KATE
"It's gonna be fine, Sawyer. It's gonna be OK."
Sawyer rubs his face. "I puked twice today . . . 'cause of nerves. And how the hell am I supposed to sleep tonight?" He stands up, starts pacing. His nervous energy seems ferocious, almost threatening, and Kate feels the room shrink. This cozy, oak-paneled, book-filled room (she likes it here).
She tries to reassure him (again), to calm his nerves. "Seriously. It's going to be fine. What's the worst that could happen?"
He stops his pacing to bark at her, "What's the worse that could happen? Uhm, I dunno, Freckles, how 'bout she lets the cat outta the bag? How 'bout she tells someone who we are? Where . . . when . . .we came from?"
"No one would believe her," Kate points out. Utterly reasonable.
He glares down at her. "Who the fuck knows what people are gonna believe?" He throws his hands wide, shoves a stack of books off the desk in a fit of violence
All her attempts to get him to calm down, see reason . . . they all backfire. Maybe she should go get Juliet.
Two weeks ago, he called up out of the blue, and said he wanted to meet Clementine. They've spent the last two weeks planning, two weeks with Kate coming over, telling him all she knows about his daughter, her birthday, her favorite color, favorite movie. She's scared of heights, but not scared of bugs. She likes olives, but hates pickles. She thinks pink is "too girly," but has several outfits that are nothing but varying shades of lavender . . .
Tomorrow is the big day. No more putting it off. Well, tomorrow is Big Day #1. Clem's going with some friend's family to a Santa Train event. Leaves Cass's at 7:30. Kate's dropping Aaron off with a neighbor and showing up at Cass's at 7:45. There, she'll tell some version of the truth, and be over at Sawyer and Juliet's (with Cass in tow) no later than 8:45. They've got the whole thing down like some kind of military evolution, all but synchronizing their watches to ensure mission success.
Big Day #2: Meeting Clementine, only happens if Big Day #1: Spilling the Beans to Cassidy, goes well.
Seems like Kate's been over here nearly every day for the past two weeks. She used to debate which was weirder, Sawyer and Juliet the couple, or Sawyer and Juliet the old people. Two weeks ago, Sawyer and Juliet the couple was in the lead for Weirdest Thing Ever. Except, she's spent two weeks here, and it's not nearly so weird anymore. She's gotten used to it. Used to their silent conversations. Used to the flirtatious looks they exchange when they irritate each other. Used to Juliet calming him down every time he starts to freak out about what's coming.
Like now, maybe she should go get her, before Sawyer freaks out some more and starts smashing the bottles in the bar or something.
Juliet's out in the kitchen feeding Aaron his dinner. Grilled cheese cut into little triangles and broccoli with Ranch Dressing for dipping, and probably more dessert and less broccoli than Kate will approve of, but that's kind of what grandparents are for, right? Oh yeah, here's another thing that's happened over the past two weeks (amazing how your perceptions can change so much in two short weeks): Kate doesn't think Sawyer and Juliet as old people is weird anymore. Or, no. No, she does think it's weird. She's used to it is all. Besides, she's come to like how they baby and spoil Aaron.
At first she was careful to arrange her visits when Jimmy was sure to be gone. That would be weird. (Right. That would be weird). Not that it really mattered. "Ain't like he's always droppin' by to hang out with dear ol' Mom and Dad anyway," said Sawyer. Jimmy's out of town or something now, so she comes by when she wants.
She came by once when that guy, Miles, was here. "So, you and Jimmy, huh?" he said with a laugh. "I used to change his diaper, you know. This your first time doing a father-son thing?"
"Knock it off, Oda Mae," Sawyer snapped at him, and if Kate's (sort of) gotten over the whole Sawyer and Juliet thing, the Sawyer and Miles thing still baffles her.
Tomorrow, though . . . tomorrow's been specifically planned to avoid any interference. Miles has some kind of charity event board meeting thing; Jimmy's out of town; their daughter has to work . . . all clear. Tomorrow's D-Day, if Sawyer doesn't completely lose his shit first.
Cassidy opens the door on the first knock. She shakes her fists at shoulder level. "I am so excited about today, Kate! Girls' day! Just what I needed. Great idea!"
"Gonna have to take a rain check on girls' day, Cass." Kate feels a little guilty. Maybe she should've thought of a less-appealing cover story. Like "On that Friday we don't have the kids, maybe we can spend the day sticking sharp sticks up our nostrils."
