"Did Prett tell you how we met?" Cadence asked.

"No." Jane adjusted her position on the wedding-ring quilt covering Cadence's bed. They sat cross-legged facing each other, and the romanticism of divulging secrets underneath the lace canopy wasn't lost on Jane.

"You know I was an addict," Cadence said. "Meth, mostly. I did whatever to get it. Shoplifting, burglary." She averted her eyes, picking at a thread on her jeans. "Prostitution. I was trolling a gas station one night when I saw a guy–Prett–filling up his car. I asked if he wanted a good time, and he didn't say anything. He just walked around and opened the door. I thought he'd park someplace, but instead he went to the Holiday Inn. He got us a room and–"

Jane raised her hand. "I get the picture."

"No, you don't." Cadence pierced her with steely eyes. "You need to listen."

Jane lowered her hand with contrition. Don't interrupt. Even if she gives details. Her shoulders tensed. Please don't give details.

Cadence continued. "He asked how much it cost, and I told him the prices. He said he had to get more cash, so he left. He was gone so long I thought maybe he wasn't coming back. But he did. With burgers and fries. He said I looked hungry, so we ate. Then I asked him how he wanted it."

"'I just want to talk,' he says, and I figure he's married. Cause the married ones, sometimes they feel guilty and want to tell you how rotten their wives are first."

"'Okay,' I say, 'but I've got to see some cash first.' He pulls out this roll of Benjamins and puts one on the table. And he asks, 'How'd you get those scars?' I tell him one of my lies. Then he puts down another hundred and says, 'Now tell me the truth.'"

"I can't believe he knows I lied. So I tell him the truth. He puts down another hundred. 'Tell me about your childhood.' I don't know why he's asking, but I tell him. 'What was it like being a foster kid? Why are you an addict? What do you want to be when you grow up?'"

Cadence's eyes filled with tears and her voice cracked. "'What would it would take to have a better life? Do you like being a hooker? Why did you choose this?' Each time he puts down another hundred he asks me another question."

Cadence wiped her eyes, her voice a whisper. "I've let men do everything; beat me, humiliate me. But nothing they ever did felt as...as soul-crushing as Prett having me explain my life. By the end, I'm curled up on the floor, bawling my eyes out. He just sits there and watches me. Finally, when I stop crying, he stands and puts his business card on the cash. 'You can choose a better life,' he says. 'When you're ready to do that, call me.'"

Cadence took a deep breath. "And I blew all the money on meth. I didn't even keep his business card. But I ran into him again a few months later." She let out a mirthless laugh. "Same truck stop. When I saw it was him, I didn't ask if he wanted company. I just started walking away. 'Did you lose my number?' he calls after me. I keep walking. 'Are you hungry?'"

Cadence sighed. "And I was. But he doesn't buy me fast food this time. Instead he takes me to Olive Garden. I'm a hot mess, and he's treating me like I'm his date. Like I matter. He gives me another business card and this time I don't lose it. I move to Lincoln because that's where he was living."

"Lincoln?" Jane echoed.

Cadence nodded. "I'd call him sometimes, and he'd pick me up and take me out to eat or buy me groceries. He offered to pay for drug treatment or counseling, but he wouldn't give me any more cash. So I stopped calling him. Until I got arrested for theft. He wouldn't bail me out though. He told me to accept drug court and get treatment. But drug court was too hard. I screwed up too many times, and the judge sent me to prison." She smirked, her scars crinkling deeper. "I wrote a letter, telling Prett that."

Cadence unfolded her long legs and hopped off the bed. She pulled a wrinkled envelope from the jewelry box on her dresser. "He wrote this back." She handed an extensively taped sheet of stationery to Jane before sitting on the edge of the bed.

Jane read the familiar block-print handwriting.

April 10, 2004

Dear Cadence,

I'm in San Antonio, TX. Eight months ago my little brother stepped on an IED. By some miracle he lived. But he sustained a traumatic brain injury, shattered his legs, and received burns on 40% of his body. He spent a week in a drug-induced coma, and when he came to, he begged me to kill him, to take away the pain. And you're whining about drug court.

