Strange Bedfellows Part 2

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.