by Maren Smith
“Ouch,” Cadence said, still staring at his lack of teeth.
“Where did you get hit?”
“In a parking lot,” she admitted guardedly.
Buddy brightened even more. “Did you walk into the door, too?”
“Nope, I got hit by the entire front of the car, actually.”
“At least your teeth look good.”
Tired as she was, as much as she was hurting, that still made Cadence smile. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Starting the wash, Cadence limped back to the kitchen, ready to start on dinner, with Buddy cheerfully trailing after her.
“What do you think?” she said opening up the fridge. She held the door open wide enough to let him stand there beside her. They both surveyed their options. “What did you have for dinner last night?”
“Eggs,” Buddy replied. “Dad doesn’t know how to cook like Libby did, so he makes a lot of eggs. Do you know how to make eggs?”
“I can scramble with the best of them. I’m almost tempted too, except you’ve only got two eggs left.” She checked the egg carton in the door. “Yup. Two. That’s not enough for everyone. There’s only three pieces of bread, too. So, that’s a ‘no’ to sandwiches. Time to get crafty.” Nothing dinner-worthy was jumping out at her and the longer she stood there, the louder her knees screamed for relief. She closed the fridge and opened the freezer. “What did you have for dinner the night before last?”
“Pizza. Carla brought it. She likes my dad. She says he’s smart and funny, but he says ‘God, help me’ every time she comes over.”
Wondering who Carla was, Cadence pulled a package of franks out of the freezer door. “Do you guys like hot dogs?”
“Yup!” Buddy gave a little hop as he said it. “We like it even better in macaroni and cheese. Do you know how to make macaroni and cheese?”
“Do you have a box?”
“In the pantry.” He pointed to the closet on the far side of the kitchen, then followed her over to stand in that doorway too while she searched through the sparse supplies. “It’s down here,” Buddy supplied, squatting all the way down to pull two boxes out from under the bottommost shelf. “Libby hides all the good stuff she doesn’t want Dad to know we’re eating down here.
Cadence stopped, even as she took the boxes Buddy held out to her. “Your dad doesn’t let you eat this?”
“He says it’s all starch and fat,” Buddy said, making a face. “But Libby says it’s also got milk, which is dairy, and noodles which is wheat, dairy and protein, and the TV says it’s the cheesiest, and that’s everything a growing boy needs.”
Cadence almost put the boxes back in the pantry, but her choices were so grossly limited. Marcus’s kitchen was full of components, like barbeque sauce, pickles, olives, bread crumbs, stuffing, peaches, canned pumpkin, cream of broccoli soup, a mystery can that had absolutely no label whatsoever, and sardines. She had no clue what kind of supper could be pulled together out of that, but she was pretty sure it wouldn’t taste good.
Ugh…Hot dogs and macaroni and cheese from a box…there was a lone bag of peas stuck in the ice cube tray in the freezer, but she’d have to defrost in order to chip it free and there was no telling how long it had been in there. She’d bet two to one it came out tasting like something from the fifties…maybe even the 1850s. Apparently, Libby wasn’t a big fan of peas.
She took the macaroni and cheese to the stove and pulled out a pan. Here she was, her first night on the job, and she was about to fix a meal filled with nothing but nitrates, starch, fat and more starch. She could feel her dancer’s heart clogging already, but if Marcus wanted something better, then he should have put food in his fridge.
“Yay!” Buddy cheered as she thumped a pot of water down on the stove. “We’re having the cheesiest!”
Both Michael and Daniel perked up from the couch in the family room. “But Dad’s still here.”
“Guess he should have gone grocery shopping then,” Cadence said, emptying the package of frozen hotdogs into the water to heat and separate.
“I guess I should have,” Marcus’s mildly amused voice said from the doorway behind her.
Cadence jumped so badly that both knees locked, then buckled backwards. She grabbed for the counter, missed, and nearly slapped the hot dog pan as she went down. Buddy tried to catch her. She heard both boys in the family room jump up and come running, though Marcus was the first around the kitchen counter.
