Page 66 of The Dating Charade

“Cass, I need to tell you something.”

Cassie reached out and pulled the mug toward herself. The heat radiated through fingers she hadn’t realized were so cold. “What’s up?”

“You remember the day we met?”

“Of course. At the park.” She’d never forget spying the tall, lanky eight-year-old girl on the swings out her third-story apartment window. How she’d begged her mom to let her fly down those stairs, jump over the creek, and meet her in the adjacent park. The newcomer from Jersey. Her instant friend—rather, her instant bosom-buddy, who-needs-anybody-else, forget-those-mean-third-grade-girls forever friend. How could anyone forget such a pivotal life moment?

“And do you know what that park was next to?”

“There was a Food City nearby. A gas station. A—” Cassie paused, suspicion rising. “A Rebos.”

Bree nodded, turning the cup in her hands.

The Rebos facility was simple, just a two-story colonial updated to house a support group for addiction recovery. Rebos. Spelled backward: S-O-B-E-R.

“You know, I was the youngest honorary member of that house,” Bree continued. “I wore down those halls with my running. I even once asked if I could be a real member when I grew up, just without the alcohol.”

Cassie sat back in her chair, stunned. “I had no idea.”

“That place was home back then.” Bree shrugged, her smile bittersweet. “Those people were family. In those early years, after getting back together, Mom and I were there almost every day.”

Cassie let go of her mug, felt herself stop breathing. She leaned forward. “Bree . . . What do you mean ‘after getting back together’?”

“After Mom got me back.” Bree took a breath. “From foster care.”

The world moved like a great rocking chair, and Cassie felt herself pulled back into her seat, the world suddenly dizzy. “You were in foster care? You?”

Bree started nodding. “For three hundred and twenty-six days. Mom got me back June 6, two weeks before my eighth birthday.”

Cassie’s lips parted, but no words formed. Her? Bree? Bree? And Mrs. Leake? This wasn’t possible. It had to be a joke . . . a terrible joke. But there Bree sat opposite her, her emerald eyes a rich and rare hue of sorrow and honesty and unlocked story.

Cassie fumbled for words. “I—I can’t believe this. I don’t know what to say. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell.” Bree shrugged, but then a whisper of a smile lifted on her lips. “What excuse did I give you for why we moved all the way down here from New Jersey?”

Cassie smiled. “To get cows.”

“Yeah. Well, I hate to break it to you, but there are cows in Jersey too.” A huffy laugh escaped her, and for a moment they both smiled in recollection before their smiles slowly slipped away.

“What really happened is that Mom wanted to get away after it all, take us somewhere nobody would judge her, and I wouldn’t have to remember. Where we’d never have to drive on Scott Street on the way to the grocery store or the elementary school or the movies and see the yellow townhome where I lived for months away from her. Where I wouldn’t have to look at the second-story window where I used to sit for hours, watching the road, hoping to see her car pass by. Making myself believe I saw her car pass by. Making myself believe she was slowing down and was squinting through the car window to see if she could see me and was waving. That any moment her blinker was about to turn on, and she’d pull in and ring the doorbell and say it was all over and I needed to jump in the car right then. And that she was sorry for everything. And everything was going to be different. And I was going home.” She shook her head. “You have no idea how many blue Hondas are on the road until you spend your life looking for one.”

Cassie lifted the cup of tea, her throat suddenly aching and dry. “I’m so sorry, Bree. I can’t imagine. I can’t believe it . . . A year?”

Bree nodded.

Cassie and Bree sat in silence for a minute, Cassie trying to wedge this entirely new set of information into the neatly organized facts of her life. Mrs. Leake had always been a second mother to her. There for every graduation. There for every holiday. Cassie had spent so much time at the Leakes’ home she was in half of their framed photographs on the walls. More than once she’d been included in the family photo sent out for the Leake Family Christmas card.

Bree? In the foster system because of something Mrs. Leake had done—or failed to do? Because of addiction? The woman had more self-control than a Shaker, and they’d all but died out in their successful stand on celibacy.

Bree turned the handle of her mug round and round, the skidding of the ceramic bottom across the dining table the only noise between them.

Finally, Cassie heard herself sputter despite herself, “What happened?”

She paused. “A lot of things that shouldn’t have, Cass. A lot of things no kid should experience.” Bree opened her mouth to speak more, then let it hang there a moment before seeming to change her mind. “But that’s the thing I do want you to hear from this. The point is those girls upstairs have a mom already. And no matter what had happened to me back then, and how wrong it all was, I still wanted my mom. I wanted her to get fixed up and get me back. I wanted her to fight for me. And thankfully, in my case, that’s exactly what she did.

“Now, I don’t know Star’s mom. I couldn’t begin to guess all the reasons she signed off her rights last week—maybe she felt pressured, maybe she thought it was the loving thing to do. Maybe she really didn’t care. I don’t know. But I’m telling you now, I don’t think she would’ve hung on to those girls this long if she didn’t care about them at all. And I don’t know Star’s and Kennedy’s and Deidre’s whole situation, but I can guarantee you one thing: no kid wants to hear their mom is letting go.”

Bree’s eyes flickered down to her mug as though afraid to say the next words to Cassie’s face. “And Cass, I hate to say it, but you need a little redirection.”