A Summer in Sonoma

“Not till after them,” he said. “Look, I can make ‘em fly.” He maneuvered some keys, clicking away, and sure enough the small airships moved between tall buildings.

“Can I try that?” Cassie asked.

He showed her how and they entertained themselves for about twenty minutes before Julie reappeared. Now she was water splashed and even more wilted. Billy was at his second job. He was a paramedic for the fire department and, on off days, worked in a builder’s shop cutting wood for cabinets and everything from marble to granite for countertops. Firefighters worked twenty-four-hour shifts, during which they didn’t get much sleep. He’d get home at eight in the morning, grab a nap, go to the shop for a few hours, then go back to the fire department for another twenty-four the next morning. After three twenty-four-hour shifts in six days, Billy would get four days off in a row from F.D. and those were the best days—he only worked one job, at the shop. The best thing about his second job was he could make his own hours, as long as he got the work done. And he put in a lot of hours; money was real tight. Usually Julie would be coming to the end of her rope after days of managing on her own, as she clearly was at the moment.

Julie pulled the small computer out of Jeff’s hands. “Can you get your bath before you do any more virtual building or flying?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Can you pick up your dirty clothes and throw them in the hamper?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Then they disappeared, leaving Cassie alone.

When Cassie and Julie spotted each other the first day of seventh grade, it was an instant bond. Tall, thin, blond Julie and short, round, dark-haired Cassie—they were an odd-looking pair. A couple of years later Cassie’s stepdad was transferred from California to Des Moines and Cassie couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her friends, her school. Plus, Cassie’s mom had married Frank when Cassie was eight and they’d proceeded to have two babies and had a third on the way. Cassie couldn’t put it into words at the time, but she didn’t really feel like a part of their family. It had gone from Cassie and Francine alone to Frank and Francine and the kids, and Cassie as babysitter and guest.

Some begging and negotiating evolved into Cassie moving into Julie’s house, right into her crowded little bedroom, sharing a regular-size double bed. Their parents didn’t think it would last long; they assumed they’d start to fight like sisters or Cassie would miss her mom and the little half sibs too much and want to move back. Neither happened; Cassie and Julie were best friends and roommates all through high school.

Cassie got her first job at fifteen, paying her way so she wouldn’t have to rely on help from her mom and stepdad or put a strain on Julie’s folks when she needed essentials like underwear or school supplies. She supported herself but for room and board. At graduation Julie’s mom handed her a check; she’d saved every penny of support Cassie’s stepdad had sent, from the piddling fifty dollars to the rare two or three hundred. “If you decide to use this for college, you can stay here rent free as long as you’re in school. If you do something else with this, we’ll work out a reasonable rent for you.”

It was an unexpected opportunity for Cassie; her mom and stepdad didn’t have a cent to spare. Birthday and Christmas presents had always come in the form of plane tickets to visit the family. So she went to college, studied nursing and got her R.N. degree, working while she went to school to support herself.

Julie went to college, too, but didn’t make it through a whole year. She got pregnant, dropped out and married Billy, the love of her life. When Jules and Billy got their first little apartment, Cassie stayed on at Julie’s parents’ house, finished college and landed her first job in emergency room nursing.

And then Cassie’s mother died. That left Frank with three kids to support on his own. The plane tickets stopped coming; they were replaced with gift cards from Starbucks or Borders.

When Cassie was twenty-five, she managed to buy her little house, not coincidentally real close to Julie and Billy’s. And she got Steve, her Weimaraner.

She briefly considered going back to the house to pick up Steve and ask Jules if she could sleep on the couch tonight, but quickly decided she’d brave going home, after a glass of wine and a little decompression time. She’d never leave Steve alone all night—he was such a baby. Right now she wished she’d taught him to bark and snarl menacingly, just in case she ever needed him to be protective. But he was so sweet just the way he was.

It was a long time before Julie finished with the kids, getting everyone settled, though it was obvious she’d hurried through bedtime rituals. Instead of picking up the house, she passed Cassie and went immediately to the kitchen, pouring herself an apple juice in a wineglass. She brought the bottle of chardonnay to Cassie, offering to top off her glass. Then she plopped herself on the other end of the couch, with her legs tucked under her, facing Cassie.

