Finding Cassidy (14 page)

“The honest truth? I need to know if we’re related. I want to get DNA profiles done to be sure.”

Jason’s scowl dissolved into a look of disbelief. “What the—”

“If you’re willing to give me a cheek swab, that would be better. They’re about 95 per cent accurate. If not, I’ll use these.” I held up the three precious strands of hairs still gripped in my fist.

“You’re serious?”

It was my turn to nod.

“You need live cells for DNA. There may not be any on there.”

I attempted a joke. “Wanna loan me your whole brush?”

Jason didn’t even crack a smile. He moved from the door, sat beside me on the couch. “We. Are. Not. Related.” I felt his breath with each word, emphatic puffs of air caressing my cheek. “Give it up, Cass.”

That was my guy. Bossy-stubborn. “I need to know for sure.”

“Oh,
man.
” He dropped his head into his hands.

“If I’m acting weird, Jase, it’s because my whole
world
has gone weird.” Tears pushed against my eyelids. I flapped my hands madly in front of my face to stop them from falling. They stayed. But Jason’s hair didn’t. The blond strands fluttered to the floor, disappearing into the beige carpet.

It didn’t matter anymore. If he didn’t get this,
nothing
mattered.

“When I’m with you I feel like I have to choose between pretending everything’s the way it’s always been and telling you the truth.”

He lifted his head. His blue eyes—
eyes so like mine
—were shadowed. Hurt. “You can always tell me the truth,” he said softly.

“No, I can’t. You don’t want to know. You want things the way they used to be. But I’m not that Cassidy anymore.” I stared at him, hoping I’d see a glimmer of acceptance or a little understanding. I saw neither.

“I look at total strangers and wonder if that’s him. I feel half-empty because there’s a part of me that’s blank. You want to go on like everything’s the same, but it isn’t. I can’t sleep with you again. Not until I know for sure we’re not related.” He grimaced but I wouldn’t shut up. “You think it doesn’t happen, but it
does. Not only that, if my real father has some kind of disease and I get pregnant, I could pass it on.”

His face went rigid. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“It could.”

Frustration sparked in his eyes. “I just don’t get this.”

How could he be my guy if he didn’t?
He couldn’t be.
“I know.” My tears started to fall. “And I can’t be with you until I get things sorted out. Until I figure out who I am.” Blindly, I reached under the coffee table until I felt the familiar straps of my bag. I stood.

He gazed up blankly, an incomprehensible look on his face. “You’re…breaking up with me?”

I wiped my cheek. Nodded.

“But…but what about the prom?”

Was that all I was to him.
A date?
“You’ll figure it out.” My throat was so tight I felt like I was being strangled. I walked to the door. I had to get out of his house. Get in the car. Get away.

He followed me, his voice fast and urgent. “But Cass…I—you can’t—”

I opened the door and clutched at the railing so I wouldn’t stumble on the stairs. Jason called after me. “But what about Pete? You’re supposed to babysit Pete tomorrow. I have a practice, remember?”

That’s when the gusher started. Now I was a
babysitter?
“Bring Pete over,” I said through my tears. “I’ll watch him.” Somehow I got down the stairs and into the car. Somehow I managed to drive. Somehow I kept breathing even though I wanted to die.

Woodpeckers peck about as much as 20 times a second. They have bubbles in their skulls that suck up all that pain from throwing theirselves at trees.

Cassidy MacLaughlin, Grade Four Science Project

I
went home and lit candles.

I filled the room with them—tall and thin, short and fat, floaters, hangers, anything I could find. Their yellow glow soothed me and softened the edges of the task at hand.

I had two more albums left. Only this time I didn’t just take myself out of my life, I took the life out of myself.

I cut myself out of each and every picture, like I had before. But then I meticulously removed my head. One sharp little snip and I was a series of faceless, headless forms. Headless bodies marched along my desk,
on my bureau, high on my shelves. Heads—smiling, happy, thrilled-with-life heads—floated on my bed.

