On Home Page 11

  “I stayed because I found a home here, Cass,” she said. Cassidy cringed at the shortening of her name. That was for other people to call her. From her mom it was trying too hard. “I made friends and I made our home into a place where I wanted to live.”

  Cassidy pictured her mom in her garden with her Beatles shirt on and a batiked bandanna around her head. She pictured holiday potlucks with the other hippie families in town. She pictured weekend breakfasts, a stack of whole wheat pancakes, Mom pouring maple syrup from the sticky top of a Mason jar.

  Paloma lowered her ear toward her shoulder in a pleading tilt of her head.

  Something in this tilt softened Cassidy for a moment, and then enraged her. Breathing slow, heavy breaths that lifted her chest up and down, she tried to control this anger, tried to separate it from her grief. It was impossible. Her feelings felt magnified, distorted, twisted into shapes that were larger than life.

  “How can you do this? To me? Now?” she asked, trying to control the volume of her voice. She wanted to mimic her mom’s tone—the measured, sharp one.

  Paloma picked up a spoon from the table and wrapped the string of her tea bag around it, squeezing the bag and letting the excess tea drip into her cup. She set the spoon and spent tea bag on the table, and the drops that fell enraged Cassidy further. How dare she let tea stain the table Ken had made for them with his own hands?

  “Cassidy, I know it’s soon—”

  “Don’t keep saying my name like that. Cassidy! Cassidy!” she mocked, losing control. “My father died this week. And you want me to be happy for you because you can finally be free of him.” She stood, scraping the chair’s legs on the wooden floor.

  “Cassidy, I’m not expecting you to understand.”

  “Understand what? That you’re selfish? That you couldn’t have even waited a week to tell me this?”

  “Cassidy,” Paloma begged, tears in the corners of her green eyes.

  “Stop saying my name!” Cassidy shrieked, bringing her hands, fingers flexed and spread wide, to the sides of her face.

  “I’m sorry,” Paloma said. “But I need you to at least hear me out.”

  “Hear that you’re a selfish cunt?” Cassidy yelled. It was too much, too far, she realized as soon as the words flew from her mouth.

  “Shut. Up.” Paloma’s volume was low, each word its own sentence. The words burned and cut through Cassidy. Never in her life had her mom said anything like it. The shock of it silenced her and she sat down shakily, her eyes stinging with tears.

  Cassidy knew that what Paloma had not said was even worse. She was disappointed in Cassidy. She was hurt.

  Just then, Noeli stumbled groggily down the stairs and Cassidy and Paloma both attempted to compose themselves. Paloma brought her tea to the kitchen and stood by the sink, holding the mug close to her lips without drinking. Cassidy turned to her friend. Noeli read the room instantly and widened her eyes.

  “Do you want to get breakfast in town?” Cassidy asked in a tone that was more I need to see you in the principal’s office than Care for a leisurely brunch?

  “Yes. Definitely. Sounds great.”

  “Great.” Cassidy brought her mug to the kitchen and placed it, still full, in the sink without looking at her mom.

  “Are we going like this?” Noeli asked, nodding toward Cassidy’s yoga pants and baggy sweatshirt and her own red-and-black flannel.

  “Yep,” Cassidy said, slipping her shoes onto her bare feet and taking her dad’s jacket down from the hook. Noeli followed obediently as Cassidy put the jacket on and headed out the door.

  Cassidy pulled the jacket close around her and smelled a familiar must. The scent was comforting at first, and then horrifying as she realized, with a jolt in her chest, that he hadn’t left all the way yet. She thought of what the Eagles fan at the bar had said—that her dad would always be with her, but she knew he was wrong. He wasn’t all the way gone yet, but he would be.

  They’d barely gotten to Route 20 when Cassidy exploded.

  “My mom is moving in with her weird hippie girlfriends and giving me the farm. What the fuck?”

  “Wait, she’s giving you the farm? Like to have?”

  “I think you’re missing the point,” Cassidy tried again. “My mom just told me she’s leaving the house my dad built for us while I’m here visiting for my dad’s funeral.”