“I’m fine!” Cadence shouted, at once both angry at herself for falling and mortified beyond belief. What a way to instill confidence in her abilities her first day on the job. This was twice in two days that the doctor had rushed to help her up off the ground. How was he ever going to believe her capable of taking care of his kids and his house, if she couldn’t even keep herself standing on her own two feet?
“It’s okay,” Marcus soothed, pushing his youngest son out of the way.
“It’s ‘cause she got hit by a car,” Buddy said, his eyes much too big in his suddenly too small face.
“I’m fine,” Cadence said again, trying to bat the doctor’s hands away, but he reached under her anyway.
“Michael, bring a stool around the counter. Move, Buddy.”
“I don’t need help!” Cadence protested, pushing stiffly at Marcus’s chest right up until every calf muscle in her right leg suddenly knotted and seized. It felt as if the flesh were being ripped right off her shin bones and, unprepared for the cutting intensity of that kind of pain, Cadence shouted. She grabbed her leg, gripping and squeezing, feeling the erratic leap of spasming muscle vibrating under her hands, but the pain wasn’t abating.
Propping her abruptly against the lower counters, Marcus grabbed her right foot and began to pump it, forcing her heel and toes to see-saw up and down. It worked. The spasms stretched and then faded, leaving only the echo of all that ripping agony to pulse in her wounded calf.
Pressed stiff as a board against the cabinets, rubbing and rubbing her leg, it was all Cadence could do not to groan.
“Feel better?” he asked. She nodded and he let go of her foot. His hands replaced hers on her shin and he continued to rub until the worst of the ache abated.
“Is she going to be okay?” Daniel asked.
“Yes, it was just a leg cramp.” Releasing her calf, he slid his arms around her back and under her knees.
“I can get up on my own.”
Marcus picked her up anyway and, waiting until his oldest son brought a bar stool-style chair around the kitchen counter, he set her on it. “Go watch TV, guys. Cadence and I need to have a chat.”
He was too close. The temptation to get up was growing into an overwhelming necessity, but he was right there, hovering not just beside her but keeping her on that stool in a way she hadn’t expected. Marcus wasn’t touching her, but once Michael had set up the stool, he’d placed it up against the cabinets and now stood, one hand braced against the counter to either side of her. She couldn’t move without first physically pushing him. Judging by the look on his face, perhaps not even then.
“I need to get some form of dinner done before it gets too late,” she said uneasily.
“You need to sit right where you are until I’m done talking to you,” Marcus countered. His tone was light and easy, but those gray eyes of his were nothing less than steel and determination, and they stayed locked on her even though his next comment was directed at his sons, none of which had moved. “Go on, boys. Go watch cartoons.”
“Are you going to fire her, Dad?” Daniel asked, his young face both solemn and concerned.
“No, Dad. I like her,” Buddy whined.
“I’m not going to fire her, son. We’re just going to talk.” He still didn’t look away from her. “Go on. Right now.”
The children shuffled obediently out of the kitchen and into the family half of the open room. Though all three sat on the couch facing the TV, group attention remained on what was happening in that semi priva
te alcove of counters and cabinets.
“You’re going to fire me,” Cadence said flatly. It had been some years since she’d held a standard job, but even she knew looks like that from employers did not come without consequences.
Marcus tipped his head. “I am not in the habit of lying to my children, but I do want to ask you: Can you do this job?”
“It was just a leg cramp.”
“Because you’re not eating right, because you’ve overworked your legs, or because you’re not following your doctor’s directions regarding physical therapy?”
“Because this is my new way of life,” she shot back, her temper rising defensively. His mouth flattened and his head tipped even more. His was a look that made her whole stomach tighten with an odd combination of anxiety and dread. After a moment, she relented. “I’m not used to standing so long, but I will get used to it and it will get better. Please give me a chance. I really need this job and I…” Her voice cracked. She locked her lips a moment before clearing her throat and bringing herself back under firm control. “I know I can do this. Just give me a chance.”