“Tell me what happened,” Julie said. “You’re actually a little pale.”

“You won’t believe it. I don’t believe it. He attacked me—right in the car, right in the parking lot of the bar where I met him for our date.” Julie gasped and covered her open mouth with a hand. “It was bizarre. Otherworldly. It took me by such surprise, for a minute I couldn’t even move, couldn’t even push or yell.” She went through the details, right up to the breaking of the window and the cup of coffee with Walt, her friendly neighborhood thug.

“He climbed over the console?” Julie asked.

“Yeah. That threw me, but I realized later, there was an awful lot of room in that front seat. He had both bucket seats back as far as they’d go. And where he parked—real far away from most of the cars—he must have done that deliberately before we met for the evening.” She shook her head with a short, unamused laugh. “I remember thinking he was worried about dents and scratches. But no—he planned it. He was prepared to take matters into his own hands if I insisted on going to the concert.”

“God! You must have been terrified! How did that biker guy know you were in trouble?”

“He said he heard me, that the car was rocking. I was fighting so hard, it made the car wobble.” She showed Julie her knuckles. “I don’t know if I got this from banging on the window or punching him in the face.”

“Holy shit, Cassie. You think about calling the police?”

“I thought about it, yeah. Thing is, I’ve run rape kits on victims for detectives, and even when they’re banged up, torn apart and hysterical, the police can hardly make a case. What am I going to say? A guy I accepted a date with—who I let kiss me in the parking lot and again in the car—held me down while he kissed me? He never hit me, never got to my clothes, never unbuttoned his pants…The fact that we both knew what he was going to do will be completely irrelevant.”

“But you’ve got that guy—”

“Yeah, Walt. He called it assault. It was an assault, but it only got as far as an attempt.” She shrugged. “Although it still scared me half to death.”

They heard the sound of the garage door opening and Julie threw an unmistakable look of disgust over her shoulder toward the door. Billy came in, wearing his jeans and T-shirt covered with sawdust, putting his tool belt on the washer in the laundry room, which connected the garage to the kitchen. He looked pretty wiped.

“You’re early,” Julie said.

“I finished up. I could’ve found a little more to do, but I thought maybe you could use some help.”

She laughed. “And what the hell kind of help were you going to give me after the kids are already in bed?”

“Jesus, I don’t know, Jules—want me to paint the house or sand the floors?”

Cassie put her fingers against her temples and rubbed. “God. Do you two have to do this right now?”

“You’re a witness, Cass. You can see all I did was walk in the goddamn door!”

“After nine at night, to help!” Julie said.

“Okay, I’m going home to Steve,” Cassie said, starting to get up.

“No,” Julie said, grabbing her hand. “No, you’re absolutely right. We’ll stop. Besides, you need to tell Billy what happened.”

“Why?” she said wearily, sinking into her place on the couch.

“Because the guy said he was a paramedic, Cassie,” Julie said.

“Who said he was a paramedic?” Billy asked. He pulled a beer out of the refrigerator and brought it into the family room. He sat down on the coffee table and faced Cassie. “Something wrong?”

Cassie went through the story again. Billy leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, holding his beer with both hands, and several times he just looked at the floor. He ignored his beer till the end of the story. Then he took a long drink out of the can.

“The only thing I’d really like to know,” Cassie added, “and there’s no way to find out, not even by going to the police, is if he’s attacked other women. I don’t know if I drew the wild card or if he’s a chronically dangerous guy.”

“Maybe you can’t find that out, but we can check if he’s a paramedic,” Billy said, getting to his feet. “If he’s even with the fire department. I’ll tell you what, if he’s a firefighter and he’s doing this to women, he’s going to be sorry.”

“I have a feeling if you make him sorry, I could pay the price.”

“But, Cass, I gotta know. We have some bad apples sometimes, but I never heard anything like that before.”

“It’s not like you introduced us,” she said. “It has nothing to do with you.”

