Cady

Present day

 

I love my job for many reasons. First, it’s easy. And yes, that makes me sound lazy, but I don’t care. I’m not lazy. I’ve dealt with and am still dealing with enough complicated to last a lifetime. So if I can pick easy, I’m going to.

Second, it’s usually slow so that means I’m alone. I like to be alone, and I actually prefer it that way. Not many people come to the library anymore, and when they do, they typically keep to themselves. Except on song and story days.

I love those days the most because I love books, and I love music. And I love sharing both of those things with the kids, so to see their faces light up as I read them stories and sing to them is the highlight of my week. It’s really the highlight of my life since I don’t have much. I mean, I have a lot, if you’re counting money, but that doesn’t mean happiness. I’d rather be penniless and have my father back. I’d give anything to have him back. Because as far as things that matter, things I hold dear to my heart, I have virtually nothing.

But I’m fine with it. I deserve loneliness, and frankly, I want it. Because when you’re around people, they start talking, and talking leads to questions. I don’t want to answer anybody’s questions or talk about the past and where I’ve been or the things I’ve seen. I just want to survive. After losing the only person who ever truly cared about me, nobody will ever be able to replace the security he gave me and the love I felt from him. So instead of ever searching and trying to find happiness, I just settle for being comfortable.

Which is precisely why I chose a low-key job that requires very little. Is it what I wanted to do with my life? Not by a long shot. I always dreamed of traveling, of going on the road with a band and living my best life. After seeing how many managers and publicists my dad and his band went through, I always thought I’d grow up and be the one they could all rely on to get shit done with their best interests at heart, not for my own gain.

Life didn’t work out that way, though. So whatever.

Now I’m a librarian in Wisconsin.

Sitting at my desk, I’m going through the next year’s schedule for community activities at the library when the phone rings. I pick it up with my usual greeting.

“Come home, Cadence,” my stepbrother whispers, and his psychotic voice makes my skin clammy.

Immediately, my hands tremble, and the hollow pit that’s always in my stomach fills with acid, burning my gut and eating away at the lining in my throat. “No.” I croak the word, but it’s either that or vomit.

“Cadence.” He growls. “Just come home.”

I shake my head stiffly. California is not my home. Not anymore. “I’m not going back out there.” For so many reasons. So, so many reasons. And until I’m forced to, which I never will be, I will not step foot back there. I’m never going back.

“Why do you do this to me?” His voice lowers, and I know what’s coming next. It’s his normal cycle. First, he’ll call and be nice, then he’ll try guilt or maybe sympathy, then the threats will come, and then it’ll start all over. “Dan wouldn’t want us to fight.”

So predictable. He’s not wrong, but he is. My father wouldn’t want us to fight, that’s true, but he also would have wanted Chris to take care of me after he died. He would have wanted his stepson to look out for his daughter, not do what he did to me.

Even the thought of it makes me gag.

I refuse to listen to him, which is one of the reasons I moved. And as I’m thinking that, I realize I really don’t have to listen to his shit, so I hang up on him. Then I push the phone away on the counter as if it caught fire and take a step back on wobbly knees.

My nose stings, and I feel the burn hit the back of my eyes, but when I hear the screeching laughter from the first kid who’s here for story time, I shove it back, shove it down, and then lock it away where it belongs.

“Hi, Ms. Cady.”

“Hey, Melody. How are you, sweetie?”

She smiles and hands me a picture she colored. “I made this for you.” She runs back to her mom and wraps her arms around her leg.

Lifting the paper, I admire the scribbles all over a page of hearts and flowers with music notes. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

When she doesn’t say anything, Meara Kelly-Anders, the wife of Liam Anders, best drummer in the history of drummers who gave up his career to be with his family, rubs her daughter’s head. “Ms. Cady said something to you, baby. Can you answer her?”

Melody lifts her head. “You’re welcome.”

Another little girl who she knows walks in, and suddenly, she disappears, and Meara shakes her head with a quiet laugh. “She was so excited to give that to you.”

“I’m honored that she’d even think of me.” I tuck some hair behind my ears.

“Oh girl, she talks about you all the time. Especially to Lee. You remember me telling you he used to be in a band and has a music studio?”

I know everything there is to know about him, and the entire band, but I continue to keep that to myself. “Yes, I remember.”

“She’s always telling him how good you are on the guitar and how pretty your voice is. He’s going to rearrange his schedule to come with us one day.”

I can feel my almond-shaped eyes widen to large circles but not for the reason she thinks.

She puts her hand on my arm. “Don’t be intimidated. He just wants to see what all the fuss is about.”

“Okay.” I swallow nervously and look over at my bottle of water. “I’m going to get a drink before everyone gets here.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” She drops her hand. “I’ll go grab a seat.”

Once she’s out of sight, I take a drink, then grab my guitar. And for the next forty minutes, I read stories and sing songs to a bunch of kids whose innocent laughter makes me forget about the fact that I’m a murderer.

