by S. Walden
“You only broke one. And it wasn’t illegal.”
“Cost me my job,” Mark said.
“You didn’t even like your job,” Dylan noted.
Mark chuckled. “That obvious?”
“Well, correction. You liked one aspect of your job. And her name is Cadence,” Dylan said.
“Tell me the truth. What did you think of her when she came here to listen to records?”
Dylan sighed. “You really wanna know?”
Mark nodded.
“I thought, how can one little person carry around that much sadness?”
Mark tensed. Dylan eyed him thoughtfully.
“You’ve gotta tell her, Mark,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
“It’ll be awful, but you can’t keep it from her much longer.”
“I don’t wanna see her sad like she used to be. I’d do anything to keep her happy forever,” Mark said.
“I know. But it’s not fair to her to keep her in the dark. And you know it.”
Mark took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, trying to purge with it any fear of revealing his past to Cadence. Didn’t work. He was consumed by it all afternoon, long after he left Dylan’s store. He determined to tell her. He did. He just couldn’t put a date on it yet.
Cadence expected swords and shields. What she got instead were handbags and hats. These women were going to be her protectors? Um, no. They were sassy. She’d give them that, but she wasn’t sure they’d be able to get the job done. After all, there were five of them, but hundreds of everyone else.
“Remind me again why this is important?” Cadence asked. She stood huddled outside the sanctuary doors, unwilling to walk inside. Mark stood beside her, his arm wrapped around her waist.
“Cadence, honey, you’ll be okay. You don’t run, remember?” Martha said.
“Yes, I do,” Cadence argued. “I sure do.” She broke away from Mark’s grasp and started towards the parking lot. Mark went after her.
“Hey,” he said, taking her hand and forcing her to stop. “It’s okay. We can go home.”
“You’re just saying that because you don’t wanna be here either,” Cadence replied.
“Cadence, I don’t mind being here. And I know church is important to you. I wanted to come. And I won’t let anyone be mean to you. I don’t think they will, but you’re safe either way.”
“Those women can’t protect me, Mark,” Cadence said. “You can’t either.”
“You underestimate all of us,” Mark replied. He pointed to the group waiting patiently at the door. “You realize they’re mothers, don’t you?”
“Huh?”
He smiled. “They’re mothers. Nobody’s gonna mess with you.”
She didn’t understand. She had a mother, but what did that matter? She was bullied constantly last year. No protection. No sympathy. What did he mean? Not every mother protected her child.
“Come on,” he urged, pulling on her hand gently.
She shook her head. “You don’t even like church,” she pointed out.
“It has merit,” he replied.
That statement made her laugh.
“And it’s important to you,” he added. “And what’s important to you is important to me.”
She nodded. “I didn’t want to come back to prove that I’m not scared of anyone. Because that’s not true. I’m scared of everyone.”
Mark listened.
“I wanted to come back because I can’t do all my studying on my own.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“You need to fill up on some spiritual food from an expert,” he replied.
She grinned. “Is that all right?”
“I wouldn’t want you any other way,” he said.
Cadence wasn’t sure what Mark meant by that. He said it playfully, but there was an underlying seriousness to his words. It was subtle—imperceptible to anyone but her. But she heard it, and she wondered what it meant. She opened her mouth to respond before she was stopped by Mrs. Connelly’s voice.
“You two ready?”
Cadence took a deep breath and walked inside with everyone. They surrounded her and Mark—Mrs. Connelly and LouAnn in front, Marybeth and Gypsy on either side of them, and Martha to the back. They really were serious about keeping her safe, though she never thought she’d have to worry for her safety inside a church.
She scanned the area her family usually sat in, but people were still moving about finding seats, so it was hard to see those who were already sitting. Her hand started to sweat, and she quietly apologized to Mark, who was holding it.
“I like when your hand sweats,” he assured her.
She giggled. It was so stupid, and she knew he’d keep saying those sorts of things to her to calm her nerves.
They filed into a nearly empty row, and that’s when Cadence glimpsed her mother staring at her. Well, no. That wasn’t right. She was staring just to Cadence’s left, where Mrs. Connelly sat. Cadence understood immediately: Jealousy. And a part of her felt greedy for it because it suggested her mother cared. Suddenly the Bed Bath and Beyond incident didn’t matter. If she tried very hard, she could forget the whole thing and focus on this new feeling: one of hope. Her mother cared. She displayed it poorly, but she cared nonetheless.
So much for spiritual sustenance. Cadence came to church to learn something, but she spent the entire service fantasizing about an alternate universe where her father pleaded for forgiveness, begged her to come home, and promised her whatever she wanted. Her mother was there, too, crying her eyes out, wrapping Cadence in hugs and dousing her with kisses.
It was a nice fantasy.
Her brain switched tracks. Fantasizing ended, and now her mind traveled down the road of memories. She saw her family huddled on the couch watching a Disney movie. She was eight. Oliver was six. They were eating popcorn. She was nestled between her parents, and she lay with her head against her father’s chest. She thought he kissed the top of her head.
“Are you okay?” Mark whispered.
She turned to him, and that’s when she felt the tear slide down her cheek. She wiped at it and smiled.