Life dealt you a crappy hand. So what? I knew someone with your past. A girl with an alcoholic, abusive mother. A girl who bounced around foster homes. A girl who ended up on the streets. But unlike you, she worked to put herself through college. She graduated with a bachelor's in business. Then she busted her butt through law school. She became a successful corporate attorney, married with two kids.

What's the difference between you and her? Attitude. So stop bitching that drug treatment is too hard and get off your sorry ass. My little brother is relearning to walk and talk. What the hell are you doing?

P.J. Marvel

"I know, right?" Cadence said when Jane looked at her with wide eyes. "I was so mad I crumpled it up and threw it away." Cadence carefully folded the letter back into its envelope. "Then I got it out of the trash and read it again. And ripped it up and threw it back away. But I couldn't sleep, thinking about his brother and this girl he knew, so I stuck the pieces under my mattress."

She sighed. "And that's when I figured out the reason he'd always been so nice to me." Tears formed in her eyes again. "He thought I could be her. You know? I could choose a different life. I could be better than I was. I just had to believe it. He'd been telling me that all along, but it didn't really stick until I got this letter. It was the slap upside the head I needed. It told me he really gave a damn. That he wasn't some do-gooder sap I could con. Took me about a month though. To figure that out."

She giggled, a reaction that made her appear younger. "I knew better to write back until I'd done something. So I signed up for every prison program there was. He told me to drop everything except drug treatment and Bible study. He said concentrate on those two, or else I'd burn out. He wrote lots more letters. Most of them were nicer, and I kept them, too. But this one I keep close by so I can read it whenever I start feeling sorry for myself." She stood and returned the letter to safekeeping.

"I don't know what to say," Jane said.

Cadence settled across from her again. "That's not all, though. He wrote about Vel's progress. That was inspiration, too. It made me see my life wasn't so hard. On mornings I felt so depressed I didn't want to get out of bed, I thought of Vel getting skin grafts and surgeries, and how he might never walk again. That made it easier to do the things I thought were hard, like counseling. Then, when Vel was going through his addiction, I finally felt like–"

"Vel was addicted!?"

"Yeah."

"To what?"

"Pain pills. He had to have them, you know, for the real pain. The physical pain. But after a year, he was taking them more and more instead of less. Prett figured out he was taking them to cover up his internal pain."

Cadence tapped her chest. "His emotional pain. Because he lost his friend in the bombing. That's what hurt the most. Being the one who lived."

"I can't imagine," Jane said.

"Prett wasn't happy with the VA. He didn't think they were doing enough for Vel's addiction. So Prett brought him back to Nebraska. They lived in the cabin through the woods and did their own treatment."

"Cabin through the woods?"

"There's a hunting cabin on Genevieve's property." Cadence gestured toward the bedroom wall. "On the other side of the gully."

"Oh. What kind of treatment?"

"Drug treatment. Mental health treatment. I told Prett what I was learning in counseling, and he said it was really helpful. That made me feel good. That for once I could help him." Cadence twisted the edge of her sleeve between her fingers. "The thing is, I got the impression he wasn't just helping Vel. That he and Val needed it, too."

"Drug treatment?"

"No. Counseling. For PTSD."

"PTSD? Why would Prett and Val have that?"

"I don't know. They've never talked about it. But from comments I've heard..." She shrugged. "That's why they holed themselves up in the cabin for so long."

"How long?"

"Four or five years. That's why people think they're strange. Because they lived there together and hardly ever talked to anyone else. But then Prett bought the hotel and mercantile. They fixed up the mercantile first and moved in there about three years ago." She gave a short laugh. "That added to the rumors."

The two were quiet a long moment. "So," Jane asked, "what about Vel's insult?"

"Oh, yeah. Well, I spent eighteen months behind bars, and when I got released, Prett hired me as a cook and housekeeper for Genevieve."

I don't see how that gets us to the insult, but okay.

