A Southern Reunion

She nodded to the shocked woman standing at the door. “I’m Cassandra Brennan, Marcus Brennan’s daughter.”

The hefty red-haired woman stepped forward, apparently undaunted by Cassie’s cold demeanor. “I’m Sharon Clark. Your daddy mentions you all the time.”

Cassie’s manners kicked in to cover her discomfort and pain. She shook the woman’s hand. “It’s good to meet you. Can I go over his medication schedule with you before I go upstairs?”

“Of course,” the woman replied, clearly confused. “I’ll get his chart.”

Cassie nodded and followed the woman into the kitchen.

Cal shook his head at Teresa’s warning look then went out the back door, slamming it behind him.

Now he could put her out of her mind, the way he’d done so many times before. But he’d never be able to forget the indignant expression on her face when she’d accused him.

The woman would never trust him again. And he needed her trust now more than ever.

CASSIE WOKE WITH A START, shadows of dusk washing her bedroom in a golden-hued sheen.

Then she remembered how she and Cal had eaten an early dinner before she’d gone back in with her father. The night nurse had come in and they’d discussed his medications. Marcus had finally settled down for the night, so she’d come upstairs to rest and she’d fallen asleep. It was only eight o’clock.

She’d been dreaming about the day her mother died. She’d had this dream many times over the last few years. Two therapists and lots of long discussions hadn’t kept the dream away. Always inside the dream she was running from something she didn’t want to face.

Well, she didn’t want to face her father’s death and she didn’t want to face Cal ever again. He’d become a coconspirator with her powerful father and she wasn’t sure she could forgive and forget on that front. Just being back here a day had set her back years in emotional security. No wonder she was having nightmares.

She sat up, staring at the digital clock. Out of habit, she got up and went to the ceiling-to-floor window and stared out into the coming night. Not surprised to find a light on in Cal’s house, she thought back over their conversation earlier today. She knew Cal. Or she had once known Cal. The old Cal had probably been honest with her up until that horrible time when her world had fallen apart. He’d told her about his life before he’d come to Camellia, endearing Cassie to him even more. But his betrayal with Marsha had cut too deeply for her to think about that or to trust him now. Cassie had never understood why he’d turned to Marsha right after her mother’s death. She’d needed him then, but she didn’t need him now. Just knowing the other woman had been hanging around made her sick to her stomach.

Back then, she’d never given him a chance to explain. Now she needed explanations and suddenly, he’d become even more noncommunicative.

“I still know you, Cal,” she whispered now. “I know your heart. You always were a decent person.” Feeling mortified about the way she’d treated him, Cassie decided she couldn’t put all the blame on Cal. He’d at least stepped in to help her father when she wasn’t around.

Cal wasn’t one to lie and keep secrets even if she had accused him of those things, but his refusal to tell her everything right up front grated at her raw nerve endings like barbed wire. He’d betrayed her with Marsha all those years ago, but she’d never once asked him why. She’d been too hurt, too confused, to bother asking. So she’d just left.

But now, she’d come back and demanded answers to questions she’d long ago tried not to ask. No wonder Cal didn’t want to be honest with her. She hadn’t exactly been a model daughter. And she certainly hadn’t tried to fight for Cal’s love.

Maybe she still didn’t want to know the answers to those questions. But it did make her think about her part in all of this. Cal had never had a real home but he felt at home here. She couldn’t deny him that. And somehow, in spite of his horrible upbringing, he’d turned out to be a decent, hardworking man. Maybe he was trying to help and nothing more.

But what about her? Now that the dreams were coming back, she had to wonder if she’d held some deep dark secret locked away in her heart. Did she know something, something so horrible she’d buried it beneath her guilt and her pain?

“Impossible,” she whispered to the night. Grabbing her robe, she decided to head down to the kitchen to make a cup of chamomile tea. It was the only way she’d ever get back to sleep. She’d check on her father and see if the nurse needed a break.

She hurried past the two upstairs guest rooms at the center of the big square-framed house, then moved past the master bedroom—the room her parents had always shared. It was an enormous suite located on the opposite side of the house from her room. It took up that whole side of the house and mirrored her room since it also included a setting room, a dressing room and large closet and a bathroom.

Cassie smiled, remembering how she used to sit at her mother’s vanity and powder her face with Eugenia’s scented makeup puff. Eugenia would allow Cassie to put on a spot of lipstick, very sheer and pink, then go into her closet and pull out pumps and pearls and a pretty floral scarf. Cassie so wanted to be like her beautiful mother. She wanted to dress in the billowy, flaring dresses her mother adored or wear cute capris and cashmere sweaters with black flats. She wanted to wear her hair curled into a fashionable bob like Eugenia’s. Her mother had always dressed like a 1960s movie star, regardless of the fads or fashions. She’d been so young when she died—not quite forty years old. Marcus Brennan had married a woman fifteen years younger than him. A beautiful Southern belle who captured his heart and ruled over his domain with polite dignity. Cassie had tried all of her life to live up to her mother’s image.

“But I’m not you, am I, Mother?” Cassie asked the face staring back at her from the formal portrait of Eugenia, dressed in creamy silk and satin, that hung on the staircase wall. “I’ll never be you.”

Cassie’s designs reflected her mother’s grace and classic sense of style but she wasn’t sure she could ever capture the true essence of Eugenia Brennan. No one ever had.

Was that why her parents fought so much and yet loved each other so deeply? They’d both always held something back, something that no other human could discover or figure. But in the end, they’d always held fast to each other. Maybe in their most intimate moments, they’d all let their guards down.

Their saving grace.

Perhaps she should try that. Even with Cal all that time ago, Cassie had held back. She’d loved him but she’d never been completely sure of him. When they’d first met, he’d accused her of being a spoiled snob. And he’d been right in some ways.

But so wrong in others.

Her parents had loved each other in a way Cassie always envied. Until that horrible day so long ago.

She shivered then hurried past her mother’s brilliant blue eyes staring down at her, the light from a hall lamp illuminating the huge portrait like a shrine. Making her way to the stove, she switched on the muted overhead light, hoping not to disturb Teresa. She’d make her cup of tea, check on her father and go back upstairs to play with the designs she’d tried to sketch that afternoon. At least she might be able to get some serious work done. Maybe she’d take a look at the website and see how the current spring line was doing. With Easter just a couple of weeks ago, Cassie’s Closet should have a good retail month and a solid first quarter earnings. Not that she was a millionaire by any means, but she was making an honest living.

She’d need to keep doing that if she intended to help Cal and her father salvage this house and this land. But that would mean putting her plans on hold. No second boutique in Buckhead or Roswell and certainly no long-term plans to open one in New York, either. She’d have to put a tight rein on everything. And pray her anchor store held on and continued to thrive.

She grabbed the teakettle off the stove just as it started gurgling then poured the hot water over the tea bag in her cup. She’d always hated a whistling teakettle and she didn’t want to disturb anyone else. Settling onto a stool near the long counter, Cassie let the memories pour through her with each sip of the soothing tea.