“I feel like it has everything to do with me. I don’t love everyone in the department, but it kills me to think one of our boys would do something like that to a woman. Kills me. I’m going to find out right away.”

Billy insisted on following Cassie home—the whole two miles—and coming inside with her to be sure everything was secure. While Billy busied himself doing the man thing of checking windows, locks, et cetera, Cassie was on her knees loving on Steve, kissing and being kissed. It’s not as though she’d been gone long; she’d had the day off and had only left him a few hours ago for a date that should have worked out, should’ve been late and fun. It was just after ten-thirty and Steve had been fine, curled up on the couch on his special blanket with several of his babies—small stuffed toys that he carried around with him like a cat carries kittens.

When Billy was getting ready to leave he asked, “How are you feeling, Cass?”

“A little edgy, but mostly disappointed. Very disappointed.”

“Are you scared?”

“I admit, I’m a little shook up, but the whole incident was over in five minutes or less. And I have good locks, a phone with a backup cell phone and we know Steve’s a killer. Really, I’m so disappointed with the way things turn out most of the time. You and Jules—I know you’ve been fighting lately, but you just don’t know how rotten it is to be looking, waiting, hoping to find the right person…”

“Lotta people love you, Cassie.”

She smiled. “Thanks,” she said. Not exactly the kind of love she was hoping for, but nice.

He shook his head and looked away. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on with Jules,” he said. “I can’t do anything right. I have no idea what’s eating her.”

Cassie had some ideas. Three kids, tight budget, hard work, absent husband. But it wasn’t her place to get into their squabbles. They’d work them out, as always. “Maybe you should ask her” was all she said.

“You think I don’t ask? I shoulda just gone to the frickin’ bar tonight, had my one beer of the day there. Never mind—I don’t mean to unload on you tonight. Listen, I’m home if you need me. If you have any problems, call me. I can get here in two minutes.”

“How much sleep have you had?” she asked.

“I got in eight,” he said.

“Eight hours after twenty-four on the job? If I have any trouble, I’ll call the police,” she said.

“Fine, do that. Then your next call is to me.” And then he grabbed her shoulders gently and put a brotherly kiss on her forehead. Steve looked up at him, wagged his cropped tail wildly and whined. “I am not kissing you!” Billy said to the dog.

“Aw. He needs a kiss,” Cassie said. “He knows his mommy’s upset about something and he needs a little reassurance. It wouldn’t kill you.”

“No. I don’t kiss dogs or boys or boy dogs. You try to trick me into this all the time.”

“Steve doesn’t ask for much,” Cassie said. “He has no male role model except you. He adores you, can’t you see that? How can you be so ridiculous about it? Just a little peck on the head—that’s all it will take to make him happy. I mean, come on, it’s Steve! He’s like a son to you! Or at least a nephew!”

Billy, hands in his pockets, bent at the waist and kissed the gray top of Steve’s bony head. And Steve, contented, sat for him and put up a paw to shake.

“You kiss boy dogs,” Cassie said with a laugh.

“Jerk. Lock me out. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”

And he was gone. Cassie looked at Steve and said, “Good job. Humble him every chance you get.”

Cassie changed into summer sweats and searched for something on TV. Steve curled up beside her to watch an old movie. He had the bunny, the frog and the octopus curled up with him. The movie wasn’t sad—it was a comedy—but within fifteen minutes, tears began to run down her cheeks.

She had a job she loved, great friends who’d been close for many years, two families—Julie’s and Frank and three half sibs. She was independent, completely self-supporting…and lonely. So very lonely at times.

At the end of the day, it was always like this—Cassie and Steve on the couch, just the two of them. She’d had very few relationships over the years, all of them excruciatingly short and, in retrospect, none of which held any potential for permanence. Some had ended by mutual consent, but the majority had seen her dumped, her heart shattered, her expectations destroyed. She didn’t like to think of herself as one of those pathetic single women who was always looking for a man, but there was no way around it. Every time she met a new guy, she got hopeful. Her thoughts always went to the same place—please, let him turn out to be the one, a good guy who wants to have a wife and children, who loves me and treats me like I’m the best thing that ever happened to him. But she hadn’t even come close. She’d never even lived with anyone.

