“No, it’s not a pencil, honey.” No anxiety. “It’s just a. .
.thing.”
Cassie reached for it. I gave it to her and Cindy’s eyes got wide.
Cassie put it to her mouth, grimaced, lowered it to the paper and tried
to draw.
“See, I told you, Cass. Here, if you want to draw, use this.”
Cassie ignored the proffered crayon and kept looking at the cylinder.
Finally she threw it down on the table and began to fuss.
“C’mon, sweetie, let’s draw with Dr. Delaware.”
My name evoked a whimper.
“Cassie Brooks, Dr. Delaware came all the way to play with you, to
draw animals-hippos, kangaroos. Remember the kangaroos?”
Cassie whimpered louder.
“Hush, honey,” said Cindy, but without conviction. “No, don’t break
your crayons, honey. You can’t- C’mon, Cass.”
“Uh uh uh.” Cassie tried to get off Cindy’s lap.
Cindy looked at me.
I offered no advice.
“Should I let her?”
“Sure,” I said. “I don’t want to be associated with confining her.”
Cindy released her and Cassie made her way to the floor and crawled
under the table.
“We did a little drawing while we were waiting for you,” said Cindy.
“I guess she’s had enough.”
She bent and looked under the table. Are you tired of drawing, Cass?
Do you want to do something else?”
Cassie ignored her and picked at the carpet fibers.
Cindy sighed. “I’m really sorry-for before. I. . . it just. . . I
really blew it, didn’t I? I really, really screwed things up-don’t
know what came over me.”
“Sometimes things just pile up,” I said, shifting the lnsuject box from
one hand to another. Keeping it in her view, looking for any sign of
nervousness.
“Yes, but I still blew it for you and” “Maybe it’s more important for
you and me to talk, anyway.
“Sure,” she said, touching her braid and casting a glance under the
table. “I could sure use some help, couldn’t I? How about coming out
now, Miss Cassie?”
No answer.
“Could I trouble you for another iced tea?” I said.
“Oh, sure, no trouble at all. Cass, Dr. Delaware and I are going into
the kitchen.”
Cindy and I walked to the door of the nursery. Just as we reached the
threshold, Cassie crawled out, tottered upright, and came running
toward Cindy, arms outstretched. Cindy picked her up and carried her
on one hip. I followed, carrying the white box.
In the kitchen Cindy opened the refrigerator door with one hand and
reached in for the pitcher. But before she could pull it out, Cassie
slipped lower and Cindy needed both hands to hold her.
“Why don’t you concentrate on her,” I said, placing the box on the
kitchen table and taking hold of the pitcher.
“let me at least get you a glass.” She went to the open cupboards
across the room.
The moment her back was turned, I conducted a manic visual scan of the
fridge. The most medicinal thing on the shelves was a tub of
no-cholesterol margarine. Butter was in the butter compartment, the
one marked CHEESE held a packet of sliced American.
Taking hold of the pitcher, I closed the door. Cindy was setting a
glass on a place mat. I poured it half-full and drank. My throat felt
raw. The tea tasted sweeter than before-almost sickly. Or maybe it
was just my mind, lingering on thoughts of sugar.
Cassie watched me with a child’s piercing suspicion. My smile caused
her to frown. Wondering if trust could ever be regained, I put the
glass down.
“Can I get you something else?” said Cindy.
“No, thanks. Better be going. Here.” Offering her the box.
“Oh, I don’t need it,” she said. “Maybe someone at the hospital can
use it. They’re very expensive-that’s why Dr. Ralph used to give us
samples.”
Us.
“That’s very nice of you.” I picked up the box.
“Well,” she said, “we sure can’t use them.” She shook her head.
“How strange, your finding them-kind of brings back memories.”
Her mouth turned down. Cassie saw it, said, “Uh,” and squirmed.
Cindy replaced the pout with a wide, abrupt smile. “Hello, sweetie.”
Cassie poked at her mouth. Cindy kissed her fingers. “Yes, Mama loves