I gave him a look. “Now what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Sometimes, Cassie, you don’t act like it.”
Stacey set his empty cup on the table and leaned forward in his chair, an elbow on each knee. “You know how long it’s been since you’ve been home, Cassie? Not just Toledo, but really down home?”
“Oh, please, don’t get into that again.”
“Can’t help but get into it.”
“You know my work—”
“Two years.”
“I’ve been busy,” I said. I knew it was a weak defense.
“Yeah, I know,” Stacey said. “Busy living a life that has nothing to do with where you’re from.”
“Now, wait just a minute—”
“Think about it. Think about just how long it’s been since you’ve seen Mama and Papa and Big Ma. I think one of the main reasons they are coming is so they can see all of us gathered in one place. They’re not getting any younger, you know—”
“None of us are,” I retorted.
Stacey ignored my comment. “Rest of us go down couple times a year. You haven’t shown your face down there for two years.”
“Don’t get on me about that. They understand about this law business and what it takes for me to deal with it. I write them every month and send them something too.”
“Well, I’m sure they appreciate all that, but you haven’t been home. Why is that, Cassie?”
“Go ahead and tell me, you seem to think you know so much.”
“Because I figure you’re doing something you don’t want them to know about.”
I raised my hands in exasperation. “All I’ve been trying to do is make a living and do what I’m supposed to do as a lawyer. You know it’s not easy.”
“Never was supposed to be. You knew that going in.”
“Yeah, I knew, all right. But I did it, didn’t I? I got my degree. I passed the bar. Now I’m just trying to live my life.”
“Without us?”
I sighed, shook my head, got up, and went over to the window. I pushed back the curtain and stared at the snow-covered street below. Boston was not yet awake. No one was on the street.
“You need to come home,” Stacey said again.
I rubbed my forehead and tried to calm myself. The lawyer in me did not want to say the wrong words, even to my brother. I turned back to him. “I’ll need to think on it, call Lawyer Tate, see what he thinks about the situation Moe’s in.”
Stacey didn’t say anything.
I decided not to discuss it any further right now. “You must be tired, what with that long drive. I can make up the sofa.”
Stacey nodded wearily. “All right.”
“You want something to eat first? I can fix something.”
“No. Just sleep. Come Sunday morning early, I need to head back to Toledo.”
“You’ve got to leave that soon?”
“You know how it is, Cassie. Got to be at work come Monday morning. You’ll have all day Saturday to make up your mind about whether you’re going back with me or not. Just remember, Moe’s life is on the line.”
I stared at Stacey and he stared back. I looked away first and headed for the closet. “I’ll get your bedding,” I said. “Bathroom’s down the hall.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Stacey slept until midmorning. When he woke I cooked breakfast and we sat down to eat together. As we ate, Stacey looked around the room. “I like your place, Cassie,” he said. I smiled, pleased to have his approval. I loved this room. It was large and open with the kitchen at one end and the living area at the other. There was no fireplace, but that didn’t matter. It was an older building with thick walls and high-quality wood, and the living room/kitchen had ceiling-to-floor windows that lined most of its eastern wall. The bedroom, down a short hallway off the living area, was small and so was the bathroom, but it was the expansive space of the great room that had immediately attracted me to the apartment. A sofa, draped with one of Big Ma’s handmade quilts, a comfortable chair, a coffee table, and a desk, all bought secondhand, were in the living area. A round dining table made of pine with four matching chairs, and a smaller oblong kitchen table without chairs, which sat directly in front of the kitchen counter, were at the other end of the room.
I had painted the far end of the living area wall a brilliant orange and hung drums and spears and African paintings. The other walls I had left the original Navajo white, but above the kitchen cabinets I had hung an assortment of brightly colored African baskets. The wall opposite the windows was divided by the entry door to the apartment. On the living room side of the door hung Native American rugs, which I had bought with Flynn, as well as other items I had collected while in the West. On the kitchen side of the wall were family photographs. At the center was an enlarged photograph of Grandpa Paul-Edward and Big Ma standing with all their sons in front of our house in 1901, shortly after it was built. Surrounding it were photographs of Mama and Papa, of Dee and the girls, of the family on Dorr Street, and of the boys and me taken before Clayton Chester and Christopher-John went overseas. The only photograph that wasn’t there was one of Flynn. I kept his image forever engraved in my mind and my heart. Each morning as I sat at the table drinking my coffee with sunlight flooding the wall or when a winter’s day darkened the room, I always felt warmth from that wall of family photographs. It kept the family with me, and I was glad I could share it with Stacey.
We stayed at the table talking for more than two hours. We had much catching up to do. Stacey did not press me on going back with him. Both of us had decided to give that decision a rest until later. Earlier I had called Lawyer Tate but was unable to reach him. After breakfast, Stacey said he was going to gas up the car and also have a mechanic look under the hood. He had heard a pinging noise on his way here. He also said he wanted to walk around a bit before dark and get a better look at Boston. He had been here only once before and that was for my graduation. He asked me to come along, but I declined. I had legal papers to study and I wanted to call Lawyer Tate again. When Stacey was gone I sat at my desk to study cases, though I could hardly keep my mind on them. Shortly after Stacey left, there was a knock on the apartment door and I figured it was Stacey coming back for something.
But it wasn’t Stacey. It was Guy.
“Hey, beautiful,” Guy said, and handed me a bouquet of mixed flowers accented with baby’s breath. He bent his head toward mine and kissed me lightly on the lips and pushed past me into the room. He was carrying a large bag of groceries with a couple of French baguettes poking out the top.