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“Dad? I’ve stopped at Starbucks on my way home. Want anything?” I asked. I figured if I offered to get him something, he wouldn’t be upset.

“Cadence, what are the rules?” Dad replied.

To never stop anywhere after school or have a life of any kind
.

“I know,” I said. “I haven’t gone in yet. I’ll just leave.”

“Well, you’re already there,” Dad said. “You could get me a tall coffee. Medium blend.”

“Okay.” I wanted to squeal it but remained composed.

“And you’ll have to drop it by the office,” Dad said. “I’ll be home late.”

Even better. That meant I could drive around longer. Driving was always preferable to being home sulking in my bedroom.

“No problem,” I replied. I hoped Dad would start asking me to run errands for him after school. I could be his personal assistant, and he wouldn’t have to pay me a thing. Just give me money for coffee when I wanted it.

“Thank you, honey,” Dad said, and hung up before I could reply.

First a hug. Then a “honey.” I wouldn’t get my hopes up that I was working my way back into his good graces, but I couldn’t deny the sunshine exploding in my heart. No one would ever understand how happy I was to be at Starbucks on a Wednesday afternoon getting coffee for my dad.

I hovered around the crowded counter waiting for my order, pretending to text and answer emails and look important like everyone else. I really missed Gracie, and I really hated that she had a new, better friend. I saw them at lunch every day. Between classes every day. Her name was Sophia, and I automatically hated her. I hated being alone. Yes, there was Avery, but I felt just as empty around her as if I were by myself. I tried to trick myself into believing that I welcomed the solitude, but I was too smart for that.

I was so lonely. So lonely.
Lonely
. . .

“What’s up, Cadence?” I heard from behind.

I turned around to see Mr. Connelly.

“Hi.” I blushed. I blushed now every time I saw Mr. Connelly. I had good reasons that included a handkerchief, a lunch, a note, and a wet wipe. Oh yeah, and a Saturday where I leaned against his leg while he fixed a leaky faucet. “You get your coffee here?”

“Sure,” he replied, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Oh, well, you don’t seem like the corporate type,” I said. “I figured you only went to independent coffee shops.”

“Is it the clothes?”

“Huh?”

“The clothes. Do I give off an independent vibe?” he asked, pushing his hand through his hair. It was sexy the way he did it, like he was slightly nervous but not altogether self-conscious. That’s the first time I ever saw Mr. Connelly act that way. Did I make him slightly nervous? I wouldn’t dare entertain the idea.

“Maybe,” I replied, and let my eyes travel up and down his body, but very quickly so he wouldn’t notice.

“Well, I don’t adhere to any strict code when it comes to plunking down my money. If I like it, I purchase it. Doesn’t matter where it comes from.”

I nodded.

He thought for a moment. “Well, I mean, if I know little five-year-olds are working in sweat shops, then I won’t buy it.”

“I get it.”

“Or animals. If animals are being abused or tested on, then I won’t buy that stuff either.”

He fidgeted with his fingers. I stared at him amused.

“Unethical practices. You know. I’m not into that.”

“Totally get what you’re saying, Mr. Connelly.” Good grief, this guy
was
nervous!

Mr. Connelly cleared his throat. “So, did you understand the material today?”

“Do I ever understand it?”

He relaxed and chuckled. “Well, tutoring seems to be helping. Your last quiz grade was a lot better.”

I nodded. I was bored. I didn’t want to talk about my progress in his class. I wanted to ask him why he touched me with that wet wipe.

“Are you gonna keep coming to tutoring sessions?” he asked.

“Are you kidding? I’ll be there every day from now until I graduate if it means I can keep driving.”

This time Mr. Connelly laughed hard. I liked that I made him laugh. It felt good. And powerful.

“But I really want you to understand what I’m teaching, Cadence,” Mr. Connelly said. “Are you paying attention in class?”

No.

“Of course I am,” I replied.

Mr. Connelly smirked and nodded.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

“Ask me anything.”

“What do teachers do on the weekends?”

“Drink. Heavily. From Friday afternoon to Sunday morning.”

I cocked my head and raised my eyebrows.

“Oh, you mean me specifically?” he asked.

I nodded.

“All kinds of stuff. Sometimes I go to concerts or check out new restaurants. I grade tests. Read. Hang out with friends at local bars. Do the
New York Times
crossword puzzle—”

“No you don’t,” I interrupted.

Mr. Connelly looked amused. “You think I’m not smart enough to do the
New York Times
crossword puzzle?”

I shrugged. “I guess you are. You seem very trendy.” What a stupid, random thing to say out loud.