“Because the pastor just made a joke,” Mark said. “But you’re crying.”
“I didn’t hear him,” Cadence replied.
Mark took her hand and squeezed it. Only ten minutes of the service remained, and she tried to listen. She had to focus hard, though, because her mind kept urging her back to the Disney movie night, and she was certain there were parts of it that she was making up. Her father didn’t kiss her head.
Yes, he did, her brain countered.
That’s a lie, Cadence insisted.
It’s not. He kissed your head. He laughed when you accidentally burped.
Cadence’s eyes went wide. She’d forgotten that! It was the Coke. She couldn’t control it, and she thought she’d get in trouble with her mother. But her mother laughed. Dad laughed. Oliver laughed. It was one of those family bonding moments. Over a disgusting burp.
“Cadence?” Mark asked, and then he took her hand and led her out of the sanctuary. She made it to the foyer before she burst into tears. “Sweetheart, it’s okay,” he said, wrapping her in a hug.
“It’s not even important!” she wailed.
He didn’t know what she meant, but he shook his head.
“Everything is important, Cadence,” he said. “If it’s happening to you, then it’s important.”
“I burped!” she cried.
He was even more confused, but he kept right on holding her.
“Everyone does it,” he said.
She managed a laugh. “No, no. When I was eight, I accidentally burped, and everyone laughed. We were watching a movie. My whole family. Dad let me rest my head on him.”
Church ended, and people started flooding the foyer. Mark and Cadence were swept up in the tide and pushed out the door. He took her hand and led her to a private nook on the other side of the church
entry.
“I wanted you to have a good experience,” Mark said. “I wanted you to feel good coming back here.”
Cadence shook her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe if I hadn’t seen my parents, I would have been fine.”
“Well, I did listen to the lesson while I kept my eye on you,” Mark said. “If you want me to tell you about it later.”
She smiled. “Why is it so hard to let them go?”
“Because they’re your parents.”
“But they’re awful!”
“Doesn’t matter. You spent the majority of your life—”
Cadence placed her hand on Mark’s forearm and shook her head, silently telling him to be quiet. She thought she heard the sound of Mrs. Connelly’s voice, but it didn’t sound like a pleasant conversation. Cadence walked around the corner and spotted them: Mrs. Connelly and her mother. Something told her to stay put, so she partially hid behind a tree.
“If you have something to say to me, then you need to say it,” Mrs. Connelly said.
“I do have something to say to you,” Mrs. Miller shot back.
“Well, out with it already!”
Mrs. Miller wasted no time. “What kind of woman raises a son to go after young girls? Hmm? Your son is nothing but a predator who takes advantage of impressionable teenagers!”
Mrs. Connelly drew herself up to her full height. “Now, I don’t think you need to be name-calling. I mean, I suppose we could go that route, but you don’t wanna hear the names I have for you.”
“Don’t talk to me like that. I’m not scared of anything you have to say to me,” Mrs. Miller snapped.
“Mrs. Miller, I’m quite sure you wouldn’t want me calling you a spineless bitch in the church parking lot,” Mrs. Connelly said.
Mrs. Miller’s mouth dropped open. She narrowed her eyes. “Your son is a PREDATOR!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. She knew it would attract the attention of churchgoers leaving the auditorium.
“My son broke no laws,” Mrs. Connelly calmly replied.
“So what? He was her teacher! He should have known better! He preyed on her because she was lonely!”
Mrs. Connelly raised her eyebrows. The message wasn’t lost on Mrs. Miller.
“How dare you! Because Cadence was being punished, it’s our fault she was an easy target?”
“No. I don’t think she was a target at all.”
Mrs Miller snorted. “Of course you don’t. That would be tantamount to recognizing your son’s guilt.”
“I find it interesting that you give Cadence no credit for having a brain. She was a willing participant from the beginning, but you won’t give her the decency or respect she deserves. She has a functioning brain and can make her own goddamn decisions.”
Mrs. Miller looked stunned. “Listen to that filthy mouth,” she breathed.
“And I’ve got more,” Mrs. Connelly warned. She pointed a finger right in Mrs. Miller’s face. “You had an opportunity to restore your relationship with your daughter. Your daughter. And you walked away. You’re a pathetic excuse for a mother.”
“I’m not!” Mrs. Miller shouted. “I’m a good mother!”
Mrs. Connelly burst out laughing—an icy laughter. “You’re deluded. You disowned your daughter. The child your husband hit.”
“Stop it!”
“The child who made a bad decision, but for Christ’s sake, ONE bad decision! Is she to pay for that forever?”
“You don’t know anything about our situation!” Mrs. Miller shouted.
“I know everything about your situation because Cadence told me,” Mrs. Connelly replied.
“She’s brainwashed! That man brainwashed her!”
“That man has a name!” Mrs. Connelly roared. “His name is Mark. He gives your daughter all the things you’re supposed to give her: a home, security, love.”
Mrs. Miller couldn’t think of a reply, so she screamed, “You’re not her mother!”
Cadence wanted to run towards the sound of her mother’s voice, but she realized the argument drew a crowd. She was embarrassed, and hid further behind the tree.
