He made a pot of coffee, put an egg on to boil for himself, poured two small glasses of orange juice and took a box of cereal from the cupboard for Cassandra. He set places for both of them at the counter separating the kitchen from the ‘breakfast nook’-another of the builder’s euphemisms-and, as he removed the egg from the boiling water, Cassandra entered and climbed up on the stool next to him.
“Good morning, Daddy,”she greeted him, holding her face up to be kissed. She was naturally affectionate and welcomed the affection of others.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” he replied as he bent to kiss her puckered lips. She had her mother’s large eyes and small mouth, but her auburn hair, dimpled chin and small, flat ears were all Tuesday trademarks.
“Did you get home very late last night, Daddy?” she asked as she poured herself a heaping bowlful of the cereal.
“Not very late. Around twelve o’clock. How late did Aunt Julie and Uncle Floyd stay?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I went to bed before they left.”
“Oh? Why was that? Weren’t you feeling well?”
“Oh, no, Daddy. I felt fine. But Mommy and Aunt Julie and Uncle Floyd were all sick”-it was her own euphemism for “drunk”-and, besides, I was tired.”
“You were certainly right to go to bed if you were tired,” he assured her. “Was Mommy mad?”
“I don’t think so. She wanted me to stay up and play with Teddy and Alice, but they don’t play nice-and, anyway, they said they didn’t want to play with me.”
The rejection of her cousins obviously did not disturb her. She was a gentle child and normally shunned the noisier and more destructive forms of amusement. He had actually meant the question in a more general sense-with himself in mind, rather than her-but decided to accept her answer and change the subject.
“Is that a new cereal you’re eating?” he asked.
“Uh huh. As soon as I save three more box tops, I can send for the secret whistle-ring” She turned the box around to show him a picture of this amazing piece of jewelry, and a cartoon strip depicting some of the exciting exploits that were possible through its possession.
“That certainly looks like a dandy. Judging by the amount you’re eating for breakfast you should be able to send for it by next week.”
She tilted her head to look up at him to see if he was teasing. When he was unable to keep from smiling at her quick response, she laughed, “Oh, Daddy! You know I can’t eat three more boxes that fast! But, anyhow, it is better than the kind I had to eat to get the ‘Wobblys’.”
He vaguely recalled that the ‘Wobblys’ had turned out to be three rather grotesque plastic figurines that constantly wobbled back and forth wherever they were placed, but never fellover. Since that was all they did, she had rapidly lost interest in them.
“I’m glad. I’m sure it must be nicer for you to be able to enjoy the cereal as well as the prize.”
When she finished, she climbed down from the stool, gathered up both of their dishes, and carried them over to the sink. Looking back at him, she asked, “Do you think I should wash them, Daddy?”
“No. Just leave them on the side. Mrs. Hardesty will take care of it”.
She gazed around the room and, past him, into the sunken living room, shaking her head. “Mrs. Hards-tea is going to have an awful lot to do today.”
Her childish concern was typical of her innate goodness and sweetness, and mystified him as always. Marie had become an unfeeling, uncaring, selfish shrew, and he believed himself to be cynical, frustrated and bitter. It was like the bible story of the good seed flowering among the thorns. And, like the story, he realized that her kind of beauty could not continue to flourish in the stifling atmosphere that was permeating their lives. In time, it would become warped and twisted by the simple, daily struggle to survive.
He took a long swallow of hot coffee to help ease the tightness he suddenly felt in his chest. “I know, Princess, but a few more dirty dishes won’t matter. You go ahead and get ready for school.”
As she left for her room to get her things, he decided, perhaps he could be of some help to Mrs. Hardesty, and went into the living room to collect the dirty plates and glasses abandoned by the previous nights occupants. He thought he recognized a couple of new cigarette burns in the carpet but could not be sure. He had managed to remove the worst of the debris to the kitchen by the time Cassandra reappeared with her briefcase. Since she was only beginning in the first grade, he doubted the necessity for the briefcase; but, he knew that she had wanted one because she had seen him carrying his. She carried hers faithfully every day, and he would not even consider embarrassing her by asking what she had in it.
