Free Mourning Becomes Cassandra by Christina Dudley

mentoring thing; he had volunteered with Young Life all through college.
    As everyone gathered their things to go, I saw James hanging back. Like Kyle, he unceremoniously relieved me of my pile of books and checked out the titles. “I definitely need to meet this kid. He knows his stuff.”
    “His name is Kyle,” I volunteered.
    “Kyle,” he repeated. “I’ll remember that. So what exactly are you doing with a pile of expert Star Wars books? Some of your freelance writing?”
    I suppressed a squirm. My project sounded dumber each time I had to explain it. “I’ve mostly done grant writing and wanted to try some fiction, so I’m trying a movie novelization. You know, those dumb books they sell with the actors’ photos on the cover. This way I thought I could compare my novelization to an existing one and see if I’m any good at it. Kind of like when you try to break into screenwriting, and they make you start with writing episodes for existing shows. Kyle actually promised to read it and tell me if it was crap.”
    James grinned. “I like this kid! The world doesn’t need any more crap. If Kyle thinks it’s any good, you should let me take a look. We’re always looking for writers to do the game narrative and dialogue.”
    My eyes widened. “Really truly?”
    “Really truly—if it’s not crap. And on a related note, have you ever done any acting work?”
    If I had heard Daniel ask someone that, I would think it was a creepy pick-up line. “Acting work? Not really, unless you count high school drama,” I confessed. “I was Hermia in A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Rebecca Gibbs in Our Town .”
    James laughed. “We most certainly count high school drama. I don’t know if you play many video games, but they don’t exactly call for Oscar-winning performances. I know it’s a weird question, but we need actors to record game dialogue, and you have a nice voice, kind of low and sweet.”
    That absolutely floored me. After a moment I managed to joke, “So I wouldn’t be Chewbacca, then?”
    We were outside by now, standing by a motorcycle. When James handed me my books back and unhooked the helmet, I realized this bike didn’t belong to any student. My husband Troy had been a bike fanatic for as long as I’d known him, only giving up riding after Min was born, and it took me only half a beat to recognize that James rode a pretty sweet Ducati. “Is that a Monster City?” I breathed.
    It was his turn to stare. “You a Ducati fan too, or just doing some freelance writing about them?”
    I shook my head. “No. My husband had an M750, a couple years ago, and I—I remember him reading about these.” I hoped I wasn’t blushing when I mentioned Troy. It was one of the awkwardnesses of widowhood. Should I be saying “my late husband”? It sounded too ominous and opened up a conversational can of worms for which I didn’t have the time or energy.
    “Another guy I’m going to have to meet,” said James, swinging his leg over the bike. Oops, probably should have mentioned it, then. Well, presumably they’d meet in heaven, and it was too weird to clarify now. He held out a hand to me. “It was great meeting you, Cass. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you at that first group activity.”
    We shook hands—his grip was more assertive than Kyle’s limp fish—and he was off, leaving me to walk home bemused. What did Phyl mean by calling him too tame? I would have thought working in video games and tooling around town on a Ducati Monster would have gained some traction with her. I picked up the pace, suddenly eager to run my day past Joanie.
    • • •
    “Chaff James? It was Chaff James?” Joanie’s voice rose with excitement. “And he liked your voice? He must think you are so cool, knowing about Star Wars and motorcycles! Didn’t I tell you he was cute? And taller than you, am I right?”
    “For the last time, Joanie, I’m not thinking of meeting anyone right now. I still email my mother-in-law