Tonight had been worse than heartache—it had been terrifying. She kept going over it in her mind, wondering if she should’ve known. He’d been a little on the eager side, but that had been kind of fun when it had seemed innocent. There was no way she could’ve known he’d turn out to be what he turned out to be. There was a chance that without the rescue he might’ve backed off when she proved too much trouble, but in her gut she felt there was an equal chance he could’ve turned into a rapist.

Is this what it’s come to? she asked herself. Is it not enough to be let down, disappointed, that I have to be scared to death and real damn close to being a victim? Is that what looking for the right man gets you? It’s utter madness—and it has to stop. I have to quit looking for the right guy. I just can’t take it anymore. The heartbreak is just too much.

Single women of twenty-nine never admit to anyone, not even their priests, that what they fear most is being alone forever, dying alone someday. Since she was about twenty-five, her greatest fear was that she’d never find a partner. Cassie wasn’t independent by conscious choice, it was by default—she had no real family. She knew women her age who’d had a couple or even a few false starts before they found the one, the forever guy, but Cassie’s longest relationship had lasted maybe four months. Four terrible months. She didn’t know anyone like herself—with no living parents, no close relationships with siblings, no one. All she wanted was someone permanent who loved her, wanted children with her, a family man. She even wanted the bickering that went with all the regular adjustments—bickering that ended with making up and great sex. She hated it when someone said, “But you’re still so young. There’s plenty of time!” Plenty? She would be thirty in six months and she had yet to meet someone who lasted six months with her. Or, “He’ll show up when you least expect it…” And then they’d tell a story of meeting their own lifetime mate, but they were never more than thirty with a bad track record. If there was anything harder than facing the terrifying truth, it was having that fear not taken seriously. “You’re beautiful and smart—you’ll find the right guy.” Well, it wasn’t happening.

Her mind was jumbled with numbers. If I’m thirty when I meet him, give it a year to see if we’re in sync, a year-long engagement, and then if I don’t get pregnant easily, am I thirty-five before that first baby’s coming? And always: What if he doesn’t come along until I’m thirty-five? What if he never shows up? Really—never! I can get together with girlfriends and say, yeah, it would be great to find the right man, but, hey! If I don’t, I have a lot more fun than you girls. After all, I’ve had sex with a couple dozen men…

“Steve,” she said in a tearful whisper. “I’ve had sex with a couple dozen men.” She rubbed his floppy ears. “Do you still respect me?”

She had sex the first time at seventeen. She had been soooo in love. She’d had sex the last time five months ago. In thirteen years of sexual activity, it didn’t take long to get to a couple dozen, or the vicinity; she couldn’t actually count them without writing them down, an act that repelled her. Even so, she didn’t feel promiscuous. She felt, frankly, completely lost.

Steve turned his beautiful black eyes up to her and made a sound. Then he licked her arm. He would never leave her.

But he would, she reminded herself, and Steve was her only real family. Big dogs didn’t last long. The life span of a Weimaraner was twelve to fourteen years and Steve was five. What would she do without anyone special, without her mom, with a life so solitary? She had her girlfriends—Julie, Marty and Beth—but everyone else had parents, brothers, sisters, spouses.

The tears came harder. She missed her mom so much sometimes; they had been best friends. Even though she hadn’t gone to live with her when she’d moved away, they’d still talked all the time—two or three times a week for an hour at a time. And she’d been with her mom for the months preceding her death, caring for her, loving her into the next world.

Since she’d been just a kid, she’d been on her own. And all she’d ever wanted was to have that kind of connection happily married women had—the loving commitment her mom had had too briefly with Frank, that Jules had with Billy, Marty had with Joe. A good, strong, solid guy to lean on who’d share the responsibility and joy. Was that so much to hope for? Why was that asking so damn much? Didn’t everyone have a soul mate somewhere?

There were times she thought life just wasn’t worth living without some kind of deep love and intimacy. The thought of growing into an old woman without ever having that kind of reliable connection was unimaginable. Another ten years of looking for the right partner, being let down again and again, was simply more than she could bear to think about.