Looking down at her, he asked, “Would you like me to drive you to school today?”
Usually, she took the school bus that stopped a few houses away on the corner. She was popular with the other children and enjoyed being with them, but, as he knew she would, she responded with immediate and obvious pleasure.
“Oh, Yes, Daddy! That would be nice! Maybe you will finally be able to meet my teacher, Miss Young!”
He was somewhat ashamed to admit-silently, to himself-that that was at least part of the reason he had suggested it. He briefly considered being honest about it by telling her that he had already met her teacher, but decided against it when he realized he couldn’t do so without also telling her how he had met her-which would have been much too confusing and disturbing for her young mind to absorb. She might even inadvertently blurt it out to one or more of her classmates or, even worse, to her mother. For the time being, at least, it would be better if Marie did not know he had met Elise-if she had to know at all.
He returned to his bedroom to get his suitcoat and Cassandra went into Marie’s room-after first tapping lightly on the closed door-to tell her she was leaving for school. She came out saying, “Mommy has her face covered, so I couldn’t kiss her, but I said goodbye, anyhow.”
Just as she did with him, Marie seemed to deliberately shun any show of affection or physical contact with the child. He had come to recognize and accept this barrier she had built around herself and had long since stopped trying to breach it. Unfortunately, Cassandra had not, and it pained him to see the hurt and puzzlement in her eyes whenever Marie turned away to avoid her daughter’s embrace. But, this morning she did not seem to mind because of the expectation of having him finally meet the teacher-”Miss Young”-that she had been lauding so earnestly and repeatedly-to her mother’s obvious and increasing annoyance-ever since her first day in school.
He thought about leaving a note saying he did not expect to be home for dinner (hoping that he could persuade Elise to have dinner with him again); but, then, he was not sure whether he would be or not-or, for that matter, whether she would be or not-and there was no sense in upsetting her unnecessarily. He could not understand why she did get so upset when he did not come home, because she obviously no longer derived any enjoyment from his company when he did. It was just more of the perversity that had made it increasingly difficult to go on living with her. It had to end, and soon. But he dreaded the bitterness and acrimony that would accompany it-and the effect it could have on Cassandra.
They left the house, walking hand-in-hand to his car. He held the door open for her as she got in with great dignity, fastening her seat belt. He walked around to the driver’s side, got in behind the wheel and backed out of the driveway. She waved to the other children who had started to gather at the bus stop and then began chattering about the prospects of his meeting with Miss Young. He followed the quiet, winding streets of the sub-division to the main street of the village and got in a line of cars delivering other children to school. As he drove into the parking lot, he saw Elise getting out of a Volkswagen driven by a blond-haired young woman who looked vaguely familiar. But, she drove off before he could get close enough to be sure if he knew her or not. Elise had started towards the side entrance to the school, and Cassandra began calling to her from the car.
“Miss Young! Miss Young! Wait! I want you to meet my Daddy!”
Elise heard her and stopped, turning to look in their direction. He pulled into the nearest parking space and the momentary surprise on her face was obvious as they got out and he walked towards her, pulled along by Cassandra. As they came up to her, the child introduced them, beaming happily.
“Daddy, this is my teacher, Miss Young. Didn’t I tell you she was beautiful?”
Surprisingly; while neither Jim’s similar compliment nor his own had seemed to disturb her composure; she now blushed furiously. But, she apparently guessed that he had not told Cassandra about their meeting the night before, and he felt a conspiratorial squeeze of her fingers as she grasped his hand.
“How do you do, Mr. Tuesday. I’m afraid I can’t completely discount Cassandra’s opinion, since she has also told me how handsome her daddy is.”
Her smile was merely friendly, but her eyes were bright with mischief at his own obvious embarrassment, and he was chagrined to feel the warmth of his own blush.
He returned the pressure of her fingers before releasing her hand. “She’s at least half right.