Mr. Miller tried to pull his wife towards the car, but she wouldn’t budge. She wasn’t finished with Mrs. Connelly yet.
“Was this your plan all along?! Get your son to go after my daughter so you could take her away from me?!”
Mrs. Connelly said nothing. How could she answer a question so absurd?
“He stole my daughter away!” Mrs. Miller cried. She was hysterical, and Cadence watched helplessly as the tears coursed down her mother’s worn and lined cheeks. “He stole her from me! You stole her from me!”
“That’s enough, Lydia,” Mr. Miller said. He put his arm around her and turned her towards their car.
The church attendants sent to break up the argument were too late. It was over. The small crowd dispersed and went to Sunday lunch armed with a delicious story to share.
Cadence waited until Mrs. Connelly was completely alone before running to her. Mrs. Connelly glimpsed her from the corner of her eye and opened her arms in invitation. Cadence crashed into her, throwing her arms around Mrs. Connelly’s neck, squeezing her perhaps too tightly and wishing she could get closer.
“Honey,” Mrs. Connelly whispered in her ear.
Cadence sobbed into Mrs. Connelly’s neck, clung to her. She said nothing. After all, there was nothing left to say. She only wanted to feel protected and loved, and she felt those things now as her new mother stroked her back and shushed her sobs.
Mark stood a few feet away observing his mother—her focus concentrated solely on the young woman in her arms. He saw the mother who bandaged his knees every time he fell off his skateboard. The mother who dried his eyes when his dog died. The mother who patched his jeans and trimmed his hair. The mother who always had the answers to even his toughest questions: “Why can’t we float in the air?” “How do TVs work?” “Where did we come from?” “Who made God?”
He watched this wise woman—this fixer—work her magic on Cadence. Soothing her worry, mending her heart, promising her love. He thought about Cadence’s mother, who did none of those things, and realized in that moment just how fortunate he was to have a mother who cared.
***
“Nice to see you, Mark,” Millie said. She stood at the counter writing in a large ledger.
“Hey, Millie,” Mark replied. “Do you mind if I hang with Cadence for a little bit?”
“Not at all, just as long as she keeps working.”
“I’ll make sure of it,” he said.
“She’s in the back.”
Mark walked through the door, the overpowering floral scent knocking him in the face. He wasn’t prepared for it, but he didn’t not like it. He found the perfumed air instantly therapeutic, and realized this was the best working environment for his girlfriend. Not that she was an emotional mess, but he thought flower therapy could go a long way in soothing the pain she experienced a few days ago in church.
Cadence glimpsed him from the back counter.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. Her surprise was evident—slightly higher-pitched tone, instant flush to the cheeks, silly grin. He made her unexpectedly happy.
“I wanted to see what your job’s all about,” he said. He approached her and kissed her cheek.
“Really?” She sported a full smile now.
“Yes, really,” he replied. He pulled himself up on the counter and sat, legs dangling, watching her snip the ends of a flower he couldn’t name.
“You’re just gonna hang out with me?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“But don’t you have work to do?”
“It can wait.”
“And Millie said it was okay?” she asked.
“Yep. As long as I don’t distract you, which I think I already am. Get back to work,” he ordered.
She giggled and kept snipping.
“What are those?” he asked.
She laughed o
ut loud. “Seriously, Mark? You’ve never seen a tulip?”
He shrugged. “How should I know?” He picked one up and carefully fingered the petals.
Cadence watched him from the corner of her eye. She wanted to tell him to put down the flower. Instinct told her he’d accidentally tear one of the fragile petals. But experience told her he’d be as gentle with the flower as he was when he made love to her last night.
“I’m including them in your mother’s bouquet,” she said.
Mark tricked her. The flowers he ordered weren’t for his mother. They were for Cadence. He ordered them with the intention of coming here to watch her arrange them for herself. He thought it’d be a fun little experiment to learn more about her—how she saw herself represented in the flowers she chose.
“Well, don’t base it on what you think my mom would like. Base it on what you like,” he said.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I know my mom would like any arrangement you made, so imagine it’s for you,” he replied.
“Okay.” She shook her head, clearly confused, and set aside the tulips.
“Not a fan?” he asked.
“Oh, I like them a lot, but they’re not what I’d put in a bouquet for myself,” she said. She grinned. “They’re kind of old womanish.”
Marked laughed. “So you thought they’d be perfect for my mom.”
“Well, what can I say?” she asked.
She walked to a refrigerator on the far side of the room and rooted around until she found the container with all the roses. She carried it back to her work station.
“I’m a simple girl,” she said, pulling out the roses. “I’ll arrange a big fat bouquet with dozens of different flowers if you want, but I prefer smaller, tidier arrangements.”
Mark listened, fascinated.
“I’ve actually thought long and hard about that,” she went on, snipping a healthy chunk from each stem.
“Why do you cut them at an angle?” Mark asked.
She looked at her scissors and then at him. “Helps them drink the water more easily.”
He smiled. “So what conclusion did you come to?”
“I need order,” she said. “I think that’s what it is. I need something easy to digest. Easy to understand.” She waved her hand around. “You see all this? Ridiculous.”