Tonight had been worse than heartache—it had been terrifying. She kept going over it in her mind, wondering if she should’ve known. He’d been a little on the eager side, but that had been kind of fun when it had seemed innocent. There was no way she could’ve known he’d turn out to be what he turned out to be. There was a chance that without the rescue he might’ve backed off when she proved too much trouble, but in her gut she felt there was an equal chance he could’ve turned into a rapist.
Is this what it’s come to? she asked herself. Is it not enough to be let down, disappointed, that I have to be scared to death and real damn close to being a victim? Is that what looking for the right man gets you? It’s utter madness—and it has to stop. I have to quit looking for the right guy. I just can’t take it anymore. The heartbreak is just too much.
Single women of twenty-nine never admit to anyone, not even their priests, that what they fear most is being alone forever, dying alone someday. Since she was about twenty-five, her greatest fear was that she’d never find a partner. Cassie wasn’t independent by conscious choice, it was by default—she had no real family. She knew women her age who’d had a couple or even a few false starts before they found the one, the forever guy, but Cassie’s longest relationship had lasted maybe four months. Four terrible months. She didn’t know anyone like herself—with no living parents, no close relationships with siblings, no one. All she wanted was someone permanent who loved her, wanted children with her, a family man. She even wanted the bickering that went with all the regular adjustments—bickering that ended with making up and great sex. She hated it when someone said, “But you’re still so young. There’s plenty of time!” Plenty? She would be thirty in six months and she had yet to meet someone who lasted six months with her. Or, “He’ll show up when you least expect it…” And then they’d tell a story of meeting their own lifetime mate, but they were never more than thirty with a bad track record. If there was anything harder than facing the terrifying truth, it was having that fear not taken seriously. “You’re beautiful and smart—you’ll find the right guy.” Well, it wasn’t happening.
Her mind was jumbled with numbers. If I’m thirty when I meet him, give it a year to see if we’re in sync, a year-long engagement, and then if I don’t get pregnant easily, am I thirty-five before that first baby’s coming? And always: What if he doesn’t come along until I’m thirty-five? What if he never shows up? Really—never! I can get together with girlfriends and say, yeah, it would be great to find the right man, but, hey! If I don’t, I have a lot more fun than you girls. After all, I’ve had sex with a couple dozen men…
“Steve,” she said in a tearful whisper. “I’ve had sex with a couple dozen men.” She rubbed his floppy ears. “Do you still respect me?”
She had sex the first time at seventeen. She had been soooo in love. She’d had sex the last time five months ago. In thirteen years of sexual activity, it didn’t take long to get to a couple dozen, or the vicinity; she couldn’t actually count them without writing them down, an act that repelled her. Even so, she didn’t feel promiscuous. She felt, frankly, completely lost.
Steve turned his beautiful black eyes up to her and made a sound. Then he licked her arm. He would never leave her.
But he would, she reminded herself, and Steve was her only real family. Big dogs didn’t last long. The life span of a Weimaraner was twelve to fourteen years and Steve was five. What would she do without anyone special, without her mom, with a life so solitary? She had her girlfriends—Julie, Marty and Beth—but everyone else had parents, brothers, sisters, spouses.
The tears came harder. She missed her mom so much sometimes; they had been best friends. Even though she hadn’t gone to live with her when she’d moved away, they’d still talked all the time—two or three times a week for an hour at a time. And she’d been with her mom for the months preceding her death, caring for her, loving her into the next world.
Since she’d been just a kid, she’d been on her own. And all she’d ever wanted was to have that kind of connection happily married women had—the loving commitment her mom had had too briefly with Frank, that Jules had with Billy, Marty had with Joe. A good, strong, solid guy to lean on who’d share the responsibility and joy. Was that so much to hope for? Why was that asking so damn much? Didn’t everyone have a soul mate somewhere?
There were times she thought life just wasn’t worth living without some kind of deep love and intimacy. The thought of growing into an old woman without ever having that kind of reliable connection was unimaginable. Another ten years of looking for the right partner, being let down again and again, was simply more than she could bear to think about.
Chapter Two
Even though Julie and Cassie were best friends, they belonged to a foursome of girlfriends who’d hung tight since junior high. Marty and Beth were their two other close girlfriends. They’d all been cheerleaders together in school and had been tight ever since. Beth was the only one who wasn’t socially available that often; she was a brand-new doctor and her schedule was horrible.
The rest of them had remained relative neighbors since high school graduation, getting together regularly. They also had larger gatherings including still more friends from the past. The tradition started when Julie and Billy, as newlyweds, threw a small party, and it grew from there. Some years after high school Billy introduced Marty to one of his firefighter pals and they ended up getting married. Now the friends’ parties—potlucks held four or five times a year—included some firemen and their wives or girlfriends, plus whatever old high school chums were around.
The Fourth of July party this year was at Marty and Joe’s house, in their rec room. It was a big room, complete with bar, pool table, a pinball machine, state-of-the-art stereo equipment, plenty of seating and standing room. They lived in a mansion by Julie’s standards, and she looked around the rec room jealously. They had lots of toys—quads, a boat, Jet Skis, an RV. Joe made a little more money than Billy, since he was a few years senior at F.D., but their lifestyle was probably even more affordable because they hadn’t married right out of high school, had only one child and Marty worked full-time. True, she was a hairdresser—not a high-ticket career field—but she had a full roster of regular clients and Julie certainly couldn’t afford her cuts and colors.
Julie had managed a part-time job after Jeffy was born, while Billy worked and finished college before getting a job with the fire department. They went through years of tough schedules, school loans and scrimping by. With Billy barely on the F.D. payroll, which was modest to start, they had a lot of debt to clear. But then Clint came along and, a year later, Stephie. It ate up the toy money pretty quick. Hell, it ate up the food money.
Joe was an established firefighter who had his own house when he met Marty. They didn’t get married right away; by the time they did, they were able to sell Joe’s house and buy a bigger one. Their little boy was now three and while Joe complained he wanted more kids, Marty said that was it for her. It seemed to Julie that when other people didn’t plan on kids, they didn’t have them. Julie and Billy didn’t plan on them and had them, anyway.
It felt as though everyone had come a long way in twelve years, except Julie and Billy—voted couple of the year in high school. They had a decent little home they couldn’t afford, drove somewhat reliable cars with tons of miles on them, had a house full of kids, big bills and no extras. No grown-up toys, no vacations. Also, no nice dinners out, weekend escapes for just the two of them, and they avoided hiring sitters—sitters were very expensive. If Julie’s mom or Cassie couldn’t watch the kids, they just didn’t go out. Julie cut out coupons constantly, haunted the sales and even thrift shops, paid the minimum balance, put a sheet over the