“Don’t you dare—”
“He is crazy,” Mark interrupted. “And selfish. And abusive. And you know it. But you had a chance to show Cadence that you weren’t like that. That you love her and care about her and will do anything to have a relationship with her. You’re her mother, for Christ’s sake!”
Mrs. Miller’s eyes glazed over with fresh tears. Mark averted his eyes. He couldn’t look at her. He was too tempted to tell her what a pathetic woman and mother she was.
He tightened his grip around Cadence’s waist instead. He focused on communicating to her how much he loved her—how he would always fight for her and protect her.
“I have to go,” Mrs. Miller said.
Cadence said nothing. She just stared at her mother perplexed. It’s the look a child gives a parent when she truly has no idea what she’s done wrong. You see the brain working hard, trying to understand, but clarity remains elusive behind furrowed brows.
“Cadence, I . . .” But there was nothing left to say. Mrs. Miller turned and walked away.
Cadence craned her neck and watched her mother walk out of the store and out of sight.
“We can go home,” Mark said gently.
She shook her head. “I want bedding.”
“Cadence, let’s leave all this. It’s not important right now,” Mark urged.
“Yes, it is!” she screamed. A few heads turned in their direction. She walked over to the sheets sets and started searching. “Maybe a neutral color?” she asked, ignoring the tears that plopped onto the plastic casings.
Mark approached her with the cart and played pretend. She wanted to buy new bedding, so he’d help her. It was excruciating watching her cry as she searched through colors and textures, but it’s what she wanted. And he would respect that.
“I like this green color,” she said, holding the set up for him to see. The tears streamed from her eyes. “Or this buttery yellow. That’s pretty and sunshiny. Too girly?” she asked.
He studied the sets she was holding. “I like them both.”
She dropped her arms. “Really?” She opened her hands and watched the sets tumble to the floor.
“Maybe b-blue?” she choked out, reaching for another set. And then she couldn’t pretend anymore. She turned to Mark, a look of wild desperation and hurt on her face, and he gathered her up in his arms. She cried hard—so hard that an employee approached them and asked if there was anything she could do.
“Bring her mother back,” Mark said, and the employee didn’t know how to respond.
He sat down in the corner of the bedding section and pulled her onto his lap. He rocked her side to side and kissed her temple. He whispered soothing words into her ear. He let her pour out all the anger and grief she’d stored up for the past several weeks onto his shoulder, into his neck. He held her tightly and waited for the sobbing to subside. And then she relaxed. He felt the tension melt away from her body. Utter exhaustion from the tears she’d spilled. He asked if she wanted to go home, and she nodded. They stood up, and she reached for his hand. He took it, and led her out.
***
He sat in his worn leather club chair in the corner of their bedroom watching her over the top of his book. She was deep in thought, eyes moving slowly over the tissue-paper pages of her Bible.
He couldn’t resist. “What are you reading about?”
“Love,” she replied, not looking up.
“What book?”
“1 Corinthians,” she said.
Mark thought for a moment. “But you said you didn’t like Paul.”
Cadence closed her Bible and looked at Mark. “I’m not a fan of Paul, but seeing as how he wrote most of the New Testament, I’m kinda stuck with him.”
Mark chuckled. “Why read it at all then?”
“Because there’s good stuff in here!” she replied, and then she quoted, “‘If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal’. That’s poetry, my friend.”
“So I guess Paul isn’t so bad,” Mark replied.
Cadence shrugged and pulled her hair over her shoulder. “I still think he was a freaking misogynist.”
Mark laughed. “Why?”
“He was always telling women what to do. I’d have been like, ‘Step off’.”
“Give me an example,” Mark said.
Cadence thought for a moment. “All right. What’s the deal with him telling women to be silent in church? How about EVERYBODY be silent in church when the pastor’s preaching? How about that?”
“You gotta read it in context,” Mark explained.
“What do you mean?”
“The culture of the time. He’s talking to a specific group of women in a specific church.”
Cadence looked shocked. “How do you know this?”
“I know stuff, Cadence. Just because I’m not a Christian doesn’t mean I haven’t studied the Bible. It is a historical text, you know.”