His mouth stayed flat and hard. “How often do you go to physical therapy?”
“I stopped going when insurance stopped paying.”
“Are you on disability?”
She stiffened, every inch of her inside flushing cold and then hot with anger. “I am not disabled. I don’t need anyone’s assistance.”
Judging by that look in his solemn gray eyes, Marcus didn’t agree, but he didn’t push the issue either. “Fine. The boys like to sleep in until about seven, if you let them. So, starting tomorrow morning at 6:30, I want you out in the family room and we are going to do some physical therapy together, is that clear?”
“I don’t need—”
“Is. That. Clear?” he repeated in a tone that would brook no further argument. “Do you have a cane?”
Cadence looked away, a hot flush of humiliation flooding up through her chest and into her face. It seared into her, burning so hot it made her eyes sting. “No.”
“I always keep an extra in my office. I’ll bring it to you. From this moment on if you are up and moving around, you will do it with that cane in your hand. Now, is that understood?”
“I’d rather be dead,” she said thickly.
“I guess it’s a good thing we don’t always get what we’d rather have, then, isn’t it?”
She stared across the kitchen, stiff and silent, until he cupped her chin between two fingers and forced her gaze back to his.
“Are we understood, Cadence, or do I need to take you back into my office and talk to you in a way you’re not going to like?”
Her stomach locked up like a fist. Her bottom tingled and crawled, that awful dread descending through her until it had consumed every spankable surface of skin. “That means you’re going to spank me, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does.” He didn’t even apologize for it.
“But you said you wouldn’t if I didn’t consent.”
“That’s right,” he said with a nod. “And I’ll hold to my word. I’ll also wait right here while you go get your bag and then I’ll drive you back to Venia’s, if that’s what you’d rather do. I’ll notify Brent of the change in situation in the morning.”
“That’s not fair,” she said, her voice quivering. All of her was quivering, in fact, and she blamed him for that. Something told her, if he knew he likely wouldn’t have apologized for that, either.
“Life isn’t fair,” he said simply. “I’m sure by now you really don’t need to be told that.”
No. No, she didn’t.
Cadence conceded defeat. She didn’t even need to say so, Marcus just seemed to know. After a moment, he left her sitting there and went to get the cane. The hot dogs were bubbling away on the stove by the time he returned. He pointed to them and the two boxes of macaroni and cheese.
“I’m not going to protest,” he said, “just this once.”
“It’s all you had in your fridge,” she returned. It was so very hard to keep the venom she felt when she had to take that hated cane into her hand out of her tone.
“That’s why I’m not going to protest.” Reaching into his back pocket, Marcus pulled his wallet. He handed her his debit card. “Repeat after me: three-one-two-two. That’s the PIN. The boys are out of school now, so I’m sure they’ll be delighted to go shopping with you tomorrow. They’re great at fetching and carrying.”
She looked at the card, the weight of it feeling so much heavier than something so thin and light ought to. Perhaps it was the war of responsibility and temptation playing tug-o-war in her chest that made it feel that way. “Limit?”
“Use your judgment and stock the fridge and pantry accordingly. And, Cadence? What you said before about how you’d rather be dead…my boys would be very distressed to hear that sort of thing. Please don’t say that where they can overhear you again.”
Another hot flush of shame. This time, it burned into her without the added taint of anger. She nodded to show she understood.
“Cadence.” He waited until she was looking at him again. “Don’t ever say that where I can hear you again either.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The kids sat down for a supper of mac and cheese and hot dogs as if it were ice cream and cake. Buddy brought his paper and proudly showed his father his final first grade progress report.
“Plays well with others,” Marcus read off. “Pays attention in class. Helps others. Reads at a third grade level. Way to go, Buddy. High five, my man!”