Kate steps inside while Cass fakes a pout and closes the front door. "Why?" she asks. "Everything OK? Is Aaron OK? Do you need . . ."
Kate throws up a hand to stop Cassidy's concern and offers of help. "I'm here to tell you the truth about Jimmy."
"All right?" Cassidy says, tentatively. "Want some coffee? Come on back to the kitchen."
Three minutes later, Kate's sitting with her hands wrapped around a warm mug. She's had this all planned out for a while now. What she's going to say, how she's going to say it, what she's going to do if Cassidy doesn't believe her, what she's going to do if she flips out.
Cassidy goes first: "So. Jimmy. What's the scoop?"
"Actually, I told you the truth once already. You just mis-heard me. Or didn't believe me or . . .well, it's understandable because the truth is a little unbelievable, but I thought that, well, you know, uh, see the thing is . . ." Seriously. She's had this whole thing planned out. Why is she starting to falter? "Sawyer . . . your Sawyer. . . Clementine's father . . . he's Jimmy's father, too." Ugh, that didn't come out at all like she kept hearing it when she was rehearsing in her head.
Cassidy blinks a few times, narrows her eyes, and leans back in her chair. She's sizing Kate up, trying to decide whether to believe her, and it seems that she does. "My God," she finally says. "My God. I knew his childhood was bad, foster care and all that, but . . . My God. God."
Unexpected response. How does Sawyer's childhood in foster care have any bearing on any of this?
Cassidy continues, "Please tell me his mother is at least a decent age. And, so Jimmy's rich family? He was adopted?"
What? Kate knows she must look completely baffled.
Cassidy says, "He must have been, what? Thirteen? When Jimmy was born? Younger? That's . . . oh God, that actually makes me feel somewhat sorry for the hateful bastard."
Oh, gotcha. Yeah, right. No, see I haven't explained the time travel bit yet. "Remember what I told you about the Island? How it disappeared? It went back in time, and Sawyer went back with it. To 1974. Jimmy was born six years after that - in 1980." That part was rehearsed and came out exactly how she planned. Except, well, it kinda sounded obviously rehearsed.
Cassidy chokes on her coffee. "Kate, what the hell? You expect me to believe that? Are you nuts?"
This was the expected response. Good. Moving on to the next part of the script. "I know it's hard to believe. I didn't believe it either at first, trust me. But I can prove it to you. I can take you to him. To Sawyer. He wants to see you. He'd like to meet Clementine, if you'll let him. But let's take it one step at a time. Let me take you to him."
"How should I dress?" Cass asks. That was . . . surprisingly easy.
"Uh. . . I don't . . . I'm not really sure it matters . . . what. . . what you have on now is fine, I guess."
"Look, Kate, if you want to take me somewhere as a surprise . . . Day Spa? Movies? Beach?" Kate stares back impassively. "I wanna make sure I'm appropriately dressed."
"I'm taking you to Sawyer's house. He lives with his wife in Beverly Hills."
"Oh, he's married is he? And is she a time traveler, too?" Kate nods, frantically searching the script in her brain for what she's supposed to say (if anything) about Juliet. Cassidy doesn't give her a chance, though, saying, "And that's right - they're rich." She sounds like she's mocking Kate. She is mocking Kate.
Kate says, "They made a ton of money in the stock market. Since they were from the future, I guess it came easy."
Cassidy jerks her head back, like she's avoiding a slap to the face. "That's the first thing you've said . . . it kinda sounds like . . . like something he'd think of."
Kate nods. "I hate to tell you, but all these 'good luck' things you've had going your way? The scholarship? The new car? That deal you got on this condo? Sawyer's arranged it all. Apparently, he's been paying for things since she was born."
"That's where you're wrong. He didn't want anything to do with her . . . with us . . . How'm I supposed to believe he paid for her school?" She snorts dismissively.
"I know. I know. But for him, that was nearly forty years ago. Don't you think he could've changed, even a little? "
"Forty years ago, right. Time travel, I forgot."
"What's the harm, Cass? What's the harm in letting me take you there? If I'm wrong, if I'm delusional about this whole time travel thing, then you can use this opportunity to help me get the professional psychological help I need." Sometimes late at night and half asleep, Kate starts to think that maybe she is dreaming this all up, imagining things that aren't real.