It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Young.”
Cassandra, delighted by the exchange spoke up emphatically, “I’m all right!”
They both laughed, and he bent down beside her. “You certainly are all right, sweetheart. But you had better go on in now.”
She hugged him and kissed him soundly on the cheek. “Yes, Daddy. Thank you for driving me to school.”
For more than one reason, it was easy to respond truthfully, “It was my pleasure.”
As she was swallowed up in the crowd of other children entering the school, he stood up and turned back to Elise.
“How are you this morning?”
“Fine, thank you. We farmer’s daughters have wonderful resiliency, you know.”
She was dressed in a short, pleated, burgundy colored skirt and a pink patterned, long sleeve blouse open at the throat. The sheen of her hair was like polished ebony in the morning sunlight. She was lovelier than he had remembered her.
“I didn’t know, but, obviously, you’re the living proof of it.”
“Living, at least, and glad of it,” she replied, smiling.
“No more than I. I’m glad I decided to drive Cassandra to school. I woke up thinking you might have been just a dream.” He had tried to maintain a bantering tone, but the brief widened wonder of her eyes indicated she had recognized the truth behind his words. She continued to smile, but her voice was cautious.
“In that case, I’m also glad you drove Cassandra to school, so could verify my reality.”
It was apparent that she wanted him to change the subject. “Was that Miss Vickers who dropped you off just now?” he asked in acquiescence.
“Yes. Did you recognize her?”
“She looked familiar, but I wasn’t close enough to be sure.”
“She said she knows you. She works for a Mr. Tobin.”
“Dan Tobin. Of course. He’s head of the Mid Continent claim department. I must have seen her in his office many times.”
“I told her about the accident and-how kind you were,” she explained. “She had heard about it on the ten o’clock news, but didn’t know I was involved since they didn’t mention any names.”
The crowd in the schoolyard had thinned out considerably and he realized she would have to be going in soon. Lowering his voice slightly, he told her, “I’m going over to Plainville this morning to see the sheriff about the accident. I’ll check to make sure your car will be delivered before school lets out this afternoon.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. “Although, I could probably manage to get a ride if it isn’t.”
He wanted to ask her then about the evening but saw that she was aware of the time and of the scrutiny of a couple of other, older women-obviously other teachers-who were looking their way questioningly.
He raised his voice to its normal level. “I hope Cassandra is doing well in her school-work.”
A flicker of gratitude crossed her face. “Oh, yes. Very well. She’s going to make an excellent student.” Then, holding out her hand again, she continued formally, “I’m afraid I have to go in now, but it has been nice chatting with you, Mr. Tuesday. I always enjoy meeting the parents of my pupils.”
“Thank you, Miss Young,” he responded, matching her formality. “I hope we’ll meet again, soon.”
Once more, he felt the slight pressure of her fingers before she withdrew her hand. “I’m sure we will, Mr. Tuesday.”
She turned and started toward the door, and it took all his willpower not to stand watching her as she walked away. His knees felt rubbery as he retraced his steps to where his car was parked and got in. With astonishment, he realized his hands were actually shaking as he fumbled with his keys before finding the right one and fitting it into the ignition. Starting the engine, he let it idle as he tried to assimilate and understand what seemed to be happening to him. ‘Love at first sight’ had always been a ridiculous and unacceptable concept in his view, and one that he had never had any difficulty in rejecting whenever any of his female acquaintances had exhibited any signs of believing otherwise.
But, now, remembering his initial reaction at his first sight of her in the deputy’s car, and the unbelievable need to be with her that had consumed his mind for the rest of the evening; reinforced by what he had just seen in her eyes, and felt in the pressure of her fingers-and in the pounding of his own heart as he looked at her-he could not deny, as foolish and fantastic as the possibility still seemed, that ‘love at first sight’ was the only explanation for what he was now experiencing-and, putting the car in gear, he drove away from the school feeling, simultaneously, overwhelmed, ecstatic, exasperated and hopeful.