  “I can see why that’s upsetting, but, Cass, she’s giving you the farm—like a house and land that will be yours.”

  “But it won’t be mine. It’s all lip service. She knows I’d never really move back. She’ll end up selling it. I will officially have no real home.” Cassidy accelerated, flying up the winding hill by Turkey Run, her anger eating up her anxiety. “It’s fucking insane. Am I fucking insane? Why does nobody else seem to think this is fucking insane?”

  They passed a small building on the left of the road near the Pringle Tree that used to be one of Ken’s favorite diners. It was a gambling place now, and even at eleven a.m., the small lot was full of pickup trucks. A bit farther over the hill, a young couple stood beside a camper with a sign that read “Metal for Sale.”

  “Could you rent out the farm and have some income? Or do an Airbnb thing?”

  Cassidy let her rage boil up and over without speaking, her face turning red but her mouth staying silent. Noeli didn’t understand. She breathed, letting oxygen slow her heartbeat until her anger was replaced by a general sense of sadness and annoyance and a larger sense of loneliness. In town, she parked the car in the same spot Simon had parked the night before.

  Three large parties waited in the church pew benches that lined the entryway of C.J. Maggie’s. Cassidy stood by the podium and stared at the antiques and oddities lining the walls—old Buckhannon street signs and maps, string lights shaped like chili peppers, an old sled. The hostess arrived and seated them at a high-backed booth tucked into the back corner of the restaurant. The Spin Doctors’ “Two Princes” played loudly and waitstaff passed every few seconds with heaping plates of fries, gigantic burgers and sandwiches, and salads that could feed a family.

  After a minute or two, their waitress, a woman Cassidy had known since kindergarten, arrived. Cassidy snorted under her breath and shook her head as she recognized her. “Oh my gosh, is that Cassidy?!” the woman squealed. “I heard about your dad, sweetheart. I am so sorry. How are you? Aren’t you in California now?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “What can I get you to drink, honey?”

  “I’ll take a lemonade.”

  “Iced tea,” said Noeli.

  “Coming right up! It is so good to see you, Cass! I really am so sorry.” She hurried away.

  “Our waitress,” Cassidy said, “is the person who first told everyone in high school I was a lesbian.”

  “Oh shit. She was weirdly friendly.”

  “Yeah, for someone who started my four-year nightmare, right?”

  The waitress returned quickly to deliver two huge drinks and the women avoided eye contact as they thumbed through the large menu. Noeli took a drink of her tea. “Oh my God, it’s pure sugar,” she said.

  “What did you expect?” Cassidy laughed.

  “Unsweetened.”

  “Not in West Virginia.”

  “Right, the South.”

  “West Virginia isn’t the South,” Cassidy said as the waitress returned.

  “Are we ready to order, folks?” she asked.

  “No breakfast?” Cassidy asked.

  “At eleven o’clock, young lady?” the waitress teased like she was twice her age.

  “All right, young lady,” Cassidy said. “I’ll have the eggplant parm, easy on the parm.”

  Noeli ordered half a turkey sandwich.

  “You’ve got it. I’ll put that in right now.” The waitress winked and Cassidy stared at the metal buc
ket light hanging above the table. The restaurant used to have paper and crayons on each table and people had used them to write and draw on the inside of the lamps. Laura was written with a flowery wreath around it. Ellie was here! was in big turquoise block letters. Zander likes farts. Cassidy’s eyes started to burn from the light, so she looked instead at the wall, the shape of the lightbulb still visible in her vision over the drywall and exposed brick. Noeli quietly drummed her nails on the table. Her black nail polish was almost all the way gone now.

  The waitress came back with their food.

  “If that’s easy on the parm, I wouldn’t want to see hard,” Noeli said before taking a bite of her sandwich.

  “It’s weird eating eggplant at what feels like eight in the morning.”

  Noeli grunted in agreement, a large bite of turkey in her mouth.

  “It was so nice to see you,” the waitress said when she brought them the bill. “I really am sorry about your dad.”

  “Mmhmm. So nice.” Cassidy left what she hoped was an insulting tip before following the shiny wooden floor back out to the cold bright day.