"I don't know . . ."
"And if I'm right? If it really is Sawyer? Then think of it as your chance to read him the riot act. Really let him have it."
"I . . . OK. Yeah, yeah. . . I guess that would be nice."
Score one for Juliet. That "think of it as an opportunity to read him the riot act," had been her contribution to the script. "Hey, now," Sawyer had said, looking wary. To which Juliet replied, "Do you want her to come or not? She has to have an incentive, and what could be better than chewing you out?" Then he snorted and glared, and she smiled and winked at him. And Kate didn't think it was weird or icky. (Or heartbreaking. OK, maybe just a little heartbreaking.)
SAWYER
They're going to be here any minute – he hopes. He'd wanted Kate to call him when they were on their way, but she said she didn't want to "complicate things." Like how fuckin' difficult is it to pick up a cellphone, Freckles? Just call me so I don't gotta pace all morning long. But, noooooo. No, Kate thinks a simple phone call will "complicate things." (Right. That will complicate things.) Goddamn that woman can be so irritating. Back in the day, the irritating was nice enough, 'cause maybe it'd lead to some sexy banter, which in turn would lead to some actual sex. Now? Now it's just plain fuckin' irritating.
He reaches out for a cinnamon roll. Juliet smacks his hand away. "Those are for when they get here," she fusses. He's done his thing, poured OJ into the crystal pitcher, put on a pot of coffee, and obsessively straightened everything on the kitchen counters.
"It's going to be OK," she says. "As long as you keep your cool. She has a lot to be angry about, no sense in giving her more for her arsenal."
"Thanks for the advice, Dr. Braniac," he mutters, itching for a fight. He's nervous and out of sorts, and, yeah, he gets why he's not allowed to provoke Cassidy, but can't he at least provoke Juliet? What's she gonna do? Throw him out of the house?
She doesn't bite. "You're welcome."
Fuck, he's jumpy, and he needs someone to provoke. (Where the hell is Miles when you need him?)
He sneers at Juliet. She's always so damn calm. Except he smelled the kitchen when he got up this morning. "How many batches did it take before you got the cinnamon rolls right?"
"I burned the first two," she admits with a smile.
All right all right all right. Deep breaths. Calm down.
Funny how time works. Even real, normal, non-time-traveling, light-flashing, life-changing, nose-bleeding, head-pounding time. How it slows to barely a crawl when you're waiting on something great. Christmas, say, or your daughter's birth . . . time sloooooooooowwwws and minutes pass like hours, and next thing you know you're sniping at your wife and hoping that little baby girl will fucking hurry up and get here. On the other hand, time flashes by in a whoosh when you're dreading something. Your annual physical, say, or the opportunity to make things right with your other daughter's momma . . . time speeds by and hours pass like minutes and . . . well, next thing you know, you're sniping at your wife.
Yesterday was the worst. He tried to get breakfast down but was so damn nervous, he tossed it back up 15 minutes later. Juliet hovered outside the bathroom door, full of concern and worry, and, thank God she's here, thank God she cares, he thought. Except the same thing happened after lunch, Juliet hovering outside the bathroom door, full of concern and worry, and he thought, Jesus F. Christ, does she got any idea how fucking irritating that is? Can't I just puke in peace? Ain't nothin' you can do about it anyway, so leave me the hell alone!
The doorbell rings. They stare at each other, frozen, as if unsure what that chiming sound was, unsure how to respond. Of course, maybe it's the cleaning people. Maybe they got their days mixed up.
Juliet says, "It's going to be fine. You go right on ahead. Bring them back here. I'll be waiting." She smiles at him and squeezes his hand. Her voice is calm, her hand is steady, and he'd believe she meant it, except when she lets go of his hand, she re-stacks the plates, moves the platter of cinnamon rolls a quarter inch to the right, unfolds and refolds a cloth napkin, and takes a slug of mimosa.
"Here goes nothin'." (EVERYTHING)
He stares through the peephole. It's not the cleaning people on his front porch. No, it's Kate (looking hopeful) and Cassidy (looking skeptical). He clears his throat, puts a hand to the doorknob. Clears his throat again, twists the deadbolt. Clears his throat and opens the door.
