But instead of saying anything, Cassie merely bobbed her head and followed Eric out the back door. Only when Jennifer had disappeared up to her room in search of her school bag did Rosemary speak.
“I wish you hadn’t said that,” she said quietly. “Cassie didn’t believe you, and there’s no reason why she should have.”
“I just don’t want her to feel like she’s a second-class member of this family,” Keith insisted.
“She’s not,” Rosemary agreed. She smiled wryly. “I guess I’m going to tell you what you told me. Leave her alone, Keith. Let her fit herself in. You can’t force her.”
Keith reddened slightly. “I’m not—” he began. But he knew that his wife was right. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess I just want her to feel that she’s at home here.”
“She will,” Rosemary promised. “In time she will.” But even as she spoke the words, she wondered if they were true. Remembering Cassie’s words from the previous night, she wondered if Cassie had really ever felt at home anywhere, wondered if that was the reason for the pain that seemed constantly to linger in the depths of her eyes.
“I—I’m sorry about your mom,” Eric said when they were a block away from the Winslows’ house.
Cassie said nothing for a few seconds, then smiled shyly at Eric. “Would you think I was weird if I said I’m not really sorry she’s dead?”
Eric frowned, and cocked his head. “But she was your mom, wasn’t she? I mean, you have to be sorry your mom died, don’t you?”
Cassie bit her lip. “I don’t know. I guess I am, in a way. But I … well, I just don’t really miss her. It’s kind of strange. I don’t think she ever really wanted me in the first place.” She hesitated, then went on. “I always had this neat fantasy that I had another mother—that maybe I was adopted.”
Eric was silent for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his voice was very low, as if he were afraid someone would overhear what he was saying. “I wish … sometimes I wish I’d been adopted too. At least if you’re adopted, you know someone wanted you.”
Cassie stopped walking and turned to face Eric. “That’s a funny thing to say. Don’t your folks want you?”
Eric shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I guess maybe my mom does, and my dad says he does, but I don’t believe him. He’s always putting me down, telling me I’m no good.”
“And he beats up on you, too, doesn’t he?” Cassie asked.
Eric stared at her for a long moment. “H-how did you know that?” he asked finally.
Cassie was silent for a long time. There was something she’d never told anyone before, something she’d been determined to keep secret forever. But there was something about Eric—she’d felt it that first moment she’d met him—that was different.
Finally she turned to face him, looking deep into his eyes.
He looked back at her steadily, his blue eyes clear and open, ready to accept whatever she might say.
She made up her mind.
“I knew because it happened to me too,” she whispered. “Only it wasn’t my father. It was my mother. Every time something went wrong, she used to beat me up …” Her voice quavered slightly, but she was determined to finish. “It didn’t matter if I hadn’t done anything. She did it anyway. She just … sometimes she’d just start hitting me! I hated her for it. I really hated her!”
During the rest of the walk to school, neither Cassie nor Eric said anything else.
The first thing Cassie noticed was how small Memorial High was.
At home the high school had spread out over several city blocks, with separate gym buildings for the boys and girls, and so many students that on the days when she decided to skip her afternoon classes, the odds were good that she’d never even be missed. Here there were only two buildings: a large frame structure, three stories tall, capped by a steeply pitched roof with a bell tower on top; and next to
“I wish you hadn’t said that,” she said quietly. “Cassie didn’t believe you, and there’s no reason why she should have.”
“I just don’t want her to feel like she’s a second-class member of this family,” Keith insisted.
“She’s not,” Rosemary agreed. She smiled wryly. “I guess I’m going to tell you what you told me. Leave her alone, Keith. Let her fit herself in. You can’t force her.”
Keith reddened slightly. “I’m not—” he began. But he knew that his wife was right. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess I just want her to feel that she’s at home here.”
“She will,” Rosemary promised. “In time she will.” But even as she spoke the words, she wondered if they were true. Remembering Cassie’s words from the previous night, she wondered if Cassie had really ever felt at home anywhere, wondered if that was the reason for the pain that seemed constantly to linger in the depths of her eyes.
“I—I’m sorry about your mom,” Eric said when they were a block away from the Winslows’ house.
Cassie said nothing for a few seconds, then smiled shyly at Eric. “Would you think I was weird if I said I’m not really sorry she’s dead?”
Eric frowned, and cocked his head. “But she was your mom, wasn’t she? I mean, you have to be sorry your mom died, don’t you?”
Cassie bit her lip. “I don’t know. I guess I am, in a way. But I … well, I just don’t really miss her. It’s kind of strange. I don’t think she ever really wanted me in the first place.” She hesitated, then went on. “I always had this neat fantasy that I had another mother—that maybe I was adopted.”
Eric was silent for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his voice was very low, as if he were afraid someone would overhear what he was saying. “I wish … sometimes I wish I’d been adopted too. At least if you’re adopted, you know someone wanted you.”
Cassie stopped walking and turned to face Eric. “That’s a funny thing to say. Don’t your folks want you?”
Eric shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I guess maybe my mom does, and my dad says he does, but I don’t believe him. He’s always putting me down, telling me I’m no good.”
“And he beats up on you, too, doesn’t he?” Cassie asked.
Eric stared at her for a long moment. “H-how did you know that?” he asked finally.
Cassie was silent for a long time. There was something she’d never told anyone before, something she’d been determined to keep secret forever. But there was something about Eric—she’d felt it that first moment she’d met him—that was different.
Finally she turned to face him, looking deep into his eyes.
He looked back at her steadily, his blue eyes clear and open, ready to accept whatever she might say.
She made up her mind.
“I knew because it happened to me too,” she whispered. “Only it wasn’t my father. It was my mother. Every time something went wrong, she used to beat me up …” Her voice quavered slightly, but she was determined to finish. “It didn’t matter if I hadn’t done anything. She did it anyway. She just … sometimes she’d just start hitting me! I hated her for it. I really hated her!”
During the rest of the walk to school, neither Cassie nor Eric said anything else.
The first thing Cassie noticed was how small Memorial High was.
At home the high school had spread out over several city blocks, with separate gym buildings for the boys and girls, and so many students that on the days when she decided to skip her afternoon classes, the odds were good that she’d never even be missed. Here there were only two buildings: a large frame structure, three stories tall, capped by a steeply pitched roof with a bell tower on top; and next to
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