“Now wait just a minute!” Gypsy cried. “I said ‘damn,’ for heaven’s sake!”
“Oh, come off it, Gypsy,” LouAnn replied. “Everyone at this table knows you drop the “f” bomb like it’s goin’ out of style.”
The “f” bomb? Cadence thought. Did she really just say that?
Gypsy grunted and sipped her tea.
“I gossip incessantly,” Marybeth offered. “It’s the only sin that seems to be widely accepted in the church.”
The ladies burst out laughing.
“Isn’t that the truth,” Mrs. Connelly chimed in.
“That, and judging the hell out of someone,” Gypsy added. She turned to Cadence and said, “I have my issues with the church, dear. I wouldn’t go at all if these ladies didn’t drag me.”
“We drag you because it’s not all bad,” Martha said. “How many times do I have to tell you to just focus on the lesson, Gypsy? Who cares about Laurel?”
“Who’s Laurel?” Cadence asked before she could stop herself. “I’m sorry,” she added quickly. “It’s none of my business.”
“Oh, let me tell the story since I’m the gossip,” Marybeth said.
The women nodded.
“Laurel has a problem with Gypsy’s tongue,” Marybeth began. “And when Gypsy signed up to organize a luncheon for the senior women at church who are part of a group that puts on holiday events for the nursing homes in the area, Laurel took it upon herself to spread the word that Gypsy might not be the best representative of the group. Since she cusses like a sailor.”
Cadence listened politely while she finished off her cucumber sandwich.
“And when Gypsy called the first meeting, everyone in the room acted stiff and uncomfortable.”
Gypsy shook her head, remembering.
“And when she finally called them out on their weird behavior, one woman said that the group felt she wasn’t the best Christian example and that they wanted to vote in another leader.”
“You can probably guess who I was usurped by,” Gypsy said.
“None other than Laurel herself,” Marybeth explained. “She’d wanted that position since the day the women voted in Gypsy. And she figured out a way to get it—by discrediting Gypsy’s character.”
So this was church politics, Cadence thought. She made mental notes: Do not mess with the senior women at Cornerstone Community Church.
“I love Jesus as much as anyone!” Gypsy cried, slapping her hand on the table and rattling everyone’s teacups. “Just because I say ‘shit’ and ‘fuck’ and ‘hell’s bells’ doesn’t mean I don’t love the Lord!”
“We know, honey,” Martha said soothingly.
Gypsy harrumphed and looked at Cadence.
“Sweetheart, these women at this table taught me that just because I do things a little differently from your standard fundamentalist, it doesn’t mean I have to be an outcast.”
“Aren’t we all outcasts to a degree anyway?” Mrs. Connelly asked, and the women agreed.
“I wish you’d recognize that,” Gypsy went on, addressing Cadence.
Cadence stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“We know you don’t go to church anymore because you feel like you can’t,” Gypsy explained.
“I can’t,” Cadence said. “Plus, my parents go. I can’t see them. I mean, they wouldn’t want to see me. It would be weird.”
The ladies looked at each other.
“What your parents did to you was wrong, honey,” Mrs. Connelly said. “So wrong. But that doesn’t mean you have to hide from them.”
“You have your own soul to nurture, Cadence,” LouAnn said. “And we’ll help you if you want.”
“What do you mean?” Cadence asked.
“We’ll be your little angels protecting you if you ever wanna come back to church,” Martha said.
“You can bring along your beau, too,” Marybeth offered. She glimpsed Mrs. Connelly who smiled sadly.
Cadence didn’t know what to say. She felt odd discussing Mark with these ladies. Everything about her history so far with him seemed messy and unacceptable.
“I’m so glad you’re with my son,” Mrs. Connelly said softly, noting the uncertainty on Cadence’s face—like she knew exactly what Cadence was thinking and wanted to squash the negative thoughts. “You couldn’t be more perfect for him.”
Cadence smiled. Mrs. Connelly’s words, her tone—they were much too sincere to be misinterpreted.
The ladies spent the afternoon trying their hardest to draw out as many details as possible about Cadence’s relationship with Mark. They peppered her with questions, but she was successful at dodging most. Mrs. Connelly tried to temper the ruthless interrogation, but the ladies wouldn’t have it. They had a right to know, Martha had said, and Cadence still couldn’t figure out that one.
Once everyone was gone, Cadence offered to help Mrs. Connelly clean up.
“Absolutely not,” Mrs. Connelly replied. “You’re my guest. And please, Cadence, call me Naomi.”
“I can’t do that,” Cadence said. “That’s disrespectful.”
“I don’t think it is at all. If I did, I wouldn’t invite you to call me Naomi.”
Cadence bit her lower lip before blurting, “I just can’t! That’s not how I was raised.”