to not let that happen again. He was pushing her away and expected her to simply give up and go when their time together was up.
“Well,” she muttered to herself, “I’m not that easy to get rid of.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Rita closed her eyes, groaned quietly at being overheard—and by Jack’s sister no less—then turned to face Cass. “Hi.”
“Hi,” the other woman said, walking farther into the kitchen. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you were talking out loud so it was hard to miss.”
“Sometimes,” Rita admitted sheepishly, “I have to talk to myself because I’m the only one who really understands me.”
Cass laughed. “Boy, I know that feeling. Between my practice, my husband and my kids, sometimes I talk to myself just to make sure I’m still there.”
Rita relaxed her defenses a little. She’d liked Cass immediately when they’d met at the wedding. And listening to her now, Rita realized that with time, the two of them could be good friends. The question was, would she have that time?
“Look, I hope it’s okay that I’m back here. The redhead out front said I could come in.”
Casey again. “Of course it’s okay. Have a seat. I’m just getting these loaves of bread ready for the ovens.”
“God, it smells wonderful in here.” Cass took a deep breath and sighed as she pulled a stool up to the marble work surface. Glancing around the room at the trays, the racks of cooling biscotti, bread and cannoli shells, she sighed. “Bread, cookies... I could live here.”
Rita laughed and ran the blade of her knife along the elongated loaves of bread, making a few slices to give the dough room to grow while baking. “I love being in the kitchen.”
“Well, clearly you have the talent for it,” Cass said on a heavy sigh. “My husband has banned me from ours. He says what I call cooking, modern science calls poison.”
“Oh, ouch.”
Cass shrugged. “Yeah, it would be painful if it weren’t true. So we have a cook and everyone’s happy.”
She looked at a tray of thumbprint cookies with their glossy chocolate centers and sighed again. “Can I have one?”
“Sure.”
She bit in. “Wow. Just wow.”
Rita laughed and said, “Thank you.”
“Oh, my pleasure.” Cass watched her as she readied the bread loaves and the silence spun out for several seconds before she finally blurted out the reason for her visit. “I’m really happy you married Jack.”
Oh, Rita hated guilt. She’d grown up Italian Catholic and nobody did guilt better than they did. Her mother was a master at making her kids feel guilty and so Rita recognized the sensation when it slapped her. She’d lied to her family. To Jack’s family.
Maybe even to herself, it was too soon to tell. “Cass...”
The other woman waved one hand and shook her head. “No, you don’t have to say anything. I just mean, I wanted to let you know that we’re all glad he has someone. Jack’s been...sort of shut down since he came home from his last tour.”
Rita watched her, unsure what to say, or even what she could say.
“We’ve all tried to get through, but it’s like trying to catch fog. Every time you think you’re making progress, or maybe you see a flash of the old Jack, boom. It’s gone.” She shook her head and unconsciously reached for another cookie. Taking a bite, she sighed a little and continued. “If our mom was still alive, she’d have pushed past whatever boundaries he’s got set up inside him. She wouldn’t have accepted anything less.”
Rita heard the wistful tone and responded. “She was tough?”
“When it came to her family? Oh, yeah.” Cass grinned. “No one could stand in her way. But she’s been gone five years and it’s like the rest of us can’t figure out how to reach Jack.” She crumbled the rest of the cookie in her fingers. “That’s why we’re so glad he’s got you. And the baby.”
Oh, that guilt was really starting to get heavy, Rita thought. What would Cass and the rest of their family think of Rita when this three-month marriage ended? Would they blame her for walking out on Jack, never knowing the real reason behind it?
“The worst part for me is I hate seeing my dad look so...helpless over this,” Cass said. “He tries to talk to Jack but just can’t and he’s scared. Heck, we all are.”
So was Rita. In the time since Jack had walked back into her life, she’d seen him withdraw not only from her but from the family who clearly loved him. Their marriage hadn’t helped. If anything, he was working even harder at avoiding her.
“I don’t like feeling helpless,” Cass muttered. “I’m not good at it.”
Rita smiled. Here, she really could bond with Cass. “Neither am I.”
“Good.” Cass gave her a conspiratorial smile. “I’m glad to hear it. That means you’ll push him as maybe the rest of us can’t.”
But no pressure, Rita thought.
Rita had a sister of her own and two older brothers, so she knew what it was to worry about a sibling. To want to help and not be allowed to. She could understand what Cass was feeling; Rita just didn’t know if she was going to be able to do what the Buchanan family hoped she could. Bring Jack back to them.
“I don’t know if Jack told you, but I’m a doctor.”
She came up out of her thoughts with a jerk. “He did mention that. Family practice, right?”
“Right. Well, speaking as a doctor, not a sister,” Cass said, “I can tell you that Jack’s being affected by PTSD, which you’ve probably already guessed.”
Rita nodded.
“There are so many different levels of this syndrome,” Cass said with a sigh. “I’ve done a lot of reading and studying on it since Jack got home. And I know that the men and women affected by it are all different, so what they go through is different, as well. Naturally, treating it is a bitch. No one can find a standard type of treatment because each case is so wildly dissimilar.”
Rita had come to that conclusion on her own. And it made perfect sense, really. Obviously, something horrible had happened to Jack on his last tour. When he left her six months ago, it was with a promise of a future that had been unsaid, but felt by both of them. And he’d come home for good just two months later, a completely changed man.
“I actually don’t like the PTSD label—the word disorder bothers me. Post-traumatic stress I can get behind. But disorder? No.” Cass shook her head firmly and scowled at what was left of her cookie. “That makes these men and women seem...sick, somehow. When what they are is hurt.”