He looks at Kate. He can't look anywhere else. Can't bring himself to look at Cassidy. He can look at Kate and remind himself things are going to work out in the end, or he can look at Cassidy and feel ashamed.
"Well, shit," Cassidy says. "Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit."
He slides his eyes over to her. "Hey, Cass, long time, no see." Is he supposed to invite them in? He opens the door wider, hoping that's enough of a hint. Kate (thank you, Freckles, thank you) practically shoves Cassidy inside. Cass stumbles over the threshold.
Once inside, she says, "I don't . . . uh, time travel?"
"Yeah." He winces apologetically. Although of all the things he has to apologize for, time traveling ain't one of 'em.
She stares around the foyer, her eyes landing on a framed picture of Jimmy, maybe seven, no front teeth. "Is that . . . is that . . . Jimmy?'
James gulps, nods.
Cassidy says, "All this time, huh? Kate says it's been more than thirty years. And you've just now got the balls to see me?"
"Ain't no way you're gonna believe me, but I been wantin' to make things right for forever. Nothin' I could do for a long time. Hell, what's I supposed to do in 1983, ya know?"
"Yeah, so why now? Why not a year ago? Two years?"
"I didn't want . . .thing is . . . my kids didn't know the truth about time travel and all that. Didn't know 'bout my past and stuff, and I guess I wanted to protect them long as I could."
She snorts. "Aren't you a peach? Worried about your kids, huh? That's priceless. And don't try that bullshit on me. You wanted to protect yourself. Because you're a coward, and because you only care about yourself."
"Cassidy," Kate says low, in warning.
"'S allright, Freckles," James says. "I don't deserve nothin' less." Not from Cassidy at least.
"Why don't we all go back to the kitchen?" Kate says, sticking doggedly to the script.
James waves them back. "After you," he says with exaggerated politeness. Cassidy's got her head on a swivel, and he feels a twinge of pride for his nice house, followed by a wave of guilt. Once upon a time, he took her for her life savings.
Juliet stands in the kitchen, looking overeager and hopeful and nervous behind her platter of cinnamon rolls. James says, "This is my wife. This is Juliet. And, Jules, this is Cassidy."
No one moves. Cassidy and Juliet stare, appraising each other, he guesses. Of course, Juliet met her once, seven years ago, so it's Cassidy doing most of the evaluating.
In the supercalm voice that used to creep James out, but that he now realizes masks nerves, Juliet says, "It's very nice to finally meet you." That's a double lie because it's not "very nice," it's "damn scary," and they've met before.
"Wish I could say likewise," Cassidy replies, then turns to James, dismissing Juliet outright. She says to him, "So, what? What do you want, huh? You gonna try to take my daughter away? Because you have no right. Absolutely no right." She's choking back tears. "You didn't want anything to do with her, and now, what? Because you've got money, you think you can intimidate me into something? Sic your fancy, powerful attorneys on me? How dare you? How. Dare. You." She's shaking with anger.
He throws up his hands. "No, no, no. Nothin' like that, no. I don't want anything. Nothin' you ain't comfortable with. I promise. I'd love to meet her. I really want to, but it's up to you. You gotta believe me."
"I believed you once before, and look where it got me." She shakes her head and bites her lower lip. He can tell she's trying not to cry. Not in front of him. She composes herself, then lets him have it. "God, I was such an idiot. After you sent me away? I waited around for weeks. Even though seventy five percent of the money in that bag was newspaper, stupid me, I thought it was some kind of mistake. I actually worried about you. I didn't know what had happened. Maybe that guy'd done something to you. Jesus, I was so scared for you. What a laugh." She shakes her head. "Hell, I wandered around forever with my whole head on pause. Tried so damn hard to not think of anything. Keep my mind one hundred percent blank, so I couldn't miss you so much. Then, guess what? Wake up call! Hello, Cassidy, you better get your head outta your ass and wake the hell up because you're pregnant. Geez, what a realization that was. And, you know what?"
She pauses like she's actually waiting for an answer. He shifts his weight and leans forward, fingertips on the center island. All this . . . it sounds kinda familiar. Where'd he hear this before? Is this what she told him in prison? Did Kate tell him this over the past two weeks? Is now where he's supposed to apologize? "I . . ." he starts.