Cassidy the Separate was now Cassidy the Separate, Anonymous, Obsessive, Melodramatic, Headless Wonder.

Take that, Jason Perdue.

I stared into space for a very long time, until most of the candles gutted themselves out. Until night was almost gutted out. Then I peeled off my clothes and slid slowly between the sheets, being ever so careful not to disturb the Headless Wonder that was me.

“Dear Lord, Cassidy, what have you done?” Mom’s horrified words pulled me from my sleep-blurred state. I heard the vague rustle of blinds, then a bright shaft of morning light hit my face.

A little-boy voice chirped, “Hey, Cassidy, are you
still
sleeping?”

It was Pete. I shot up in bed; a confetti of heads rolled onto the rug. “Get him out of here,” I hissed to Mom. Murmuring something about French toast, she hustled Pete out the door. I peered at the clock. It was after ten. Normally I was an early riser. But normally I was in bed way before 4 a.m. And on normal nights, I didn’t break up with my boyfriend, either.

I threw on last night’s clothes and quickly gathered up heads, bodies and bits of candle wax from various surfaces. Body parts went in the drawer; wax went in the garbage.

Mom stared a lot but said nothing significant for the better part of the day. I had Pete to look after, and then Jason to avoid when he came to pick him up. Faking a bathroom emergency, I told Frank to say my goodbyes. And then there were more goodbyes after that. Big Mac and Little Mac had an afternoon flight back to Montana. I thought we’d all drive them to the airport, but when Frank said he was going to rest and Mom said she would take them, I opted to stay home. The last thing I wanted was to be trapped in a car with my mother. She would trap me soon enough.

She did.

“Go get them,” she said when she came home. Her lips thinned at my look of wide-eyed innocence. “You know what I mean. I’ll get your father. We need to talk.”

I pulled out two of my best heads. Wide, happy grins, long, shining hair. For kicks I matched them with the wrong bodies. I put the sun-visor beach head with a snowsuit body, and the goofy, let’s-have-laughs face with a prim, white suit.

I was a freak on the inside. May as well be one on the outside, too.

Mom practically vibrated with displeasure as she pointed out the images on the coffee table to Frank. He studied them, looked up at me and said, “Quite the juxtaposition,” before sitting down in his recliner.

“Is that all you can say?” Mom demanded. She ripped the pins out of her French twist and impatiently shook out her long, black hair. “Frank, her entire room was covered with images. She must have gone through five or six albums.”

“Sixteen,” I said softly.

“That’s every single album you have.” Mom looked horrified. “Frank?”

“What am I supposed to say?” He spread his hands in front of him. I tried not to notice how much they shook. “Cassidy’s upset. She has every right to be. But put it in perspective, Grace. Would you rather she cut
herself
up?”

Mom’s hand flew to her throat. She turned to me. “Dear God, Cassidy, are you suicidal?”

I thought for a minute. I was already half-dead. More like three-quarters if I let myself think about the breakup with Jason—which is why I had to make myself focus on the one quarter that still walked
and talked and breathed. The one quarter that still searched for the key to the puzzle of me.

“Cassidy, please!” Mom interrupted my train of thought. “Tell me. Are you feeling suicidal?”

I shook my head. “No.”

Frank studied me. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Mom twirled a chunk of hair; a tiny frown puckered the skin between her eyebrows. “I’ll call Ms. Martin,” she said absently, “get our next appointment moved up.” Then she focused on Frank. “There’s something Cassidy wants to tell you.”

I plopped my feet on the coffee table. My snowsuit self went sliding; the sun-visor head smiled brightly up at me. Two other sets of eyes—the Fake and the Snake—studied me expectantly. “You can tell him,” I mumbled.

Taking a breath, Mom said, “Cassidy wants to see what she can find out about her biological father. The counsellor thinks it might be a good idea.”

I should have known better than to expect much of a reaction from Frank. Unwrapping a piece of gum, he listened calmly while Mom outlined our visit to Ms. Martin, her plan to call the clinic, my need to know. When she was finished, he said, “I think that’s
a fine idea.” The sweet smell of Wrigley’s Juicy Fruit wafted through the air.