  “What’s Stone Tower Brews?” Noeli asked as they exited.

  “What? Where?” Noeli pointed across the street to a chalkboard-style hand-lettered sign.

  Cassidy shrugged. She was intrigued, so, jaywalking, she crossed the street, Noeli jogging to catch up. A West Virginia–shaped decal declaring “All Kinds Are Welcome Here” in rainbow letters decorated the glass door. Cassidy rolled her eyes. In a small entryway before another glass door was a poster stating “Hate Has No Home Here,” flyers for local artist pop-ups and community theater shows, and a recruitment poster for the army. Noeli glanced around and, finding them alone, quickly reached up and ripped the army poster from the wall, crumpling it and shoving it in her pocket.

  “One of these things is not like the other,” she said with a small smile.

  Inside, the place was packed. Wesleyan students sat alone with laptops. Groups and couples chatted animatedly over plates of food. The Stone Tower logo was spray-painted in white over the newly wood-paneled walls. The whole place looked very metropolitan.

  Two large monitors over the L-shaped counter displayed names of craft beers and their origins, and large silver coffee-making appliances took up the space behind the glass on the long side of the L. At the register, Cassidy picked up a menu listing the food and drink offerings. A chalkboard announced the day’s special was vegan tacos. “We should have eaten here,” Noeli muttered, and, despite Cassidy’s sense of loyalty to C.J.’s, a place she’d been going since she needed a booster seat, she had to admit the idea of a place in Buckhannon advertising vegan anything was pretty incredible. And they had breakfast! Still, she was relieved they had already eaten.

  “You don’t want tacos in West Virginia,” she said.

  “Oh, there’s Wi-Fi,” Noeli said, looking at the chalkboard and grabbing her phone.

  “I’ll have a chai with soy please,” Cassidy said. “And?” She glanced at Noeli.

  “I’ll take a pour-over of whatever you recommend.”

  They sat at a booth by a low table and Cassidy took her phone out to connect to the Wi-Fi. Hundreds of notifications across several apps popped up, an even split between totally inane crap, messages from her fans telling her how horny they were, and sympathy messages flooding her status bar. Overwhelmed, she swiped them away with one motion, ignoring them all, then opened the cam site back up and told MannyBoy27 she was okay and sent a couple other bigger tippers a tit pic she’d taken in California, the night before her mom had called with the news about her dad. She could hardly look at her own happily oblivious face.

  Cassidy rose from the booth and checked the counter, where their drinks were waiting in mismatched mugs. She retrieved them and set Noeli’s in front of her, then sat down to sip her chai. She could feel the warm liquid move down her throat to her stomach. Cinnamon stuck to her tongue and she took another sip to wash the gritty feeling away. Noeli’s drink sat, untouched, on the table.

  “I’m sorry I was being insensitive,” she said. “I know how important that house is to you, even if you don’t want to live there. You’re not insane. This is really fast and pretty messed up of your mom.”

  “Thank you,” Cassidy said, and took another sip of her chai to cover the tears accumulating in the inner corners of her eyes.

  Jane

  Sometimes the nursing home cafeteria reminded Jane of Washington, the old women just as boy crazy as the girls at the Armory. Today they were giggling about a new male resident. Rumor was, the old man, with his hunched back and dead wife, still had his real teeth. Their excited gossiping brought Jane back to the day after Ding had claimed her first pin, and they’d both gone to work with tremendous hangovers.

  The pile of cards waiting for Jane had stared back from her desk menacingly. She’d felt queasy. After an hour of staring at the inky lines, she’d thought she might chuck up her breakfast.

  Jane needed water. Squeezing past the tight row of desks, she stepped out of the doorway and headed for the drinking fountain.

  The water was cool and life-giving. Jane’s cells awakened as the liquid calmed her parched throat and settled her gin-pickled stomach. As the reborn world sparkled back into focus, Jane froze, and then furiously wiped a dribble of water from her chin.

  Not today. Her nylon seams were crooked, she had barely fluffed her hair that morning, her lips were their natural peachy color. Not today.

