41 - Trust?

Jon sat in his customary patio chair outside the cabin with late-morning sunlight raining down upon him, filtered through a canopy of spring leaves.   Although pretty, the rays of sunshine weren’t particularly warm and he was grateful for the denim work shirt that had been stashed in his duffel.  Layered over a t-shirt and partnered with the hot cup of coffee on the table beside him, he was writing comfortably while Cassidy slept in.

Cassidy. 

She had looked so peaceful wrapped up in her quilt that he didn’t have the heart to wake her when his semi-conscious mind started conjuring bits and pieces of song lyrics.  It was just as well, since he had no idea what in the hell he was going to say to her this morning.  He couldn’t even string his fractured thoughts together for a intelligible song chorus.

A notepad sat on his crossed legs covered with a hodgepodge of notions and ideas that he was driven to scribble, but nothing came to the forefront and demanded to be a chorus.  The title that he’d come up with several days ago, “I’m Your Man”, was the only thing that that he felt deserved more than a single mention in the song.  The rest were lines that he wanted to use, but they were all equally substantial. 

“You know that you can call me anytime for anything you need” was at the top of the page, spurred by the prick to his conscience over Cassidy’s midnight laundry run.  Then there was “when the room is dark and empty, there’s no need to explain” scratched beneath that, followed by “without hellos there are no goodbyes” and “tonight you’re my woman and I’m your man”. 

They were all good and felt right, but it was the snippet of insight – the one at the very bottom of the page that he’d underlined twice – that tugged at him.

“No need to say those words, just take my hand”.

He didn’t want to affix an actual label to what Cassidy had stirred within him, but it was tangible and he thought it might be a good idea to share that with her.  That meant his mission today was deciphering a way to ambiguously convey something that he couldn’t or wouldn’t put a name to. 

Easy enough, right?

“I see you found the coffee pot easy enough.”

Jon glanced with mild surprise at the Oz shoes that he should have heard clicking against the flagstone, but he’d been so lost in his thoughts that it had escaped his notice. 

What didn’t escape notice was the way she accessorized those shoes – with a black t-shirt that might have been his.  That was it.  Nothing else beyond her tousled hair, fresh-scrubbed face, sparkling eyes and a whole lot of bare leg.   Well, there was also a mug of coffee cradled between her hands as she smiled down at him, but it covered less than the shoes.

A t-shirt and high heels.  Cassidy was the only woman he knew who could pull off that particular fashion statement.   She was a vision that he wouldn’t forget anytime soon, and Jon couldn’t keep the bemused smile from stealing across his lips when looking up at her. 

“Aren’t you cold?” 

Claiming the other chair, she slid out of the shoes and bent her knees to bring bare heels up to the seat cushion.  A little awkward tugging with her free hand had the shirt stretched over folded legs and down to her ankles. 

“Not with the coffee,” she breathed happily.  “Didn’t expect you to be up so early.”

“First of all, it’s…”  He flipped his wrist around and held it out so that he could see the face of his watch.  “Eleven o’clock.  Second, time is irrelevant.  When my subconscious wants to write, we write.”

“Time is also irrelevant when I’m tired,” she added unapologetically before craning her neck to squint at his scribbled notations.  “Can’t claim to be a lyric expert, but they look promisin’.  Are you pleased?”

At the age of fifty-three, he could finally admit that he wasn’t a lyric expert either.  There had been an untold number of instances when he’d predicted a song was going to be a hit only to have it receive a lackluster response.  He wasn’t sure how many times it happened before he swallowed the bitter pill and accepted that, if he liked it, nobody else would.  He was just grateful that the reverse was true, so that there was something he could bank on.   

“They’re haphazard and virtually incoherent.”  A squirrel chattered overhead as Jon doodled an acorn in the midst of the disjointed mess.  “Kind of like my thoughts the last couple of days.”   

“That an invitation for me to ask about those thoughts?” She watched him with calm indifference while sipping her coffee.  

To the casual observer, Cassidy appeared as though she didn’t care what his answer was, but Jon had gotten to know her.  Those taut features and rigidly set shoulders were completely out of character for her and said that she did care – maybe more than she wanted to. 

It gave him the kick in the ass he needed to start this conversation.

“No need to ask.”  Jon focused on walking the pen through his fingers and forged ahead. “I'm ready to admit you scared me, Dixie.”

Her features and shoulders immediately relaxed as her anticipation turned to disbelief.  “Me?  What the heck did I do?”

“You made me feel again,” he quietly confessed.   “And I’m embarrassed to say it was a little traumatic.  I’d been so cold and removed for so long that…  Well, I behaved like a psycho fuck, so one more time…”

“Don’t you dare apologize to me again.”

Her tone was almost cordial, but steely blue eyes clearly conveyed that she would be pissed if an apology slipped out of his mouth.

“Okay.  I’ll just say that it took me a while to get used to it.”  He snorted in disgust and tossed both pen and notepad to the table.  “I’m still not motherfucking used to it, but hiding inside myself doesn’t change what’s happening.”

Jon still had no idea how to do this and, when Cassidy’s eyes went from steel blue to a softer shade of cornflower, he braced himself for the inevitable.

“What exactly is happenin’?”

And there it was.  The sixty-four thousand dollar question.

“Some of these feelings,” he sighed and pushed an agitated hand through his hair.  “Have to do with you, but I don’t have names for them yet.”

“I don’t need names,” was her quiet assurance. 

Jon’s eyes immediately cut to the woman who regarded him serenely over the rim of her coffee cup.  What woman didn’t want names? 

“You don’t?”

“Nope.  I expect they’re at least a kissin’ cousin to my unnamed ones.”

