I got up without a word to get the sheets.
Fanny and I put clean linens on her bed, and while I was in her room, she showed me a collection of old love letters written by her late husband when they dated in high school. I’d never seen an actual love letter, hand-written in cursive. I didn’t think men could write in cursive. It was old school love, and I thought I’d like someone to write a love letter to me.
Team 2 was busy outside cleaning the yard. When we finally checked off all the inside jobs, we headed out to help. Most everything was almost finished, and I was tired. I swept the front porch before taking a seat beside Fanny to hear her childhood stories. She had a lot, and they were fascinating, but I mostly listened because I knew she needed someone to hear them. I thought it had been a long time since someone listened to her memories.
I grew frightened in the midst of her storytelling, thinking that I didn’t want to be alone when I was old. It never occurred to me until now, but my life was moving in that direction. I had no friends except Avery, and she really didn’t count as a true friend. I wasn’t on good terms with my parents and was unsure if I could rely on them for anything. I had no boyfriend.
I realized I went some days barely speaking because I had no one to talk to. If I couldn’t exercise my social skills now, how did I expect to make friends in college? How did I expect to date and fall in love and get married? I would end up alone, old and gray in my little house for one, regretting a past where I made one lousy mistake my junior year of high school that cost me love and friendship for the rest of my life.
“But those were different times,” I heard Fanny say. “We were poor, and a Coke was a treat.”
I smiled, trying hard to ignore my fears.
“Let me tell you about the pennies I earned for swatting flies,” Fanny continued, and I imagined myself as the fly on the wall, but not in the proverbial sense. I was an actual fly on the wall, going about my fly business, unaware that I was taking my last breaths as Fanny hovered above me, flyswatter poised, ready to eliminate me like I mattered for nothing.
***
“You’re very quiet, Cadence,” Mr. Connelly said, sitting across from me. I watched him shake red pepper flakes over his pizza.
We all met at Alfredo’s for dinner—a treat from Mr. and Mrs. Sunders for a successful workday. I wanted to go home. I felt hot and sticky and dirty, but that would have been rude. And I didn’t have a car anyway. I rode with Avery. Plus, a part of me wanted to prolong the time with Mr. Connelly, though I was really in no mood to chat. I just wanted to look at him.
“Am I?” I asked, fingering my pizza.
“Not a pizza fan?” he asked.
“It’s a’ight,” I replied, pulling off a pepperoni and popping it in my mouth. Very unladylike. My mother would have disapproved.
“Did you just say ‘a’ight’?” Mr. Connelly asked, grinning.
“Did I?” I didn’t know. I didn’t care. All I could think about was that I was an insignificant fly. Oh yeah, and an irritating one, too, according to Avery.
“What’s wrong, Cadence?” Mr. Connelly asked softly.
I sipped my Coke. “I don’t want to end up old and alone.”
“What makes you think you will?”
I rolled my eyes. “You know I don’t have any friends,” I mumbled.
“It’s high school, Cadence. It doesn’t count.”
“It sure feels like it counts,” I said, a little ruffled that he was downplaying my plight. “You know, it’s just like adults to say crap like that. ‘Get some perspective. High school is so unimportant.’ Yeah? Well it’s important while you’re in it!”
Mr. Connelly nodded. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
“I mean, this is my reality right now.”
“I totally understand, Cadence.”
I pulled another pepperoni from my pizza and shoved it in my mouth.
“You won’t end up old and alone,” Mr. Connelly said after a while.
“Well, I’m afraid. I mean, seeing Fanny all by herself like that. No children. No husband. No neighbors who help her. Who does she talk to?”
“I don’t know,” Mr. Connelly said.
Suddenly I remembered a line from The Preacher’s Wife. Jeremiah, the little boy in the movie, has to say goodbye to his best friend who’s moving to another state to live with foster parents. He turns to his mother and asks, “Who will I tell my secrets to?” Who did Fanny tell her secrets to? She shared with me tidbits from her past. She shared with me her love letters. Was she telling me her secrets because I was there and she was desperate? Is that what lonely people do? Share their secrets with whoever will listen?
I stared at my pizza and waited for the sadness to turn to anger. I glanced at Gracie. Even in my abject misery I was able to find the humor in the fact that her name was ‘Grace’ and she exhibited none. I felt like yelling at her across the table about it.
“Okay! I’m a terrible person! But you’re supposed to forgive! That’s your freaking name, after all!”
I could hear her reply. “You’re an ex-con, Cadence. I think that exempts you from forgiveness.”
To which I would say petulantly, “Yeah? Well that’s not very ‘Christian’ of you.”
And she would spit back just as petulantly, “At least I’m a better Christian than you! I’ve never taken drugs! I’ve never robbed someone!”
And then I could see the conversation devolving into a screaming match where we would both compare our Christian virtues in a desperate attempt to come out the winner. Stupid. Immature.
My anger escalated the more I thought about Gracie, and church, and living a holy existence. I think I was over the whole scene. And suddenly I was pissed at Avery for making me go back to youth group. So what that most of the kids were nice to me? I’m not a moron. I knew they talked shit about me behind my back. Just like church-goers to be gossipy. But it’s never like regular gossip. Christian gossip sounds more like this:
“Did you hear about Cadence Miller?”
“Yes. She’s, like, so lost. Satan really got his talons into her.”