"I was terrible at both," Cadence continued. "I had no clue. Genevieve had to teach me." She smiled shyly. "She's always been nice to me. Never once made me feel bad for what I was."

"Prett started me off part-time, in the mornings. I lived in an apartment in Aurora and he had to drive me back and forth because I didn't even have a driver's license. He helped me get one, and Genevieve taught me how to budget and save so I could buy a car. It was a real junker, but it was all mine. I was so proud of it. I named it Adele." Cadence giggled, her face again looking youthful.

"I didn't meet the Vals right away, which was kinda weird since they lived through the woods." Cadence grimaced. "I'd already met the Turneys. Horrible people." She shuddered. "They both tried to get Genevieve to fire me."

"I met the Gingerys at Thanksgiving. My job was to help Lindy in the kitchen, but she hardly let me do anything at all, and that made me feel stupid all over again. I think she felt embarrassed at having someone like me around. She's nicer to me now."

"Anyway, Prett introduced me to Val and then went to find Vel. As soon as he left the room, Vel came in the other door. I'd seen his photo, but it didn't do him justice." She turned her head towards her nightstand.

Jane followed her gaze. "That's Vel?!"

Jane jumped off the bed to snatch up the photo of the young man in the army uniform she'd noticed several days before. Now she recognized the brilliant blue eyes as belonging to Danny, but the clean-shaven, stern face belied the fun-loving bearded man she knew. Danny looked young in the photo; barely out of his teens, if that. Jane stared at it for several seconds before looking back at Cadence.

"Why do you keep it here?" Next to your bed.

Cadence looked sheepish. "Like I said, hearing about his recovery helped me feel I could do it, too. He worked hard to get better, to learn to walk and talk. He even kicked the pills practically overnight. I was excited to finally meet him." She pointed at the photo. "He's who I expected." She added with derision, "Not what I got."

Jane climbed back on the bed, still holding the photo. "Tell me."

"So he walks toward me, smiling. And I melt inside. I mean, I thought he'd have scars. I didn't expect him to be...you know."

"Drop-dead gorgeous?" Jane offered. "Devastatingly handsome?"

"Yeah. So now I'm even more nervous. I want him to like me. I want him to know how much he means to me without it sounding...stalkish and...pathetic."

Her voice quieted. "So he reaches out and takes my hand and says, 'Nice to meet you, Cadence.' And before my brain can start working to say something back, he leans in closer and says...'I'd really like to–'" her voice lowered so much Jane leaned in to hear, "'–to fuck you.'"

Jane gasped and sat back in shock. Cadence covered her face with her hands, her shoulders quaking in quiet sobs.

"Are you sure that's what he said?" Jane asked. "Did he get his sounds or words mixed up? If he was still having trouble talking–"

Cadence violently shook her head. She removed her hands from her face and steadied her emotions. "I'm sorry," she said with a hiccup, wiping her eyes and nose. "I thought that at first, too, because he slurred, like he was drunk. But he wasn't drunk. He knew what he said. He was leering at me like a jerk. So was Gavin. And Val looked shocked, like he couldn't believe what his brother had said."

Cadence's breath wavered. "It's not like I'd never heard it said to me before. But I'd been working so hard to leave all that behind me. And still, that's what he thought of me. I admired him and that's what he thought of me. He wasn't like Prett at all." She wiped her eyes again as fresh tears fell. "Not at all."

"What did you do?"

"I punched him. Right in the mouth."

Jane guffawed. "Good for you."

"Caught him off balance, too. Knocked him to the carpet. That's when Prett showed up, and when Val told him what happened, he got this rageful look. It actually scared me. I'd never seen Prett get even the littlest bit mad about anything. And Vel looked scared, too. Prett grabbed him and shoved him out the door into the snow. And then he signed to him. I don't know what he said, but it wasn't good. And Vel looked so...lost."

"Lost?"

Cadence nodded. "Devastated is a better word. Like he was alone. Like...like Prett had told him they weren't brothers anymore. It made me feel sorry for him. And I felt bad. I didn't want them to lose their relationship because of me. I wasn't worth that."

