prattled incessantly, and by the time they left, Trevor had a throbbing headache and more information about Lynette than he was comfortable knowing.
Then there was Judith Long, who believed candor paved the way to love. She came right out and admitted she was alone and lonely; while her twin sister, Edith, seemed to think the way to a man’s heart was through food poisoning. She showed up at his job with two covered casseroles and a roast. He hadn’t had a bout of diarrhea that deadly since he was seven and accepted Kregg’s challenge to a worm-eating contest.
Priscilla Barnes, missing a front tooth and armed with a body odor that lingered well after she’d left the room, also made his diet a priority.
“Have you eaten?” she asked one evening, pushing her way into his foyer.
“No,” he croaked. Depressed over Brenda’s absence, he hadn’t eaten since breakfast that day. And he didn’t want to eat dinner or anything else with Priscilla, who’d flounced into the kitchen, planted a brown bag on the table, and withdrawn two TV dinners.
“I got you a Hungry-Man,” she announced in a husky alto.
Trevor stared, voiceless and numb, as she rummaged through drawers and shelves in search of tableware, running her uninvited hands over Brenda’s things. It seemed unholy and it made him angry. While he was in the process of devising a tactful way of asking her to leave, she accidentally shattered the cup Brenda had sipped coffee from each morning. A rock of pain weighting his chest, he overlooked politeness.
“You need to go,” he said.
The glower Priscilla flashed him could have sharpened all the knives in the knife block, and Trevor wondered if she was entertaining throwing the hot dinner she’d pulled from the microwave in his face.
Honestly, Trevor didn’t understand all the hoopla women made over him. He considered himself as ordinary as the next guy and as flawed. His eyes were too dark, his nose larger than average, and at certain angles, it seemed his ears stuck out.
Trevor closed his eyes, but not the subject. If he were to date, whom would he ask? And what could he offer a woman when he still craved Brenda? He pondered how Brenda might feel about him dating. They had never discussed what one would do if the other died. He’d just taken for granted, as she probably had, that they would be together forever.
chapter ten
C assidy popped straight up and grabbed at her throat in a plea for air as her speeding heart geared to drive through her chest. After so many years, she thought she’d be immune to the nightmare that commonly bruised her nights. But she was as rattled as she’d been the first night she bolted out of sleep like this, back when she was a student at Tilden.
Cassidy refused to crumple in despair. “
When my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock,”
she whispered. She shoved aside the covers and switched on the bedside lamp, erasing the darkness. Sticky with cold perspiration, an extra-large T-shirt clung to her skin. She went to the bureau and pulled out a clean shirt. This one had the name “La Salle” across the front. After walking out on a four-year scholarship to Tilden, she completed her undergrad and grad courses at the locally based La Salle University, funding tuition and books with loans, part-time jobs, and ultimately a chunk of Odessa’s life savings because Odessa wouldn’t have it any other way.
Cassidy sat on the bed and plowed her shaky fingers through her hair. The scarf she’d used to contain her hair had come off during her fitful sleep. She tied the scarf back on her head and stared at the bold red clock numbers. It was after one o’clock. Concerned she might slip back into the lair of the nightmare, Cassidy wouldn’t attempt to sleep again, not right away. Sometimes a warm drink helped her mellow, and she eased into her all-season robe and trod downstairs.
No chamomile available, Cassidy chose a peppermint tea bag and dunked it into a mug of hot,
Then there was Judith Long, who believed candor paved the way to love. She came right out and admitted she was alone and lonely; while her twin sister, Edith, seemed to think the way to a man’s heart was through food poisoning. She showed up at his job with two covered casseroles and a roast. He hadn’t had a bout of diarrhea that deadly since he was seven and accepted Kregg’s challenge to a worm-eating contest.
Priscilla Barnes, missing a front tooth and armed with a body odor that lingered well after she’d left the room, also made his diet a priority.
“Have you eaten?” she asked one evening, pushing her way into his foyer.
“No,” he croaked. Depressed over Brenda’s absence, he hadn’t eaten since breakfast that day. And he didn’t want to eat dinner or anything else with Priscilla, who’d flounced into the kitchen, planted a brown bag on the table, and withdrawn two TV dinners.
“I got you a Hungry-Man,” she announced in a husky alto.
Trevor stared, voiceless and numb, as she rummaged through drawers and shelves in search of tableware, running her uninvited hands over Brenda’s things. It seemed unholy and it made him angry. While he was in the process of devising a tactful way of asking her to leave, she accidentally shattered the cup Brenda had sipped coffee from each morning. A rock of pain weighting his chest, he overlooked politeness.
“You need to go,” he said.
The glower Priscilla flashed him could have sharpened all the knives in the knife block, and Trevor wondered if she was entertaining throwing the hot dinner she’d pulled from the microwave in his face.
Honestly, Trevor didn’t understand all the hoopla women made over him. He considered himself as ordinary as the next guy and as flawed. His eyes were too dark, his nose larger than average, and at certain angles, it seemed his ears stuck out.
Trevor closed his eyes, but not the subject. If he were to date, whom would he ask? And what could he offer a woman when he still craved Brenda? He pondered how Brenda might feel about him dating. They had never discussed what one would do if the other died. He’d just taken for granted, as she probably had, that they would be together forever.
chapter ten
C assidy popped straight up and grabbed at her throat in a plea for air as her speeding heart geared to drive through her chest. After so many years, she thought she’d be immune to the nightmare that commonly bruised her nights. But she was as rattled as she’d been the first night she bolted out of sleep like this, back when she was a student at Tilden.
Cassidy refused to crumple in despair. “
When my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock,”
she whispered. She shoved aside the covers and switched on the bedside lamp, erasing the darkness. Sticky with cold perspiration, an extra-large T-shirt clung to her skin. She went to the bureau and pulled out a clean shirt. This one had the name “La Salle” across the front. After walking out on a four-year scholarship to Tilden, she completed her undergrad and grad courses at the locally based La Salle University, funding tuition and books with loans, part-time jobs, and ultimately a chunk of Odessa’s life savings because Odessa wouldn’t have it any other way.
Cassidy sat on the bed and plowed her shaky fingers through her hair. The scarf she’d used to contain her hair had come off during her fitful sleep. She tied the scarf back on her head and stared at the bold red clock numbers. It was after one o’clock. Concerned she might slip back into the lair of the nightmare, Cassidy wouldn’t attempt to sleep again, not right away. Sometimes a warm drink helped her mellow, and she eased into her all-season robe and trod downstairs.
No chamomile available, Cassidy chose a peppermint tea bag and dunked it into a mug of hot,
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