Chapter 4
Cassie
My family has gone to Charleston Christian Apostles for forty-seven years, beginning with my Grandpa Allen in 1975. I remember causing mischief in the musty, vinyl-tiled basement when I was a kid, pestering the preschoolers after Sunday School, or getting into people’s way as they transferred casseroles to the serving table before the eleven o’clock service let out.
The late-1800s commercial building needed attention then and could use some now, but the elders have a habit of donating the maintenance fund to Samaritan’s Purse, or to the City Mission—with the congregation’s approval. The outdated windows are drafty on cold days, and on hot days—like today—humidity seeps past the aging sills and fills the sanctuary with muggy warmth despite the groaning air conditioning.
Although it isn’t fancy, the sanctuary has a welcoming charm. The thirty-five-year-old red carpet is unraveling along the aisles, held in place here and there by tape so people like Granny and Nana don’t trip. Pews line the room, angling toward the center aisle to accommodate the rounded altar.
The “Sears pew” is on the left side of the room, seven rows back. We drop our purses here at quarter ‘til eleven and slide into our seats a few minutes before the choir starts, after Nana and her euchre friends have caught up for the week and my mom has rounded the room at least twice saying her hellos. I usually hang back with Granny and hold her up while young and old alike approach her for hugs. Being ninety-seven years old garners much attention, as it should.
We settled into our pew thirty-five minutes ago. Fifteen minutes ago, Pastor Ellis began his sermon. The choir sits quietly behind him in the alcove. They’re sweating. Granny’s sweating. Everyone is sweating.
It’s a small price to pay to help feed orphans and widows, people who are suffering much more than we are. Although, I have a secret goal, desire, dream—whatever you want to call it—to anonymously donate to the church for a sanctuary remodel and AC upgrade. If, or should I say when MatchAI takes off, it will be my second act of corporate altruism.
Remodeling Nana’s house will be my first.
Ironically, Pastor Ellis is preaching on forgiveness. Or maybe not so ironically. When I’m wrestling with a moral dilemma, Pastor Ellis invariably preaches about it, or we talk about it in our women’s Bible study, or I hear a song on the radio that convicts me.
Am I trying to wriggle my way out of forgiving Luke? Yes. I am. He wronged me, not the other way around. First by cheating on me, and now with his weird attempt to hijack my launch. To say I was furious Friday night would be an understatement.
I’ve had time to think about it, time to settle, and I’m still furious.
Also, I’m not sure time heals all wounds because I’m still mad at him for cheating on me. I like to pretend that I’m over it, but the hurt remains. I thought he was “the one.”
We met while I was waitressing at the Mudroom to pay my way through Trident Tech’s Small Business Administration and Management program. I could only afford a class or two a semester on top of rent and living expenses. (I wasn’t going to mooch off my mom. She’d already worked too hard to provide for me.) Luke came in that Friday afternoon with a buddy.
His good looks stood out in the modestly decorated room: his tall, muscled build, evidenced by the ropy veins on his exposed forearms; his longish face, topped by generous waves; his manicured beard that shadowed his strong jaw.
He gave me a fifty dollar tip for a twenty dollar meal. I grabbed the receipt and marched over to the lobby, where he stood waiting for his friend.
“You tipped too much.” I held out the receipt.
The door whooshed open and sent the receipt flapping in the rush of air. A young mom with a baby came through, her husband following closely behind. They were impeccably dressed, the mom in a black dress, and the baby in a three-piece suit. Coming or going from a funeral, I guessed.
“Take it,” Luke said. “I had a good quarter, and you did a great job.” He stuffed his hands further into his pockets and leaned against the wood paneling.
“Writing down orders and carrying plates doesn’t warrant a fifty-dollar tip.” I presented the receipt to him again. He didn’t take it.
His buddy walked up and the two moved to leave.
“Maybe I could take you out on a date instead,” he said, smiling.
I glanced over my shoulder at the drinks I’d set down. The elderly women at table twenty-one were waiting. I didn’t want to ruin my reasonable tip from them by standing there yapping my jaws at a handsome stranger. Part of me enjoyed the tingling I felt every time our eyes locked, but I had waitressing duties to attend to.
“Fix it,” I said fluttering the receipt in the space between us.
He pinched a corner of his mouth and flashed his palm at me. “Do you have a pen?”
I grabbed one from my apron and handed it over. He turned to the wall, scratched out his tip, entered a new one, and did the math.
“There. Eighteen percent,” he said when he handed it back to me. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Cassie. I may be back. Fair warning.”
Luke gave me a final smile and a nod before turning to leave.
“Wait,” I said.
He paused and looked at me expectantly.
“I’m free tonight.”
And that’s how our two-year romance started, innocuously with no indication of the flaming ball of cow dung it would become the moment I saw the text from the other woman. Not a moment I care to rehash.
Since so much time has passed, I might be able to forgive his cheating. He did apologize for it at Wetlands on Friday, and he seemed sincere. Seemed. I spent two years thinking he actually loved me, so I might be easily fooled. Nevertheless, I’ll consider allowing the hurt to flow under the bridge, bitter water slowly dissipating into fresh water on its way out to the sea.
This latest affront, though? I’m not ready to forgive him for it. He tried to wreck my launch. He wasn’t “the one.” Never was. Never will be.