Jane opened her mouth to object to that assessment, but Cadence continued, "Then Prett goes over to Gavin, and says, 'This is the last time you screw over any of my family. You're done.'"

"What did that mean?"

"I think Gavin gave Vel the idea to say what he did. Doesn't excuse him from saying it, but," Cadence shrugged, "like you said, he was still recovering from his brain injury and drug addiction and PTSD and everything. Prett didn't like Gavin messing with his little brother. And then Prett took over Genevieve's finances. Gavin had been handling it all before. No one's ever told me, but from things I've heard, Gavin was stealing her money. The Gingerys always joke about how he built the truck stop with their inheritance. But either Prett couldn't prove it or Genevieve didn't want him prosecuted."

"Wow."

"Yeah." Cadence let out a short laugh. "I thought Prett was going to throw Gavin into the snow, too. I wish he had. Prett probably wishes he had. But we went on with Thanksgiving dinner. I wanted to leave, but Prett wouldn't let me. He told me to hold my head up and punch anyone else who gave me lip." She grinned. "Val was the only one who didn't stay. He filled a couple plates with food and took it to the cabin for him and Vel."

Jane snorted. "I would've let him go hungry."

"Val's a sweetheart. I don't blame him for wanting his brothers to make up. And they did. Genevieve says it's time for me to forgive Vel, too. She says if debts are to be forgiven after seven years, then so should insults." Cadence sighed. "But I just can't seem to let go of my hard heart."

"Well, if he's never really apologized–"

"He just won't speak it! Genevieve says we're a couple of stubborn old mules, and I guess we are. Because he stopped talking that day, did you know that? Stopped trying to improve his speech. How do you think that makes me feel? I told him he could stop punishing himself if he'd just say, 'I'm sorry.'"

"But he won't," Jane stated with amazement.

"No. I don't get it. Prett helped me see I can move on from my mistakes, and I know he's told Vel the same thing."

Cadence frowned. "I almost blew it, you know. Right after that Thanksgiving. I got to thinking I can't run from my past, and I shouldn't even try. People would always find out and judge me. Like Vel. I figured I am what I am. So I stole some of Genevieve's jewelry and tried to pawn it. Almost got the cops called on me."

"I came to work the next day and Prett was here, which he usually wasn't. He asked why I'd stolen from Genevieve. I denied it, but he knew I was lying. That's one thing about him; he knows bullshit when he hears it."

"He asked what I wanted. Did I want to go back to prison? Live on the streets drugged out of my mind? Because if that's what I wanted, he wouldn't stop me. But if I wanted a better life, I'd better shape up."

"He wasn't mad. He was disappointed. And that made me feel all the worse. He said he'd give me another chance, but if I messed up again, he'd cut me loose. He wasn't going to tolerate anyone stealing from Genevieve. I still make mistakes, but as long as I 'fess up and learn from them, he...he gives me grace. And so does Genevieve. She says I can't erase my past, and I'll always suffer consequences from it, but I can–what word does she use–diminish them by making better choices every new day."

"They've been really good to you," Jane murmured.

Cadence nodded. "About a year after Prett hired me, Genevieve tripped and broke her leg. It took her a couple hours to crawl to the phone and call him. He decided someone should be here all the time, and he had me move in. And for Christmas that year, he gave me this bed." Cadence reached up and fingered the lace. "I thought maybe then he'd want..."

She looked back at Jane and smiled. "Genevieve thought there was something going on between us, and that made me think something would. But it didn't. Later I thought Val was interested in me, but he never asked me out, either. I've gone out to eat with them, though. And to movies and things. But just as friends." She held her hands toward Jane, palms up, before dropping them in her lap. "And that's my story."

"How old are you?" Jane blurted.

