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Cassandra
PARKING THE CAR, CASSANDRA would have made a run for the outside stairs to her residence, but seeing the lights on at her aunt and uncle’s, she detoured and knocked on their door first.
It was just after eleven, so they might be awake, or her uncle anyway. A night owl, he often stayed up to watched television while Ellie went to bed early.
Her uncle answered the door with a smile. “What the heck you doing home so early, sweet pea? You two didn’t get fired, did ya?” Once, he’d been a big, tall man whom the passing years and hard times had shrunk. His long iron-gray hair was streaked with white and his kind blue eyes were rimmed in age lines. But his caring nature and smile were always genuine.
“No, we didn’t get fired, but I didn’t feel like going home yet. I need to talk. If you put a pot of coffee on, I’ll tell you all about it.”
“I was thinking myself how nice a cup of java would be with those cinnamon rolls I made this morning. Got ’em from a can. You know, the kind you tap on the sink and it pops open? But they’re not bad. Sit down. First I’ll fetch a towel so you can dry off. You look like a drowned kitten.” He hobbled out of the kitchen. His legs must be hurting him again. “Start talking,” he said from the other room. “My hearing’s the one thing that hasn’t gone yet.”
That’s what he thought. Lots of times she’d say something and he’d mishear it. But she’d never tell him that because she didn’t want to hurt him.
As she settled into a kitchen chair, her uncle returned with the towel, tossed it at her, and stood at the sink making coffee. His hands moved slowly and his shoulders sagged. It was awful, she thought, watching him get old.
“We had a bit of trouble tonight at the bar.” She dried her face and hair. “A couple of yahoos decided to start a free-for-all and the place got a little busted up, I’m afraid.”
“Anyone get hurt?”
“Nah, don’t think so,” she fibbed. No sense in upsetting her uncle with the truth.
“You two okay?”
She didn’t tell him about wrongly thinking Johnny had gotten hurt. She didn’t tell him about the men in the crowd whose faces melted to reveal monsters underneath. Oh, no. She didn’t tell him any of that. “Sure. We left before it got too rowdy. It was only a fight.” Another lie. There’d been massive property destruction and people had gotten hurt. She’d seen the damage; heard the shocked cries of pain. Her head was spinning from the bad memories.
“Oh, my,” he clucked as the coffee began to perk. He took the rolls out of the microwave. Cassandra liked them warm. “You two had quite an exciting night. At least there were no casualties. Except for Morey’s bar. I hope you still have a job.”
Her uncle placed the rolls on the table.
“Me, too.” She’d had enough of talking about the fight, so she picked up a roll and sunk her teeth into it. “Thank you, these cinnamon buns taste so good. They hit the spot.
“So, how was your and Aunt Ellie’s day?” Cassandra hadn’t seen either of them all day. She’d been out running errands and tidying her apartment.
“Uneventful. The way I like it. Ellie helped me make breakfast, did the cleaning up by herself, and was fine company...for most of the day. Until after supper, when she threw a fit and broke a couple pieces of our best china because she thought I’d called her a name. Oh, and that I’d been cheating on her with that painted neighbor lady.” He snorted, canting his thumb in the general direction of the woman’s house. “She threw a hissy-fit tantrum over it.”
“She didn’t?”
“Yeah, she did. But the name calling and that cheating stuff is all in her mind, you know.” He tapped the side of his head with his finger, his smile sad.
“Of course it is.” Cassandra laid a hand over his. “You okay? You look tired.”
“Oh, I’m fine. And I should look tired.” A quick grin. “It’s after my bedtime.”
Uncle George was the sweetest of men, devoted to his wife, and certainly not the kind to fool around with anyone, especially the woman next door. Mrs. Valerie Tyler, a widow, was nice and all, but a clown would envy the amount of cosmetics she wore and her behavior reminded Cassandra of someone who didn’t always live in the real world.
Even Cassandra’s friend, Sarah, thought Mrs. Tyler was a little off. And for Sarah to say that was saying a lot. Sarah was the queen of off.
“I hate this illness Ellie has,” her uncle muttered, gazing around, exasperation and loneliness etched into his face. His hands around his coffee cup shook slightly. “Never know what she’s going to do next. Never know if my Ellie is with me at any time or if that other Ellie is.”