  Several yards away in the training lobby, two dozen seamen in their white undress uniforms stood between Jane and her desk. A woman at the front of the group was giving them a tour.

  Jane lifted her chin and walked through, avoiding eye contact.

  “Hey, cookie,” a sailor whispered as she passed. Jane blushed but kept her head high.

  As the sea of men parted, Jane managed not to look at or speak to any of them. Wisps of hair flew around her face, and she fought off the urge to hold her hands over them. She was aware of the slight tilt of her gait, the heavy thud her round calves gave her steps, and all of their eyes on her backside.

  Back in the room, Ms. Bruce struggled to keep control of the other girls, who could barely contain their whispers. The news had gotten through: Sailors in the lobby!

  When Jane sat, Erma leaned in closer. “Any Casanovas?”

  Jane shrugged.

  “All right, girls. Who’s thirsty?” Ms. Bruce asked in resignation. Thirty hands shot into the air.

  “Okay, one row at a time. And make it quick.” She pointed to the row on the left, and the girls scampered to the fountain. From the doorway, Erma turned and saluted the rest of the room, and even Ms. Bruce couldn’t help but crack up.

  When the first row returned a few minutes later, giggling and pink, Jane’s row rose. Jane considered staying in her seat and finally getting to her work, but in the end, she decided she might as well get a look from the safe camouflage of prettier peers.

  The boys were rowdier than they had been earlier, riled by the giddy girls. Their tour guide had given up, and the scene was a madhouse, everyone scrambling to talk in the brief moments before Ms. Bruce declared their time up. Girls scrawled their addresses on scraps of paper as date plans were confirmed.

  Jane listened in awe to the symphony of flirtation.

  “Bonkers, huh?” a voice spoke into Jane’s ear, and she turned, expecting to see a sailor. Instead of a white cotton hat and jumper, she was shocked to see an officer’s khakis. The lieutenant grinned from under his cap. The creases on his uniform were crisp as crackers.

  In spite of his rank, he looked incredibly boyish, in large part due to his blond hair, which was really closer to white. His blue eyes were playful and searching.

  “Wacky,” Jane agreed.

  “I don’t go for this whole game,” he said. “Too old for it.”

 
“So you aren’t angling for a date with me?” Jane felt suddenly coy.

  “I didn’t say that. But don’t tell the kids.” The man tipped his head toward the younger men.

  “I was planning to tell Hoover,” Jane said.

  “Come on, ladies. There’s work to be done,” said Ms. Bruce, poking her head out from the doorway. “I have a feeling we won’t be beating any records for productivity today.”

  “Where do you stay?” the officer asked.

  “I’m too busy to date,” Jane said. “It’s important work here, you know.”

  “Critical,” he agreed. “Eight o’clock? Tomorrow?”

  “I don’t think so.” Jane’s chest constricted as the corners of the lieutenant’s sky-blue eyes drooped.

  “This weekend,” he said as she backed away and began squeezing through the crowd.

  “Next week,” he called, and Jane gave him an apologetic smile as Ms. Bruce placed a hand on her shoulder, shuffling her back toward the room.

  Jane relayed the story to Ding at dinner.

  “You didn’t even ask his name?” Ding shook her head. She was distracted, rummaging around in her bag.

  “Why does it matter?”

  “It would do you good to go out with a nice guy.” Ding opened the mouth of her bag wide, practically sticking her head inside it, reminding Jane of Jonah and the whale.

  “How do you know he’s nice?” Jane took a bite of creamed spinach.

  “It would do you good anyway. Get your mind off of things.”

  Ding dumped the contents of her pocketbook onto the table, the small air force pin plinking and bouncing. Another pin, round and gold, emblazoned with US, landed beside it.

  “There it is,” Ding said. “I was worried I’d lost it.”

  “Is that an army pin?” Jane gawked. “When did you get that?”

  Ding smiled. “On my lunch break, from Tony Prickett. That’s his first and last name, mind you.”

  “Your new fiancé?”

  Ding stuck out her tongue.

  “Anyway. I’m meeting a marine tonight. All I need now is an anchor clanker.”