“Thatkid,” Cassie said, “is not doing any of this on purpose, Alex.
You’re not the only parent in the world. Everyone’s life changes when they have children.”
“I never asked for him.”
Cassie’s hand froze on Alex’s hip. “You don’t mean that,” she whispered.
Alex glanced at her over his shoulder. “If you won’t accept a nanny, then you’d better find a night nurse. I’m not putting up with this.
Either you hire someone or I move across the hall.” He pulled a pillow over his head.
Cassie thought of something Dr. Pooley had mentioned during her group session the previous night, something about the personality traits of the abuser. Husbands don’t want their wives to have close friends, she had said. They don’t like the thought of someone else making demands on the person whom they see as belonging entirely to them.
At the time, Ophelia had come to mind, and Alex’s inability to forgive her for the one and only mistake she’d ever made in connection with him. But now Cassie was starting to see Dr. Pooley’s statement in a different light. She glanced at Alex’s hands, clutching the pillow to his head. He couldn’t stand to see someone who needed Cassie as much as he did. Not even his own son.
“Alex,” Cassie whispered. “I know you’re not asleep yet.” She tapped his shoulder and tugged the pillow away from his ear. Alex groaned and rolled onto his stomach. “I’ll hire someone. I’ll start looking tomorrow.”
Alex opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows. He smiled hugely at her, and with his hair all mussed he looked like a child. “You mean that?” Cassie nodded, and swallowed past the lump in her throat. She listened to the background noise of Connor’s breathing over the monitor. “Good,” Alex said, gathering her into his embrace. “I was beginning to feel neglected.”
His mouth came over hers hungrily, stealing her breath and her reason. “No,” she whispered, ignorant of the tears balanced at the corners of her eyes. “Never.”
Dear Cassie,
I hope you and Connor are doing okay and that you’re happy back in L.A. Pine Ridge isn’t the same without the two of you. In fact I think the only reason I was starting to like it was because it seemed different when you were here. Brighter, I guess. Not so dingy and not so faded. I’m writing because I promised to let you know when I got a new job. In another week I’m moving out to Tacoma, WA, and starting with the department there. One of these days, when I get my act together, I may actually stick around long enough somewhere to get promoted. If you’re not completely shell-shocked by L.A., like I was when I first got there, then maybe you even think about us from time to time. I miss the baby. I miss you. And, damn, if that isn’t the worst kind of hurt.
Take care, wasicuηwi´nyan.
WillAlex hung up the telephone and glanced at his watch. He had just made an appointment to meet Phil Kaplan in an hour to finalize a verbal commitment to produce the movie Alex planned to do next. He’d found the script by accident in a slush pile; it was priceless but had serious flaws that he now had an Academy Award-winning screenwriter working on. He was already daydreaming about the scenes, directing them over and over in his mind. He’d scribbled down his first choices for the primary roles, stuffed the list into his pocket to discuss with Phil.
Of course, if he had dinner with Phil, he was going to miss that therapy group for the second week in a row.
Cassie had taken Connor to the beach with Ophelia and a carload of sun-shading umbrellas; she wouldn’t have to know right away.
Alex picked up the phone to call Dr. Pooley, then put the receiver back in its cradle.
He had promised Cassie.
He could reschedule Phil.
Who, no doubt, would commit himself to somebody else by tomorrow morning.
He told himself he wouldn’t even be considering skipping the group meeting if he didn’t feel in his gut that this film could be even more successful thanThe Story of His Life. And all the elements had unfortunately happened to fall into place on a Sunday afternoon. He told himself that a year from now, when he swept the Academy Awards again, Cassie wouldn’t even remember this.
He picked up the phone again. There was another session next week, and Cassie would understand.
She always did.
THE FOLLOWING WEDNESDAY DR. POOLEY PULLED CASSIE ASIDE AFter the women’s group session. “You should consider asking Alex,” she said carefully, “if he’s really serious about getting some kind of help.”
Cassie stared at the therapist. “Of course he is,” she hedged, trying to imagine what kind of things Alex could have said at his own group session that would bring a censorious remark from Dr. Pooley. When she had asked him about it, he’d said it went fine.
“I knowyouare,” Dr. Pooley said. “But that’s not the same thing. I understand missing one session for a business commitment, but two in a row seems a little extreme. If he’s going to try to save your marriage with therapy,” she pointed out, “he ought to start by showing up.”
“He wasn’t there last Sunday,” Cassie said slowly, suddenly understanding. She turned the words over in her mind, wondering where Alex had been, why he had lied. Lifting her eyes, she smiled apologetically at Dr. Pooley. “He just closed a very important deal,” she said.
“I’m sure things will be different now.”
“Cassie,” the doctor said gently, “you don’t have to make excuses for his behavior anymore.”