“You do?” Mom and I spoke simultaneously.

“At the very least, Cassidy should have some medical history. It always struck me as ludicrous that there was nothing.”

“You never told me that,” Mom interjected.

“I never told you lots of things,” Frank retorted, “because it hurt too much to talk about them.”

They stared at each other, shutting me out. The old familiar feeling of being wallpaper threatened to swamp me. But as I watched the emotions play out between them, as I watched shame and tension and despair flit over Frank’s face, the feeling dissipated. Clearly, there were deep cracks in the Frank and Grace show—cracks I’d never seen before. I knew then that they hadn’t shut me out because they didn’t love me. They’d shut me out because they
did.

“I thought you’d be upset,” Mom said.

“If I am, I’d better get over it.” He cracked his gum between his teeth and gave her a lopsided smile. “It’s not like I’m going to be around for most of Cassidy’s life. Somebody might as well be.”

He didn’t understand. “I’m not trying to replace you!” Just because Frank wasn’t my father didn’t
mean I could replace him like…like the wrong colour blush. “I just want…to know some stuff.”

“You have every right to know,” Frank said. “I’m behind you 110 per cent.”

“I…uh…want to get my DNA on file, too.”
And Jason’s.
But voicing that thought might lead to questions I wasn’t prepared to answer.

“One thing at a time,” Mom said. “Let’s deal with the clinic first. We’re getting ahead of ourselves.”

Frank gave her a look. “I don’t think so, Grace. If Cassidy gets serious about someone and there’s any question at all about his paternity…” He shrugged slightly. “It’s probably a good idea.”

Clearly my emotional reserves were running at about minus fifty, because instead of making me happy, Frank’s support choked me up. While he and Mom discussed the pros and cons of registering DNA, I had to leave the room. I couldn’t stay and listen.

Call me stupid, call me irrational—Lord knows, Jason had called me everything else—but it would have been easier if Frank had gotten mad about the search. Or had opposed my DNA plan. I could’ve gotten mad right back. We could have yelled at each other, and I would have been upset, and then I could have gone off and found something else to cut up.

Instead I felt bad about the stupidest thing.

I felt bad because Frank MacLaughlin wasn’t my real dad. And I wanted him to be—even though I would have been at risk of getting Huntington’s.

At least then I would have belonged to him. And he would have belonged to me.

And dying is way easier to face when you belong to someone.

I dreaded Monday morning. And it turned out I had lots to dread.

First, Frank spooked me silly before I left for school. As I wolfed down my cereal and talked about stuff, he wouldn’t answer. He just stared at me, all vacant in the eyes, like a body without a soul. Mom said he was tired, said he’d been up half the night. Her voice must have snapped him back because his vacant look disappeared, and he nodded and agreed as if he’d been present all along.

But I knew better. And the whole experience creeped me out.

Then there was school. Things were uneventful until lunch. They might have stayed uneventful the whole day if I’d been smart enough to keep a low profile, maybe hide out under the seat of my car or something.

However, I’d refused to hide the week before, and I wouldn’t skulk around now. Especially since I was hungry. I could have headed to the mall, but it was a wet, miserable day. Who wanted to go outside and get soaked? Nobody, apparently. Which is why the entire student body had gathered outside the cafeteria.

I expected Jason to be there. And while a part of me wanted to avoid him, another part wanted to see him.

Initially, all I saw as I pushed through the crowd was a mass of bodies. But then I heard Yvonne’s laugh, followed by Prissy’s high-pitched voice. I turned the corner and they were there, just past the pop machine.

Yvonne was slopped all over Jason’s shoulders and arms like jam slathered on toast. I mean, she was
everywhere.

Well, not there, but everywhere else.

She caught my eye and smirked. I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t help it.

She sure hadn’t wasted any time.

