Chapter 16

Flat Top Mountain

September, 2013

John Kevin Bridges lay in the woven willow basket that once served his mother and his grandmother as a bassinet, and he yawned. Then he laughed.

"Cassie, your son just laughed out loud for the first time," said John, lifting little Kevin out of the nest of blankets he'd managed to kick into a heap.

"It's gas," said Cassie, who was gathering the last of the marigolds for drying. She dropped the flowers into a burlap bag and hurried to where John sat in the shade of the maple tree holding Kevin in his lap.

Kevin chortled again, subsided with a great drooling grin, and energetically bicycled his legs.

"You see? He's laughing for you."

"So he is," said Cassie, entranced with her small son. She reached for him, but the baby wrinkled his nose and let out a wail.

"It's the scent of marigolds on your hands," said John, jiggling Kevin to make him stop howling. "I don't think he likes it."

Cassie sniffed her fingers. "You're right. Marigolds aren't the most fragrant flower in the world, are they? Shh, Kevin, it's all right. I'll leave you to your daddy." She backed away. "I'll be finished in a few minutes. Then I'll feed the baby." She smiled reassuringly at Kevin.

"There's the mailman," said John, flipping Kevin expertly over his shoulder. "Let's go for a stroll, son, okay? The way you're growing, you'll be big enough for piggyback rides before long." John set off toward the road where Joe Clutter was stuffing an assortment of envelopes into the box.

"Hi, Joe," greeted John. "Anything special today?"

"Nope, just the usual. Say, John, you and Cassie will be leaving soon, won't you?"

"We fly back to California next week. We'll be forwarding our mail."

"Sure thing," said Joe. He waved as he drove away.

John started toward the house where Cassie was waiting on the front porch.

"Come on, Kevin," crooned Cassie, holding out her arms. John caught the fragrance of Cassie's homemade soap on her hands. The rose scent brought back fond memories.

Cassie settled onto Gran's rocking chair and unbuttoned her blouse. Their son took Cassie's nipple eagerly, making contented noises deep in his throat. Cassie smoothed his abundant dark hair and gazed at his dear face. He looked so much like John.

"Here's an invitation from Sharon," said John, tossing aside the envelope. He scanned the card quickly. "She says her new apartment is perfect, and she wants us to come to her open house the week after we get back. She included a sticky note saying that her latest release is number twenty-one on the charts and climbing."

"Mmm," said Cassie. "How wonderful for her."

"I think Sharon's more surprised than anybody that her singing career took off after she sang 'Where the Heart Is' at the AAFA Awards Spectacular," John said. "It was brilliant of you to suggest it, Cassie."

"Merely common sense. Sharon was the only person who could pull it off." The national exposure had made Rose o' Sharon an instant sensation, and Cassie's joy at her friend's success had eclipsed her own delight at winning Best Theme Song By A Female Vocalist as well as the Songwriter Of The Year award.

"Sharon volunteers to baby-sit," continued John. His eyes resting on Cassie went soft. He could never watch Cassie nursing Kevin without feeling moved by the beauty of mother and son together, and with it the perfect harmony of their lives as husband and wife. "I'd like to take Sharon up on her offer," he said. "I want us to have some alone time."

"We will," Cassie assured him, reaching toward him with her free hand.

They sat hand in hand in the deepening dusk until their son fell asleep. John lifted Kevin from his wife's arms and carried him to the spare bedroom, which now served as a nursery.

Cassie was stepping inside from the porch when John emerged from Kevin's room.

"Hush," he said, holding a cautionary finger to his lips. "He's sound asleep." John walked quietly across the wooden plank floor, no mean feat in that old house where the hand-hewn boards creaked so readily, and drew Cassie into his arms. Their kiss bespoke more than passion and headlong pursuit. It was a sign of commitment, reflecting their deep and continuing love for each other.

Hand in hand, they walked to the brass bed. Slowly, knowing the way now, they undressed each other. There was no fumbling, no insecurity. If two could truly be one, then Cassie and John were. When he slid over her, she pressed against him, absorbing him into every pore, breathing him into every cell of her body, letting herself soar, letting herself fly, up and up and up in space until she saw the sun, and the sun was hot and it burst inside her in waves, gilding her world again. In lovemaking, Cassie was finally able to let her cares spin away. John never failed to lift her to the special place that had eluded her in the past.

As they lay together afterward, John spoke.

"Will you want to leave next week as we planned?"

"Mmm-hmm," she replied. "The garden will be harvested by then, and Bonnie Ott is looking forward to taking over the dispensing of remedies." Bonnie had proved an apt pupil, as talented with herbs as her sister was with the dulcimer. She was full of plans for creating her own herb label to sell in local stores, and Cassie had promised to finance the business. They'd start small, but as Bonnie said, they didn't have to stay that way. Eventually Bonnie wanted to market products on the internet, which Cassie considered a worthy goal. Bonnie was excited that she'd be able to pay her college expenses out of the proceeds, and her goal was to get her M.B.A.

Tigger jumped on the bed, meowing to be let out.

"And how about you, old boy? Ready to return to Malibu?" A year and a half ago, when they had first transplanted Tigger, they'd worried about his adjustment. Despite Cassie's misgivings, the cat had weathered the change from mountain to beach with aplomb.

For Cassie, the adjustment was more of a struggle. In the spirit of compromise, she'd offered to try living at Malibu for eight or nine months of every year. The beach, after all, was not the hard, bright city of Los Angeles. She found that the changeable sea satisfied her yearning for nature and nurtured the stillness of her spirit. Best of all, she and John made friends both inside and outside the entertainment community.

Cassie, her imagination fueled by the ocean and her spirit renewed by her marriage, had entered a creative period where she could scarcely write her songs fast enough. Kajurian was delighted, and Cassie quietly blossomed in this new phase of her career.

In line with Cassie's wish for it to remain uncomplicated, their life was quiet and centered on their home. Because he employed capable managers, John found it easy to spend summers on Flat Top Mountain. They planned to continue the pattern of living at Malibu during the winter months and on the mountaintop in the summer.

"If, after a while, it's not working," John had said, "we'll try something different. The important thing is that we'll always be together."

Always. A beautiful word.

"What are you thinking of, Cassie?" He asked her this often, and she never hesitated to tell him.

"About us," she said dreamily. "About how much we would have missed if we hadn't found each other."

"I found you,'" he said. "Remember? And almost lost you."

"Almost," she agreed. Her fingertips caressed the scar above his eye. "If you hadn't seen me through eyes of love—"

"Through eyes of love. How beautiful that is."

"You might have dumped me. I wouldn't have blamed you."

"Let you go? Not happening." John trailed his hand across the gentle rise of her hip and let it settle on her breast. She curved her hand over his and sighed with pleasure.

She thought she'd never find love again after losing Kevin and Rory, and now her life was happier than she'd believed possible. She closed her eyes and savored it. After the accident, many thoughtless people had tried to soothe her with insensitive comments. For instance, "God doesn't give us more than we can bear," which was nonsense. And "Don't worry, it'll turn out all right," which was impossible to believe when you'd just buried your husband and son. But in her journey back to wholeness, Cassie had formed the philosophy that things didn't necessarily turn out all right. They just turned out. It was up to us to make it all right.

That's what she had done, though few people understood her method. Making it all right was what she and John had done for each other, and admirably well.

She turned toward him. "I love you, John Howard," she said, and as always, the words were important and real and true and meant only for him.

"I love you too," John said. "Dearest Cassandra, I'll never get enough of you. Never."

"Well," she said, snuggling close, "You could try."

"Good idea," he said, and he kissed her again.

The End

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