The youngest son scrambled up in his chair to clap his father’s outstretched hand.
“How about you guys?” Turning to his other sons, Marcus picked up his hot dog and gave them his attention. “Have you given any thought to summer camp?”
“The boy scout one looked fun,” Daniel said. “I’ve narrowed it down to horses or canoes, but I don’t see why they can’t let me do both. It’s being held at the same campground. Why do I have to pick just one?”
“Because that’s the way they have it set up,” his father replied.
“I want to go fishing with Mr. Carmichael,” Michael said. “One whole weekend of fishing and swimming.” He chortled over his macaroni. “I can’t wait.”
“I don’t want to go,” Buddy said, dropping back down to kneel on his chair.
Marcus glanced up from his plate in surprise. “I thought you wanted to do the Wild West camp? Cowboys and Indians, riding real horses and learning how to lasso the wily stray log.”
“I did,” the six-year-old admitted. “Now I want to stay here.”
Marcus studied him a moment. “Are you sure? I think summer camp will be a lot of fun.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
Poking at her own plate, Cadence listened to them go back and forth, but didn’t say anything. At least, not until Buddy swiveled on his chair and asked, “Did you ever go to summer camp, Cadence?”
Glancing from child to father, Cadence then poked at her plate again. “Yes, I did. And your father’s right. It was a lot of fun. You might be sorry you missed it if you don’t go.”
Buddy wasn’t convinced. “What did you do?”
“Swimming and hiking, mostly. It was a long time ago, but I remember eating s’mores by firelight at night and playing in the woods during the day. Sometimes we hiked down to the beach and we’d climb on the rocks and look at tide pools.”
“We don’t have a beach,” Daniel commented.
“That was when I lived in Florida,” she told him. “You might not have beaches, but Colorado does have some nice features that Florida doesn’t.”
“Like what?” Michael scoffed.
“Mountains,” Cadence pointed out. “Awesome skiing. Humidity that doesn’t try to suffocate you with every breath you take.”
“Florida has Disney World,” Daniel pointed out.
“I want to go camping at Disney World,” Buddy piped up, rising on his knees again. “Can we go
to Disney World, Dad?”
“Maybe next summer, Buddy,” Marcus said. “Definitely not this one, though.”
“It’s very expensive,” Cadence told him.
“You’ve been?” Buddy asked, as crushed as if she’d gone only that morning and simply hadn’t invited him along.
“It was a long time ago,” she assured him. “And all I really remember about it…well, apart from the lady who wigged out in the middle of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride…is that it was very, very expensive.”
“Maybe we could afford to go if we didn’t have Cadence,” Michael said, poking at his food.
Daniel thumped him in the ribs with his elbow. “That was mean.”
Dropping his fork on his plate, Marcus wiped his mouth with his napkin and then fixed his eldest with a hard stare. “That doesn’t fly here and you know it. Apologize for your rudeness or leave my table.”
“That’s okay,” Cadence said, trying to keep the mood from souring any more than it already had. “I’m not offended.”
“I am,” Marcus countered. He pointed to Michael, who sat poking silently at his supper, his mouth sullenly shut. “Leave my table.”
His abruptly abandoned fork clattered loudly on the table as Michael hopped down out of his chair and marched himself off to his room.
Dropping his napkin on the table now too, Marcus stood up. “Cadence, I will see you in my office now.”
“What did I do?” she protested.
“Now,” he repeated, his tone just as calm as calm could be and yet so stern as to be unignorable.
Her exit felt every bit as sullen as Michael’s had when she shoved back her chair and, glaring at Marcus, limped for the front of the house.
“Cane,” Marcus reminded, and she promptly came back to the table long enough to grab it. She limped down the short hallway carrying it in her hand, but she’d be damned if she leaned on it.
Moving far enough ahead of her to catch his office door, he held it open for her, letting her enter first. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Why did it suddenly feel like she was in trouble?