She doesn't give him the chance. "I knew it was for the best you were gone. I knew it. I knew you'd reject her. Us. I . . . God, even if I knew that, in my heart of hearts, I'd still have these ridiculous stupid late-night fantasies that you'd somehow find out, or if you'd see me, or I don't even know what, but it would make everything different and we'd live happily ever after. What a joke."
This is what she's here for. To read him the riot act. He has to stand here and take it. Juliet called it her "incentive" to come. So, fine. Still, it fucking hurts to hear all that. Hurts most because it's true. Damn. Damn. He can't even look at her. He tries to imagine her alone, pregnant, scared, hopeful, lonely, confused. Jesus, how can anyone know what that feels like? He has to looks somewhere, so he tries Juliet , but she is studiously not looking at him. She's got her arms crossed, hands in tight fists over her forearms, and is staring at some LACMA exhibit opening postcard stuck on the refrigerator with a yellow 1970s-looking smiley face magnet. Staring so hard the postcard might catch fire if she's not careful. She looks like she's trying not to cry. And what's her problem, anyway?
Cassidy's not finished yet. "I wasn't even gonna turn you in. All you'd done, and I still couldn't bring myself to do it. Luckily, someone gave me the stones to stick up for myself, turn your sorry ass over to the authorities."
He still can't bring himself to look at her, and Juliet's still boring holes in the postcard, so he tries Kate, who seems completely absorbed in the intricacies of the key hooks hanging by the door to the garage. He's on his own. Thanks a lot, ladies.
"I was a piece of shit," he admits. "Ain't no way around it. I can apologize till I'm blue in the face, but ain't no way to change the past. What's done is done."
CASSIDY
Speaking of putting things on pause, she'd like to do that right now and try to figure out exactly what's happening. Because they say "time travel," and it all adds up. He's old, but, damn, old in that way that still looks good, the goddamn sonofabitch. His wife is old. On the drive over, Cass unreasonably hoped she was prettier than his wife. Unreasonable because why the hell should she care? Unreasonable, because, well, that "time travel" thing hadn't sunk in yet. She supposes his wife is attractive, but she's . . . what? Sixty? Mid-fifties? Jimmy's in his late 20s, so, yeah, that adds up.
Time travel? Yep, it adds up. They're old, they have all this money. They have grown children. Then there's this long string of good luck Cassidy's been on ever since the hospital's insurance rep came to her in L&D and told her there'd been some kind of mix-up with her insurance, and she was entitled to an extra two night's stay and a private room. . . pretty much as soon as Clem was born, it all started pouring in, and . . . is she supposed to be thankful? Bow down and kiss the bastard's ring?
She says, "Well that's just great. I'm so happy to know you finally matured. Had to get old to do it, I guess. But you aren't Clementine's father, Sawyer was, and it was him I needed something from. And as far as I can tell, he did jack shit."
"That ain't exactly true. When he . . .I . . . was in prison, the warden came to me . . ." he glances over to his wife then, and she nods. "Anyway, warden came to me, and set up some kinda deal where I conned a fellow inmate into telling me where he'd stashed away a bunch of money. I got a cut of it. Sawyer did that, OK? That was the old me, and it's all in a trust fund in Clementine's name. She'll get it soon as she turns 21."
Cassidy is shocked. Maybe more shocked than about the whole time travel deal. She's not going to give him the pleasure though. She should be grateful? Fuck him. Fuck. Him. "When she's 21. That's nice. Do you have any idea what it costs to raise a goddamn kid?"
"That's why we been tryin' to get you money and things whenever we can. I do know what it costs," he says, and she wants to explode. That's right. He raised two kids. Fuck him. Fuck. Him. She's not good enough? Her daughter's not good enough? Fuck him and his kids.
"Oh, that's right. Your kids. Right. The ones you wanted to protect? From what? From me? From their little seven-year-old sister? Oooooooh. Scary. No, you wanted to protect you."
He nods like he's agreeing with her, slumps his shoulders like he's ashamed, and that pisses her off even more, because when did he get to be so reasonable?
She asks, "So, do they know about her? Clementine?"
He won't look at her, the cowardly bastard, so his wife (Judy? Julia?) says, "They only found out about the time travel six weeks ago."
"That's not what I asked." Try again, Juliana.
"We want to work things out with you . . ."
Oh for chrissake. Cassidy interrupts. "The question is simple. Do they know about their sister?"