"Thirty." Cadence's cheeks turned pink, making her scars stand out. "I know. It's the meth. It aged me. I'm catching up to it though. I looked fifty when I was twenty. Now I look forty when I'm thirty. Genevieve says if this continues, I'll look thirty when I'm forty." She touched her scarred cheeks. "And when I'm her age, I'll have a baby face." She giggled again. "Now it's your turn. What's your story?"

A shrill beeping from Cadence's waistband stopped Jane from answering.

"Oh," Cadence said with disappointment, "they must be done with their meeting. You'll have to tell me next time."

Jane smiled. "I'll do that."

"Good." Cadence touched Jane's arm before standing. "I'm dying to find out why Prett picked you to save next."

"Me too." Jane followed her to the door.

Cadence opened it, then shut it again. "You've probably never even done any drugs."

"No."

"Did you ever find out who you looked like?"

"Just some girl he knew." Jane raised her eyebrows. "Who was the girl he talked about in his letter?"

"I don't know. He wouldn't ever tell me." Cadence's eyes widened. "Just some girl he knew."

"I'll bet they're the same person. You–" But Jane's thought was cut off by Cadence's beeper.

Prett watched them walk down the stairs. "What were you doing up there?"

"Talking," Cadence said. "Why?"

Prett blocked her path. "About what?"

Cadence hesitated, so Jane jumped in. "Girl talk. You know, clothes, shoes–"

"Boys," Cadence added loudly. She flushed when Alex came around the hallway corner with Genevieve.

Alex said his farewells, complimenting Cadence again on her culinary skills. She blushed a deeper red as he shook her hand.

When he reached for Jane's hand, she turned so Cadence couldn't see the flirtatious smile she gave him. Whether Alex understood her interest, she couldn't tell.

"What a pleasant young man!" Genevieve exclaimed as soon as the door shut behind him. "We should have him over again soon."

Yes, please do.

Prett glanced at Genevieve while murmuring to Val, "Mission accomplished. Jill was right; he can hold his own. Obviously takes after her side of the family. I expected him to be a stuffed shirt like his Uncle John."

"Eh?" Genevieve said. "What are you saying there, Prettamin?"

"I was wondering where your wheelchair is, GiGi," Prett replied. "Stuffed in a closet somewhere?"

Genevieve gave him a dismissive wave and walked down the hall, refusing Cadence's offer of an arm.

"Dismantled, and the parts hidden under the floorboards?" Prett pressed. "Buried in the backyard? I will find it eventually."

When they drove home later that afternoon, Danny sat in the back of the truck with Jane. She turned to him. "Cadence told me what you said. Did you really mean it? Or were you trying to say something else?" 

Danny shrunk into the seat and didn't answer. 

"She says if you speak your apology, she'll probably forgive you. Why haven't you done it?"

From the front seat, Prett said with resignation, "That dead horse has been beaten innumerable times, Miss Jane."

Jane crossed her arms and said no more. But she kept her eyes on Danny, staring out the window in a defeated sulk.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please help me improve my writing by pointing out problems. And if you like what you read, please click the Vote button below. And comment! I love comments! 😊

Fun Fact:  Many writers will tell you that characters often take over a story. The writer might have an idea of background, plot and structure, but when the characters start interacting, scenes can veer in unexpected directions. Such is the case in my story.

For example, in Chapter Two, my plan had been for Prett and Jane to leave the apartment right after emerging from the former's bedroom. But Danny found the situation not only humorous, but a good opportunity to plead his case for a larger closet. As much as I like that latter scene, it might have to go on the chopping block when it comes time to edit. 😢

And in Chapter Fourteen I had certain information Prett was to reveal, but he and Jane ended up discussing marriage instead--because Prett wasn't ready to tell her what I wanted him to. 😮

So...originally Cadence was to be a minor character, barely noticeable as Genevieve's caregiver/housekeeper. The story is, after all, mainly about Jane's discovering all there is to know about Prett and his brothers. 

But Cadence wouldn't stop pestering me to listen to her story. If we wanted to know Prett, she said, we needed to hear her out. So I finally let her talk--and by golly if she wasn't right. 😀

Be sure to vote and comment! ⤵