Anna stiffened. “Of course I have dreams about your father now and then, but that doesn’t mean anything. Dreams are merely a manifestation of your subconscious.”
Cassie quirked an eyebrow. “Really, Mom?”
“I only want you to come to terms with Henry’s death in a healthy way. If stuff like this makes you feel better, fine. But it might also help if you put yourself out there. Socialize. Try to connect with people.”
“Like dating?” Cassie blew out an exasperated breath and hefted the grocery bag onto her hip. “And we’ve come full circle. I’m going inside.”
Three days later, Cassie set Birdie up at the table with paper and crayons next to Bobby and her solitaire game while she talked to the internet guy Anna had sent over.
“You guys should have internet here. It’s important to stay connected, and one day soon, you’ll want to start writing again. You’ll need to connect with your old contacts at the magazine. I’ll even pay for it,” Anna had said the other night at dinner. Cassie’s protests had fallen on deaf ears, and she’d finally given in.
“When you’re ready, you plug this into your computer.” The technician held up a cable that came out of the wall near the kitchen table. “And you’re all set. With broadband internet, you don’t have to use the phone line anymore.”
“Thank you,” Cassie said, though she couldn’t have cared less about the whole process. Her mind kept sneaking away to the box in Bobby’s closet and the note Bobby had shoved into it when she was crying. Was it another note about hiding food? Or was it something different? She didn’t want to pry, but it was time to be more aggressive in figuring out what was going on with her.
She ushered the man out, then checked on Bobby and Birdie. Both had abandoned their independent pursuits, and Bobby was teaching Birdie how to play a simple version of solitaire.
Satisfied that they were well occupied, Cassie tiptoed down the hall and into Bobby’s bedroom. “I’m doing this to help her,” she said to herself, in a vain attempt to alleviate the guilt she felt at snooping.
She slid the mirrored closet door open. Pushing aside the clothes on the shelf, she dug around until her hand hit a cardboard box. She scooted it forward and flipped through the contents: the old leatherbound journal wrapped in a long, embroidered rushnyk, a bundle of old black and white photographs in an envelope, a dozen or so loose notebook pages with Ukrainian writing on them, and the old candle and candleholder she’d first seen next to the journal.
So much information, and Cassie could decipher none of it.
The doorbell rang, and Cassie hesitated, trying to weigh the need to help Bobby against invading her grandmother’s privacy. She grabbed a handful of notebook pages she assumed wouldn’t be missed and pushed the box back behind the clothes.
“I’ll get it!” Cassie folded the papers and shoved them into her jeans pocket, then ran down the hall. Safe in the living room, she let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and, hoping her face didn’t look too guilty, pulled open the front door.
“Hey, Cassie,” Nick said. Dressed in his navy fire department pants and shirt, he held a stack of plastic food containers. “I wanted to stop by and return these.”
“That’s a lot of dishes.” Cassie took them and set them on the side table.
His face reddened. “Your grandmother likes to send food home with me, and I never say no.”
“Heading into work?” Cassie nodded towards his uniform.
“Yeah, for a couple of hours so a guy can take off to see his kid’s t-ball game.” He eyed her quizzically as she stepped toward him, blocking the doorway.
“That’s nice.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and glanced over her shoulder.
“Are you going to invite him in?” Bobby called from the kitchen.
“He can’t stay!” she yelled back. She put her hand on Nick’s arm, guiding him onto the front porch, all while resisting the sudden and startling urge to squeeze his thickly muscled bicep. Focus, Cassie. “Uh, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
She pulled the door closed. His proximity made her feel quivery inside, but, to her surprise, she didn’t step back, and neither did he. She dug into her jeans pocket and pulled out the wad of papers.
“Another translation?”
“If you don’t mind?” She could smell his cologne and a trace of smoke. “Did you go to a fire?”