those words had meant everything. He had a mother who loved him beyond life itself and when they didn’t have anything else, they had each other and this oath of truth and trust. “No Lies” was his mother’s promise to him.
He finished that beer, pulling another bottle from the pile, feeling the cold a bit more acutely now. He belatedly thought about the thick blanket in his car, kept there for similar visits so his sister wouldn’t have to sit on the grass while she listened to his stories. She’d lean into him, lips tipped to the side in a grin so familiar it was like seeing his mother smile, all while he spun tales about Hope Rogers, their Mama.
“Hockey’s goin’ good. But you already knew that.” He tipped his head back again, the creak of his leather jacket a familiar accompaniment to the movement. “Faynez called early this morning. Said Daddy’s workin’ again. He’s found something he’s trying to capture. Said he worked through the night. It’s always good when he gets like this, brings out his happy. That’s good for her to see. Good for him, too.”
Finishing the second beer, he glanced over at the ones remaining and decided to not push his luck tonight. Sitting up, he rocked forward, wrapping his arms around his knees. “I gotta get goin’, Mama. Bus leaves early in the morning. We start a four-game trip. I’ll come see you when we get back.” Pushing to his feet, he gathered the bottles and bag, organizing everything in the cardboard carrier, hands moving without conscious thought. “Wish Daddy’d find someone who’d bring out his happy like you did.”
Straightening, he looked at the headstone and smiled, his voice gentle as he reminded her, “I love you.”