They give me enough joy to get through the day, and when I get home, I barely have my door open when my friend and neighbor, Gia, calls my name. “Drink time.”

She marches over with a bottle of wine, and I giggle as I push my door all the way open, and we make our way inside. By the time I take my coat off and hang my keys on the hook, she’s pouring herself a glass.

“God, I needed this.” She slumps in the chair as she sets her wine glass down after taking a large swallow.

“Bad day?” I guess.

“Bad week.” She swirls some pinot around and watches as the liquid comes precariously close to the lip of the glass. “My boss is a dick.”

I pout sympathetically as I pop the top off a beer and lean on the island separating my kitchen and living room. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m just sick of him acting like I should do all the bitch work because I’m not married and don’t have kids. Just because I’m a successful single woman doesn’t mean I don’t have a life, ya know?”

No. “Yeah.”

“I mean, seriously. It’s Friday night at seven, and I just got home fifteen minutes ago. I’m the last one left in the office every evening, and when I go in tomorrow morning at six thirty, I’ll be the first one there.”

“Can’t you just say no?”

“No.”

I scrunch my lips as she finishes off her glass of wine. I guess I don’t find it hard to believe, but my boss is rarely, if ever, in the library, and when he is, he doesn’t ever make me work more than I’m supposed to. Granted, I’m a librarian, though, and not an executive assistant.

As I grab the bottle and pour her more wine, she keeps talking. “Technically, I could say no, but if I did, I’d probably lose my job. As much as I hate it some days, I want the experience and dedication on my resume so when I do get another job, it doesn’t show me bouncing around a lot.”

“That makes sense.” I finger the stem and slide it over to her. “Are you thinking about looking for another job now?”

“No, but if something happens to pop up, I won’t be opposed to it.” She shakes her head. “Enough about me. How was your day?”

Aside from my brother… “Good. Story time was today, and you know how much I like that. So really good, I guess.”

“Do you want kids of your own?”

I choke on my beer, and she hands me a napkin. “Thanks.”

“Wow. You want them that much, huh?”

It’s not that I don’t want them; it’s just that it’s getting into territory that I don’t want to talk about. Because in order to have kids, you have to have a man. And in order to have a man, you have to date. And in order to date, you have to be open to the possibility of it… which I’m not.

There are a million reasons, but none of them I’d give.

“Do you?” I change the subject, just as I do whenever things get too close for comfort. She’s one of my only friends, but she doesn’t know a lot about me.

“Yeah. For sure. But I’ve gotta find the right guy. The perfect guy. I know what I want, and since Prince William is married, I’ll just have to wait.”

We both find humor in that, giggling more than we probably would if we didn’t have alcohol in our systems, but when her phone rings, she whines. “Sorry, my mom… always worried.” She rolls her eyes, and I shift uneasily on my feet.

I’ll never have that. Ever again. Well, I never did with my own mother. It’s not having my dad that hurts my heart. I turn my back to her while I get another beer and try not to listen to her conversation, but it’s impossible.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry I didn’t tell you, but I’m home now. I know the roads are bad, but it’s not even a mile. Yeah… No, he is? I haven’t talked to him in a few weeks, but he didn’t mention it then. Sure. I will. All right, I’ve gotta go. I’m havin’ a glass of wine with Cady. I will. Bye. Yeah, love you too.”

I toss the cap into the garbage as she sets her phone back on the counter. “My mom says hi.”

“Tell her hello when you talk to her again.”

“I will.”

Gia and I have been neighbors for three years, but she’s lived in the complex for four. It’s a fairly old building, but the location to downtown is worth it, even with the steep price tag. Since the library is less than a mile away, it works for me. And since Gia’s office is close as well, it’s easy to say it works for her, too.

We often walk home together during the warmer months. When it’s cold, she drives, but I still walk. I walk everywhere if I can because I hate being in a car. Occasionally, I’ll join her on Friday for dinner with some of her co-workers if they’re eating somewhere close. I usually just sit around and listen in on the conversation, smiling and answering any questions as they’re asked. But mostly, I just people watch.

Gia is super nice, and though I’d call her a friend, I don’t know too much about her. When I moved in, I had no clue who she was at first. Our friendship is very superficial in the sense that we never really get into a lot of personal stuff. I do know she has a twin brother who’s never home, and her parents have a rocky relationship. That’s what I know from what she’s told me, but in truth, I know more than she thinks.

That aside, I’m very neighborly, and she is as well. When I make too much guac, I carry a container across the hall for her. When she makes cupcakes for her work for her boss’s birthday, she gives me two.

When I run out of tape while wrapping the Christmas presents for the kids at Children’s Hospital, I borrow a roll from her. When she needs a hole in a sweater mended, she drops it off to me.

If I’m home and she’s had a bad day, she knocks on my door and has a glass of wine and tells me all about it. I like that she comes to me because it’s nice to feel like you’re wanted in some way, shape, or form. But when my brother calls me and harasses me, I don’t vent my frustrations to her.

I keep it all to myself. Just like everything else in my life.