Page 12 of Light Up The Night
"Yes, please."
I roll all the windows down, and now her already-wild hair is fluttering and whipping like streamers. Her eyes close, and she leans toward her open window; the tension on her face fades. Tentatively, as if unsure whether she's allowed to, she lifts her right hand and drapes it out the window. Gradually, as the miles pass, the lean of her head angles toward the B-pillar beside her seat, rests against it.
Twenty-five minutes later, I'm rolling through the darkened, quaint downtown area of Grand Lafayette. The stores are dark and shuttered, and the diagonal, on-street parking spots are all vacant. As much as I don't want to, I have to rouse Cadence so I can ask her where to go.
We come to the stoplight at the north edge of town, and I stop for the red. Rub her shoulder gently. "Cadence?"
This time, she responds immediately; with a soft snort, her eyes flick open and find mine. "Riley." She looks around, confused. "Oh. We are here."
“Yeah, this is Grand Lafayette. Can you tell me where to go from here?"
"Yes." She sits up, scans the intersection, and then points left. "That way."
Turns out the Crenshaws live on the west side of town in one of the wealthier neighborhoods, where all the houses are waterfront properties worth half a mil minimum for the dumpiest piece of shit on the street.
The Crenshaws’ house is stunning, a mid-century modern masterpiece, all dramatic angles and acres of glass letting in natural light.
Now, obviously, it's dark. I pull into the driveway, shove the shifter into neutral, and yank the parking brake, leaving the engine idling. "You wanna go up, or you want me to?"
"I do not know if I can." She stares out her window, looking at nothing. "It is enough that you have driven me all the way here, but I simply cannot make myself go back there. Not after my behavior. And now this."
I pat her hand. "I got it. No worries. Back in a sec."
I trot up to the front door, hesitate, and then ring the doorbell. A good thirty seconds pass, and then a light blinks on. Locks thunk open, and then the door swings open inward. A grumpy, sleepy old man stands hunched before me in baggy blue-and-white-striped boxers, calf-high black socks, and a thin white terry cloth robe, open and unbelted. "May I help you, young man? Do you know what time it is?"
"Yes, sir, and I apologize for showin' up like this at this hour. I'm a friend of Cadence's, and she believes she forgot her bag here. If I could just grab that from you, I'll be outta your hair."
He frowns at me. "A friend of Cadence's?" His brow scrunches, the frown deepening. "That seems unlikely. Forgive me, young man, but you do not seem like the type of person Cadie would be friends with."
"That's fair enough," I say with a laugh, pivoting out of the way so he can see my truck with Cadence in the front seat. When Mr. Crenshaw and she make eye contact, she drops her gaze immediately and covers her face with both hands. "See? She's kind of embarrassed about the whole thing. But she's pretty upset about the bag, y'know?"
He stares me down, blatantly assessing me. "Young man, Cadence is not like other girls. I—"
I cut in. "Sir, I mean no disrespect. But really, I just want to get her the bag, okay? I know you probably know her way better than I do. I'm just a friend trying to help her out. That's it."
He harrumphs, staring me down another moment, and then nods. "I'll need to speak with her first."
He bends down, somewhat laboriously, and picks up a bag—it's an ancient, battered satchel made of olive-drab canvas and supple, well-worn leather straps. An antique, I think. Ex-military, maybe. It's a cool piece, whatever it is.
I let him precede me to the truck; he approaches the passenger side and gives Cadence her satchel, which is bulging with her belongings. "Cadie, my dear?"
Cadence won't look at him. "Mr. Crenshaw. I beg your forgiveness for my behavior this evening. It was inexcusable."
He reaches in and pats her shoulder affectionately. "Nonsense, dear. I'm sorry we couldn’t help. It’s just that Mary and I would never forgive ourselves if something happened to you over there and we'd helped facilitate it. If you change your plans for somewhere more safe, we'll gladly help you with any amount of money you need. But there? I'm so sorry, I know how much it means to you, but we just can't. It wouldn't be right."
She nods, gaze on her lap. "I understand. You must follow your conscience. As I must follow mine."
"This friend of yours…." he glances at me—I'm leaning my ass against the hood, waiting. "Do you feel safe with him?"
She nods. "Oh, yes. Quite." Her eyes lift and meet mine through the windshield—briefly, as ever. "He has been very kind to me. You need not worry for my safety."
He sighs. "Well, if you're sure." His voice drops to a murmur meant only for her, but he's obviously got hearing loss and doesn’t realize how loud he is. "I just want you to be sure. He seems a bit…rough around the edges."
I turn my face away and suppress a laugh. He's not wrong.
He pats her shoulder again. "It was good to see you, Cadie. I'm sorry to have let you down."
She just nods, pauses. "I understand your position, Mr. Crenshaw. Give it no more thought. I shall find a path forward."