"No. No they don't." Whatserface uncrosses her arms and stands up straight, and damn, she kinda looks mad, but she sounds calm. "We thought we'd work things out with you first. We want to follow your lead, and if they got involved, things could get even more complicated than they already are."
And who are you, so well-spoken and attractive and reasonable? Who the hell are you? Some kind of doctor, Kate said on the car ride over. What's so damn great about you that he'd grow up and act right for your kids? "So, what's your secret?" Cassidy asks her.
She looks confused (good), but, honestly, the question's not all that confusing. Mrs. Sawyer says, "I don't, uh . . . my secret? I . . . I'm a time traveler too? Or . . . I'm . . . I'm not sure what you're asking."
"Forget it," Cassidy snorts. She's out of things to say. She wants to fight with Sawyer, but apparently, he doesn't exist anymore, replaced by this reasonable older gentleman. She doesn't know what to say.
Kate pipes up for the first time since they got back here. "Who wants a drink?"
Julie or whoever she is hands Kate an orange juice. Or, "Mimosa," she says, and Kate slugs it down then sits at a bar stool next to the center island.
"Ahhhh!" Kate exhales, smacks her lips, and takes a cinnamon roll from a platter on the counter. Everyone else still stares uncomfortably. Two bites in, Kate says, around a mouth full of frosting and cinnamon. "Sawyer, don't you have something to give Cassidy?"
"Right, right," he says, reaching into his back pocket. He hands over a folded envelope.
She unfolds it, creased, yellowing, and rough around the edges. "CLEMENTINE" it says in neat, precise faded blue ballpoint.
"I, uh . . .I wrote that letter for her. It's, uh, it's what you said you'd like me to do for her. Never really got the chance like I'd like to, but, anyway, I wrote that . . . Jesus, more'n twenty five years ago. Kept it just in case. You read it first, and you can decide what you want to do with it."
"Tell me what you want, Sawyer," she says.
"I'd like to meet her. I'd like to get to know her. And if you ain't OK with that, then I guess I just hope you'll let me help ya out. There's that trust fund I told ya about, then I got another couple million in an account for her. We put a million in the month she was born. You're welcome to it."
The money's nice, she's not going to lie. Holy shit. If this is all true, it's going to make everything so much easier: summer camp and braces and lessons and first cars and tuition and her wedding and a down payment on her first house . . . But Cassidy's not sure a million dollars makes up for a bastard absent father.
She looks at the envelope in her hands. The paper is soft and worn, the sharp corners rounded down with age. She runs her fingers over her daughter's name, and can feel the impression left by the pen. She looks back to Sawyer, soft and worn, sharp corners rounded down with age. She feels herself giving in, and hates herself for it. Despises it.
She says, "She thinks you're dead. I told her you never got to see her because you were in prison. Then you died in the plane crash. That's all I've ever said about you. Life'll be tough enough without a dad, no sense adding all the other despicable stuff on top of it. That's how I plan to leave it. My guess is she'll figure some stuff out when she gets older, but for now, that's all I want her to know. So you . . . you can't just ride in and upset the apple cart. She's seven. I don't want her life any more complicated than it already is."
"I understand," he says. "Yeah, of course. I don't want that neither."
Cassidy starts to make an offer, "Maybe we could just . . ."
"Helloooooo?" A woman's calling from the front door.
Kate leaps from her barstool. Sawyer and his wife exchange alarmed looks.
"Hello?" the voice is getting closer. The woman walks into the kitchen. "I'm on my way to work, but thought I'd drop off these tickets. If you come on Tuesday I can show you . . . uh. . ." she stops short, looking first at Kate, then to Sawyer, then to Juliet (yeah, that might be it. Juliet).
Ha! This must be their daughter. Ha! Now the tables are turned, because Cassidy's got some cards to play. This is going to be fun, and she's going to enjoy being the one to spill the beans.
She turns to look at the woman, and Cassidy's lungs squeeze tight. This woman's so familiar. Holy shit, Cassidy can't breathe. She's familiar. She's . . . she's . . . it's like looking into a crystal ball and seeing Clem all grown up. Same eyes, same nose, same expression Clem gets when she's confused. Holy shit. It hurts. It hurts to see her little girl all grown up. Slow down, time, please.
The woman's eyes linger on Kate for a bit. Then she turns to Cassidy and tilts her head just a little. She squints at her, confused. "What . . .what's going on here?" she asks.