Chapter Two

Even though Julie and Cassie were best friends, they belonged to a foursome of girlfriends who’d hung tight since junior high. Marty and Beth were their two other close girlfriends. They’d all been cheerleaders together in school and had been tight ever since. Beth was the only one who wasn’t socially available that often; she was a brand-new doctor and her schedule was horrible.

The rest of them had remained relative neighbors since high school graduation, getting together regularly. They also had larger gatherings including still more friends from the past. The tradition started when Julie and Billy, as newlyweds, threw a small party, and it grew from there. Some years after high school Billy introduced Marty to one of his firefighter pals and they ended up getting married. Now the friends’ parties—potlucks held four or five times a year—included some firemen and their wives or girlfriends, plus whatever old high school chums were around.

The Fourth of July party this year was at Marty and Joe’s house, in their rec room. It was a big room, complete with bar, pool table, a pinball machine, state-of-the-art stereo equipment, plenty of seating and standing room. They lived in a mansion by Julie’s standards, and she looked around the rec room jealously. They had lots of toys—quads, a boat, Jet Skis, an RV. Joe made a little more money than Billy, since he was a few years senior at F.D., but their lifestyle was probably even more affordable because they hadn’t married right out of high school, had only one child and Marty worked full-time. True, she was a hairdresser—not a high-ticket career field—but she had a full roster of regular clients and Julie certainly couldn’t afford her cuts and colors.

Julie had managed a part-time job after Jeffy was born, while Billy worked and finished college before getting a job with the fire department. They went through years of tough schedules, school loans and scrimping by. With Billy barely on the F.D. payroll, which was modest to start, they had a lot of debt to clear. But then Clint came along and, a year later, Stephie. It ate up the toy money pretty quick. Hell, it ate up the food money.

Joe was an established firefighter who had his own house when he met Marty. They didn’t get married right away; by the time they did, they were able to sell Joe’s house and buy a bigger one. Their little boy was now three and while Joe complained he wanted more kids, Marty said that was it for her. It seemed to Julie that when other people didn’t plan on kids, they didn’t have them. Julie and Billy didn’t plan on them and had them, anyway.

It felt as though everyone had come a long way in twelve years, except Julie and Billy—voted couple of the year in high school. They had a decent little home they couldn’t afford, drove somewhat reliable cars with tons of miles on them, had a house full of kids, big bills and no extras. No grown-up toys, no vacations. Also, no nice dinners out, weekend escapes for just the two of them, and they avoided hiring sitters—sitters were very expensive. If Julie’s mom or Cassie couldn’t watch the kids, they just didn’t go out. Julie cut out coupons constantly, haunted the sales and even thrift shops, paid the minimum balance, put a sheet over the couch to keep the worn fabric from showing. When she was crowned homecoming queen, this was not how she envisioned her life. She’d had her fifteen minutes of fame when she was seventeen.

Tonight, to add to her overwhelming feeling that she was in a steady decline, another one of the old cheerleaders had shown up—Chelsea. She made an appearance every year or two, just to establish she’d hung on to her tight body, perky tits and effervescent smile. In fact, quite a few of her physical traits had greatly improved since high school. Julie suspected Chelsea’s breasts were even perkier—high, full, prominent and aimed right at the eyeballs of men. Chelsea had been cute as a button before, and she was better put together every year, while Julie felt she was sliding too fast into old age. But, if you’d asked her at seventeen which way she’d like to go—blossoming in her late twenties or having it all at seventeen—Julie would still have taken seventeen. Stupidly.

So she watched Chelsea from across the rec room, doing what she did best—flirting with Billy. It was amazing how long your nemesis could follow you without ever losing interest in your man. Julie had threatened Billy with unspeakably painful things if he ever touched Chelsea, if he even accidentally brushed up against her. Thus, Billy’s arms were crossed protectively over his wide, hard chest, laughing at absolutely everything Chelsea said. Now and then she’d put a hand on his forearm and gaze up at him, chatting away, making him grin like a fool.