As Pastor Ellis wraps up his sermon, I realize I missed the entire second half. He heads into the Invitation. We’ll be out of this stuffy sanctuary soon.
The choir sings Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing. No one approaches the altar today, so Pastor Ellis joins us to enjoy the choir’s last song, Blessed Assurance. The congregation joins in, many in full voice.
I take after my dad. He couldn’t carry a tune. Neither can I, so I keep my mouth shut and smile. No one objects. They’ve heard me sing.
After a final prayer, Ellis sends us off to be light and salt to the world during the upcoming week. I help Granny out of the pew, and then I spot my ex-husband, Michael, by the exit. He smiles at me and waves.
He’s been doing this lately, hovering and then pouncing. I can’t detour to a different exit while I’m helping Granny walk. She has limited energy.
“Can you help Granny?” I ask my mom. “Michael is hovering again.”
“Why can’t he go to a different church?” Mom says.
“His family has gone here for generations. Same as ours.”
“Leaving would be the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“He offered, but I told him he could stay.”
“Give me Granny,” Mom says when we reach the aisle.
I make sure Mom has a good hold under Granny’s arm before I let go, and then I step aside to let them cross in front of me.
“I’ll see you at home,” I say to Nana as she passes.
“Don’t be long. The beans need snapped.”
I rest my hand on Nana’s shoulder. “I’ll hurry. If you distract Michael, I can run out and be there in five minutes.”
Nana waves a hand in the air. “You and Michael need to work out you and Michael.”
“I did work it out. I thought. I divorced him. Anyway, be careful. I’ll see you in a few.”
The sanctuary is mostly empty by the time I reach him.
“Oh, hey, Cassie,” he says like he just happened to run into me. “Great service today, huh?”
When Michael and I were married, there was no spark between us, so we stopped being intimate. Eventually, we saw Ray, the Christian counselor at the church, told him we were thinking about having kids, but we had this problem...
I expected Ray to tell us to stick it out, pray together, ask for God’s intervention. He did tell us to pray, but he told us to not to sugarcoat things because now was the time to call it off, not when we’d added children to the mix.
After several more months of counseling, a lot of praying, several late-night discussions, we decided to call it quits. We were better being friends. It was an amicable split. He got the Grand Cherokee. I got our cat, Pudge.
We both got the church. Hence my current predicament.
“It was a good service,” I say to Michael. “Pastor Ellis gave me a lot to think about.”
Michael wipes his mouth and then looks down at his feet. “Yeah. That. Thinking of. I mean, speaking of.” He looks up at me and starts rocking on the balls of his feet. “I’ve been doing a lot of that. Thinking, I mean. Hey. Would you like to go to lunch? I’d like to talk to you about something.”
“I’m sorry. I told Nana I’d help her fix dinner.”
“Is there some other time?”
“Oh.” I shift my purse to my right shoulder. “I’m really busy with MatchAI. It’s going great by the way. You should sign up. I’ll give you a coupon for a free month.”
“Okay. Then, let’s do this now.”
“Do what?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“You’ve always been good at that,” I say. “Thinking. It’s one of your specialties.”
“I think we made a mistake.”
“I’m not giving up Pudge. You said I could have her.”
“No, not that. I mean, I think we made a mistake splitting up.”
I feel dread rise to my chest, the same dread I used to feel when Michael took off his boxers and climbed into bed. How horrible to admit, but it’s true.
“Okay.” I clasp my hands and raise them to my chin. “I was afraid you might say that. We did the right thing, Michael. I’m moving on and you need to too.”
“How are you moving on? I mean, with who?”
“Well...” I scratch above my ear. “I just had a date Friday. It went great. I think. We livestreamed it. You can watch. It’s still posted on my Instagram account.”
Michael’s shoulders slump. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. “You livestreamed your date?”
“It was a date slash promotion. Nothing serious.”
“With who?”
“You wouldn’t know him.” I realize my lie won’t hold water if Michael watches the livestream. He knows all about Luke, the good, the bad, and the really ugly. “I lied. You would know him. It was Luke. Luke Curtis.”
“That jerk? You’re going out with that jerk?”
“‘Going out’ implies a repeated pattern of activity, so no, it was just one date. One little livestreamed date on Instagram.”
Michael removes his hands from his pockets and steps toward me. “I would never do what he did to you, Cassie. I would never cheat on you.” He puts his hand on my forearm.
I brush it away. No touchy-touchy with the ex. That rule is carved in granite.
“I know you wouldn’t. But our divorce—it wasn’t about that. You’re a nice guy. You’ve always been a nice guy. We just didn’t have a spark.”
“You and Luke have a spark?”
“It was just one date. Nothing serious. You should really subscribe to MatchAI. Cupid will hook you up with a nice girl.” I retreat through the doorway as I’m talking. “Cancel anytime. No cancellation fee.”
Michael lifts a hand toward me. “Cassie—”
“All right, nice talking to you. I need to go snap Nana’s beans.” I let the door fall closed, leaving him alone in the sanctuary.
That dejected look on his face. My heart aches. Not because I miss him, but because he misses me. I thought it was a clean break.
It was supposed to be a clean break.
I bust through the doors of the church and suck in the Charleston air.
Where was MatchAI when I needed it?