Although it wasn’t entirely true. Mac had grabbed her by the neck; why hadn’t she remembered that before now? Because it hadn’t derailed her desire? Because it’d perversely excited her a little bit, his physicality? His roughness?
Forcing it aside, she tried to allay Marge’s fears. “I don’t know how to talk to you about this. I went to him. This was me, Marge, this wasn’t him.”
Marge was skeptical.
“When I ran? It was because I was humiliated. I’d gone to him, and he turned me away. He said no.” Cassidy tapped her finger on the countertop. “I handled that so childishly, running away. The second time, I begged him not to send me away, so he didn’t.”
Looking up, she repeated, “It wasn’t Mac. It was me.”
Marge studied her face for a moment, then asked, “But why, Cassidy? Why him?”
“Because I needed him to be what you said he was; what everyone said he was.”
“And is he?”
She ducked her head. “I think so. Yes.”
“And that’s not what you were wanting.”
Cassidy didn’t answer. She didn’t know how to answer. Yes, it was what she’d wanted. To want otherwise would be to betray Elijah, their memory. At the same time, she didn’t realize Mac would hold such power over her afterward.
Physically, she amended mentally. Only physically.
Power he didn’t even want to have.
Heaving out a grieved sigh, Marge leaned on the counter opposite, looking at her. “Your rings.”
Cassidy shook her head. “I was mad at Elijah. I threw them.”
“Why’d you get so mad at him you threw his rings?”
“I get mad at him a lot lately. And I was drunk; not my finest hour. If I’d known I would lose them… I’m sick about it. But I would not be so cavalier to take off Elijah’s promise and put it in a drawer.” She shrugged. “I suppose throwing them while drunk is cavalier in itself. I feel like he’s punishing me for it.”
“A dead man can’t punish you.”
Cassidy wasn’t so sure, but she addressed Marge’s original suspicion, “Just so you know, I did not take them off because of Mac.”
Marge gave her a slow nod before casting her eyes around the room, as though the jewelry would magically appear for her; the same exercise Cassidy performed multiple times a day to no avail. “I worry. You know I worry. We both know where you were last year at this time.”
The hospital, struggling so hard not to be a part of a world without her husband or son. But Marge and Silas hadn’t allowed it. For that, she was grateful. Honestly, she was. Looking up, she assured Marge, “That won’t happen again. Mac was my attempt to take a step in the opposite direction of being numb.”
“And?”
Cassidy shot her a look.
Marge harrumphed, then said, “Messed with the wrong tom. As much as that boy irritates me, and I want to put his balls in a jar right now, I’m not so old I can’t imagine what the hype’s about.” As Cassidy snickered, she pressed on, “Oughta tell the Mayor to put Mac Boyer’s picture on the town website as one of the area’s‘Must Do.’”
She choked. “Marge!”
“May as well start charging a visitors’ fee,” she grumbled. But then she sobered. “Cassie, sweet girl, I’m happy to hear you want to move on. I’m concerned about with whom.”
Her head snapped up as she vehemently corrected Marge’s assumption. “I amnotmoving on! I have not forgotten about my husband; I just…”
This was a bizarre conversation: defending her love for one man while talking about her sexual encounters with another.
“Cassidy, moving on with your life doesn’t mean you forget anyone,” Marge stated firmly. “And I mean it. If that boy is the one you want…”
Cassidy made a face. “No, you’re reading this all wrong. He’s not. He’s just…” She sighed. “I needed something; he gave it to me. He’s not the least bit interested in me beyond…” She wagged her eyebrows to indicate the obvious. “He does want part-time custody of Fred.”