Page 67 of The Cadence
“We had learned about it in science,” I remembered. “It’s important.”
“Do you remember the last time we saw each other, after my graduation?” he asked me.
I swallowed what had suddenly become a big lump of dry bread in my throat. “I do remember,” I said quietly.
“You cleaned up the mess in my mother’s bathroom. I stood there watching you, like I couldn’t even move.”
“I think you were in shock,” I said. “It was terrible.” I had known, from personal experience, how awful it was to find your mother in that state. And then I had a frightening thought.
“Did you bring that up because you’re thinking that your mom is going to do it again now?” I asked urgently. “What gave you that idea? You had said that she wouldn’t.” I could drive to Chattanooga because his car would definitely hold up—no, flying would be quicker.
But Will shook his head. “I don’t think so. I went through her bathroom when we were down there, looking for pills, and she didn’t have any.”
She could have been good at hiding them, though. I nodded warily.
“She was putting on a performance back then,” he continued. “Now there’s no reason for the show because it was all for my father’s benefit, and he’s not around to watch anymore.” He paused. “Not that he cared much when he was alive, either, but she made the attempt.”
I remembered her attempt, and it had been terrifying. We’d been on the way to my grandma’s house after my declaration of love in the high school parking lot, with Will behind the wheel and me looking out the window and trying not to cry again (either from disappointment, humiliation, or just a simple broken heart). Then calls had started to come in on his phone.
“I don’t want to answer while I’m driving,” he’d said, frowning at the screen. Of course he wouldn’t have done that, because he was Will. And his car was clean and looked polished, but it was old so it didn’t have anything like a microphone or the capability of wireless connections so that he could answer easily. After three more calls went to voicemail, he had pulled over into the parking lot of a donut shop to pick up the next one.
“What do you need, Mama?” he’d answered. I had only heard his side of the conversation, but what he’d said was alarming. “Did you take something? What was it?” Then he’d almost yelled, “Stop saying that!” He’d suddenly dropped his phoneand pulled out into traffic without looking, and another car had honked and swerved.
“I’ll get out at the next red light,” I had told him, because bad driving reminded me a lot of being with my own mother behind the wheel, after she’d had a few. I had gotten out and walked before, and I was prepared to do it again.
“No, I can’t leave you on the side of the road. I can’t tell what’s wrong with her,” he’d said, and the car had jerked back into the lane, in a way that felt much too familiar to me. “Her words were so slurred that I could barely understand what she was saying.”
“Does she usually drink a lot?”
“She likes to have a Pimm’s Cup in the summer.”
I’d had no idea what that was, but it didn’t sound as if it came in a six-pack. “What about drugs?”
I’d watched his jaw tighten, but he hadn’t spoken. That had been answer enough and I’d prepared myself for what we were going to find at his house. And yeah, it had been terrible.
“Calla?”
I looked over at Will, the Will of today and not the high school grad of seven years before who was worried about his mother. “Are you still hungry?” he asked me.
I hadn’t been very hungry to begin with. “No, I’m good. Thank you.”
“I’ll get you some more ice for your face.” He started to get up.
“No,” I said again. “Could you sit here?” I put my hand on the couch cushion to indicate the place I meant.
“Right there?” He slid over so that our hips touched. “Like this?”
“Just like that.” I turned my head so that I could press my face against the hard contour of his arm muscles and breathe in his scent, the one I’d tried to catch over my grandma’s dining room table as he had attempted to explain long division.
“We could do this instead,” he suggested, and leaned back against one of the new, decorative pillows. “You could lie here.”
He meant against his chest. I crawled over to rest my cheek, the one that hadn’t been hit by the eggplant, exactly where he’d indicated. “This is good,” I told him. It had been chilly as I’d sat on the curb outside the store, with a sharp wind blowing. Now I was warm and besides that, I felt the same way as I had in my rocking chair on my grandma’s porch.
It felt like this was exactly the spot where I was supposed to be, that this was where I was safe and at home. I thought back to the day of her funeral and how I’d leaned against him as we’d sat on my former bed.
“Ok,” he had told me then. “Ok, you can do that.” His voice and his body had been stiff and he was so uncomfortable.
But now he had a different message. “This is very good,” Will said. He sighed, but I thought it might have been contentment. He also held me tightly. “Very, very good.”