Mike saw me next. He nudged Jason, who glanced over, paled and immediately shrugged away from Yvonne. For a minute I thought he was going to come over, but when the rest of the crowd turned their collective eyes on me, he froze.

There was nothing Jason liked less than an audience.
Unless it was obsessive, melodramatic women.

I fled. Maybe the only place worth going
was
under the seat of my car. I gave myself a mental talking-to.

Don’t be so upset. Jason isn’t your guy anymore. He might be your half-brother instead.
As if
that
was a comforting thought.

“Hey, slow down,” Quinn called as I sprinted up the stairs to my locker. The bandage was off her foot, but she still moved like a turtle. “What’s the rush? The bell hasn’t rung.”

“Something’s come up.” I dug around for my law book, determined to get today’s assignment and leave. The last thing I needed was another sighting of Jason with Yvonne.

Quinn leaned against the wall munching a sandwich. I smelled cream cheese. Maybe onion. My stomach growled. “Tonight’s the night,” she said softly.

I frowned. What was she talking about, tonight’s the night? Yvonne was slopped all over Jason. Was tonight the night for
them?
“Look, Quinn, I’m a little busy, okay?” I wanted to get out of the school before Yvonne wandered up to the second floor. “I have to go.” I gave her a quick, apologetic glance, noting the healthy colour on her cheeks, the neat little scab on her head. She’d bounced back pretty quickly from her dunk in the lake.

“Tonight’s the night for the geese. Come on, Cass. Help me out.”

Tonight’s
that
night. Oh, man. Talk about timing. I grabbed my book and binder, shut my locker, fastened the lock. “I don’t know. The timing sucks.”
More than you know.

Quinn followed me down the hall, eating the last of her sandwich as she walked. Then she pulled a paper sack out of the canvas bag she carried over her shoulder and extended it to me. “Mom always makes too many. Want one?”

My stomach gave another tell-tale growl. Murmuring my thanks, I took it. It was salmon, cream cheese
and
onion, and it was delicious. “You don’t have to do anything,” Quinn said. “Just keep an eye out while I do the”—she lowered her voice—“the actual removal.”

“It’s pouring rain.” I glanced pointedly at her infamous sandals. “And the forecast is for more of the same.” I picked up my pace.

“That’s what makes it so perfect,” Quinn replied. “Nobody will be watching tonight. Security will be practically non-existent. Come with me.”

It was the kind of logic she used on me for years. I realized then that I’d missed it. Missed
her.
But I had more important things on my mind than geese. “I don’t think so.”

Annoyance flashed across her face. “I need your help with this, Cass. You said it yourself the other day—nature can right itself, but not if man keeps messing with its rhythms.”

If my mother hadn’t messed with the rhythms of nature, I wouldn’t be here. I wasn’t sure if the thought made me feel better or worse.

A familiar burst of laughter floated down the hall. We both turned. It was Yvonne and Prissy and Mike and everybody. Jason too. He hadn’t seen us. But we’d both seen Yvonne doing another slop job all over his shoulders.

“Yvonne’s with Jason?” Quinn’s eyebrows flew into the stratosphere. “What’s up with
that?
”

Quinn had come down with the flu shortly after we’d done the chat room together. I hadn’t talked to her since. “We’re over.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.” Unbelievable but true. Jason laughed as Yvonne tickled his neck.
I’d like to tickle her—to death.
Unable to watch anymore, I turned back to Quinn.

“Some things are worth fighting for.” Her gaze was directed over my shoulder at Jason and Yvonne. “I’ve said that for years.” When I didn’t answer, she looked back at me and added, “Maybe you should start with the geese and work up to the big stuff.”

The big stuff.
She meant Jason. But how could I fight for a guy who didn’t understand me? That was like a major no-win situation. I slipped into the law room out of sight of slop girl. “Okay, I’ll go with you tonight.” Anything to forget the sight of Jason with Yvonne. “I’ll pick you up at eight-thirty. And, Quinn?” She peered around the corner at me, a question in her huge brown eyes. “Make sure you wear pants and boots.”