“Yeah?”

Shame bubbled under the surface because, until that moment, he hadn’t even considered how she might feel about him.   He’d been so wrapped up in trying to stifle his own emotions that he didn’t stop to consider whether she would give a damn that he had them. 

“You scared me, too, baby doll. When you asked me to trust you…  That was a definin’ moment.  It…  Well, it turns out my feelin’s had been just as locked away as yours.”

That made him… He couldn’t say he was happy, exactly, but he was somewhat relieved not to be in this boat alone. 

“It’s… unnerving to feel things after being numb for so long,” he tentatively stepped out.  “And to feel things you didn’t expect – things that you probably shouldn’t be feeling in the first place – adds a complexity that I’ve been struggling with.”

“It isn’t an easy thing,” she empathized.  The breeze blew copper strands of hair across her face and she dusted them back before adding, “Addin’ to your struggle is the last thing I’d ever want to do, and I regret that I have.”

“I don’t want your damn regret.  I’m just explaining where my head is.”

“I ‘preciate that,” she acquiesced easily, swirling the remnants of her coffee in the cup.  “Now I’ll return the favor by tellin’ you where mine is.”

“Okay.”

What else could he say?

“By now, you know I’m the girl who wants as many cards on the table as I can get – so I’m just gonna put ‘em out there.  You have some feelin’s and I have some feelin’s, but does that really make any difference?  Does it make this thing any more or less than it was when you first invited me to your room?”

While Jon appreciated that she didn’t pull any punches, Cassidy wasn’t making this any easier to work through.  Did it make a difference? 

That first night he wanted that gorgeous ass in his bed, so that was the same.  He had wanted some of her happiness to shine on his life – the same.  He was also still married without the prospect of that changing. 

It definitely wasn’t less, but it would be a stretch to say it was more simply because they cared for one another.  He wished… 

Fuck.

“I’ll be honest.”  He picked up the pen again to tap it restlessly against the pad, apprehensive about the way she might receive this.  God knew he didn’t want to hurt her feelings again.  “I’m not in a position to offer much.  I can help you with your music career, but that’s about the only obvious connection there can be between us.”

“Alright.” 

Her features and shoulders were tight again, telling him that it was anything but, and he swore to himself. 

“No.  It’s not alright,” he sighed.  “But I can’t do anything more than repeat what I said a couple days ago.  If you’re willing to have a clandestine relationship, then I’ll find a way to make it work.  That’s all I can offer.” 

Thoughts were stirring behind contemplative blue eyes as her fingers curled more tightly around her empty coffee mug and none of them looked promising.

“I take exception to your choice of words,” she quietly challenged, meeting his gaze with a lifted chin.  “You can offer more, but you choose not to.  That’s your prerogative, and I’m not quibblin’ about it, but respect me enough to call it like it is.”

“I can be blunt if that’s what you want.”  Then pen once again bounced animatedly against the pad.  “A divorce would cost me a ridiculous amount of money and screw over any shot I might have at buying an NFL team.  My marriage isn’t bad enough to justify the financial cost to me or the emotional cost to my kids, so I don’t anticipate ending it.  That means I don’t have my home, family or name available to give you.  All I have is me, as time and circumstances permit, and a promise to ensure you’re well taken care of.  You’ll never have reason to go to another laundromat, Cassidy.”

“Laundromats are not synonymous with a miserable existence, honey.  I don’t need you to take care of me.  I do just fine on my own.”

He rubbed his forehead with a silent moan at the affronted tone of voice.  That’s why he’d initially chosen the other route, because he knew he was going to sound like a condescending son of a bitch when laying it all on the line.  Those unyielding facts commanded a lot more attention than the underlying significance that she was overlooking.

“I get that indignation should be your first response to that cold and calculating synopsis, but you really are missing the point.”

“Then tell it to me.”

Jon put the pen down again to extend a hand in her direction, mutely requesting that she place hers in it.  When she did, he twined their fingers together and spoke directly into her eyes. 

“My wife is a good person.  I like and respect her, but everything I do for her is out of a sense of obligation.  She keeps parts of my life from falling apart and I owe her.  You keep me from falling apart and I…  What I want to do for you is not out of obligation, Dix.  I want to make you happy the way you’ve made me.  I want to see you dance because I get you a goddamn pair of shoes.  You don’t need me to take care of you, but I wish you’d trust me to do it, anyway.”

Cassidy contemplated her next move with the utmost care.  Her feelings were a tiny bit hurt at the confirmation he wouldn’t be leaving his wife, because what woman doesn’t have a sliver of her heart that wants to believe she’s the one worth making that move for?  The logical side of her mind, however, had always realized he’d never throw aside his family in favor of an odd little woman that he didn’t really know.

Hurt or complacent didn’t matter.  She cared about him and he cared about her and that was enough for the time being, even though he seemed to think that letting him throw his money around implied trust on her part.  If that truly was the case, the man didn't know the meaning of trust.

Anyone else and she wouldn't even be entertaining this idea.  She wouldn't be considering the potentially dangerous move if he hadn't, again and again, given her the candid honesty she so admired in him.  If a man was honest to a fault, then…

Then he can be trusted.

“C’mon.”  Cassidy put her mug on the table and pushed her feet back into the ruby slippers before rising with a light tug to his hand.  “There’s more to talk about, but I’m puttin’ it all aside for the moment.”

To his credit, there was only a fleeting look of bewilderment that streaked over his face before he stood with her.    

"If it's really and truly my trust you want,” she parroted his words and pulled him along toward the cabin’s front door.  “I’m gonna give it to you.”