Mr. Connelly grinned. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

I was itching for my orders so I could go. I was uncomfortable standing beside him. He was too cool for me, and I didn’t want to learn any more about his cool life. I don’t know why I asked him in the first place, and I’ve no idea why he told me. He should have said, “That’s none of your business, Cadence,” to which I would have replied, “Why did you touch me the other day?”

“Coffee and café latté!” the barista shouted.

“That’s me,” I said, relief evident in my voice.

“Caffeine addict?” Mr. Connelly asked.

I looked down at the drinks. “Oh, no. One’s for my dad.”

He nodded. “Well, have a nice afternoon, Cadence.”

“You, too,” and I let my eyes linger for just a moment on his face. He looked at me expectantly.

Ask him!
my brain screamed.
Just do it before you lose your nerve!

But I couldn’t, and hurried out of the coffee shop instead.

***

My father. I wasn’t allowed to hate him because I’m pretty sure that was a sin. Plus, honoring your parents was the only commandment that came with a promise: obey them (which I figured included loving them) and you’ll live a long life. I wanted to live a long life, so I had to follow the rule.

But Dad didn’t make it easy. Actually, that’s not true. He did make it easy for most of my life until I landed behind bars. I cannot fault him for being angry with me, but I could complain that after months of showing him I was reformed, I still couldn’t so much as go to the gas station after school to fill up without calling him.

I don’t know why I was so desperate for his forgiveness above anyone else’s. Maybe it’s because he always looked at me a little differently from Oliver. I was your typical first born: mature, unfailingly obedient. I never questioned my parents. I did what I was told. I took on responsibilities at a young age and matured faster than many of my peers. My virtues earned me respect.

Now my father saw me differently. I wasn’t a good teen. I was just a teen. I think for him it was more disappointment than anything else. He didn’t want an ordinary daughter. He wanted an extraordinary one. But I wasn’t that. I was a fallible, brain-not-fully-developed typical teenager who made mistakes. I guess Dad would shift his energy to Oliver now in an attempt to mold him into what I couldn’t be: the perfect super teen.

I dropped off Dad’s coffee and lingered in his office for a while. He was an accountant, his world filled with numbers. It suddenly occurred to me that Dad could have easily offered to help me with calculus. He was a whiz at math. So why didn’t he extend the offer? Not that I’m complaining. Attending tutoring sessions was the reason I was driving three days out of the week. But why did he never ask me if I wanted his help?

“Don’t touch that, Cadence,” I heard from behind. I froze, my finger poised above the cactus needle.

“Why?”

Dad sat down behind his desk. “First, because I said so. And second, because you’d hurt yourself.”

“I wasn’t going to impale my finger on it,” I said, chuckling.

It was a big ass thorn—about three inches long—and I simply wanted to see how sharp the tip was. I had no plans to hurt myself, but I did imagine for a moment that I was Sleeping Beauty about to touch the spindle of the wheel—my desperate hope being that I would fall into a deep sleep and disappear from my reality.

“Are you going home?” Dad asked.

“Trying to get rid of me?” I replied lightly.

“I’m busy, Cadence.”

“I know.”

Man, he really did not like me at the moment. Well, I thought now was as good a time as any.

“Why am I going to tutoring when you could help me with math?” I asked.

Dad cleared his throat. “Huh?”

“You work with numbers all day,” I said. “Why didn’t you offer to help me?”

Dad looked annoyed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You never asked.”

Fair enough. But I wanted to get out the words while I had the guts to say them. Yes, I risked being grounded or punished in some way for being disrespectful, but I didn’t care. I think it was the caffeine from my latté. It made me bold.

“You can be honest, Dad,” I said. “You just really don’t wanna spend any time with me.”

Dad looked stunned. I turned around to face the cactus once more. I touched the thorn before walking out of his office. He said nothing, and I didn’t go to sleep as I’d hoped.

***

“I want to start visiting Fanny Burken,” I said over dinner the following week.

“Who?” Mom asked.

“The lady whose house I cleaned during that Saturday service project Avery organized,” I clarified.

Mom nodded.

“Why?” Oliver asked.

“Because she’s old and alone, and she could use some company,” I replied.

Dad sat quietly, considering. He’d been weird around me ever since my office visit. I don’t know if what I said hurt his feelings or forced him to confront the truth. I felt loads better after saying it out loud, and it didn’t hurt the way I expected. I thought I’d just be another one of those girls with Daddy issues, and I was fine with it. I think part of me was tired of trying to prove my goodness, so I stopped. But I made sure to tow the line carefully. I wouldn’t be overtly rude or disrespectful. I couldn’t risk my parents taking my car away. But I decided I simply wouldn’t share my life with them anymore.

“I suppose you could visit her, if she wants,” Dad said finally.

With Dad’s blessing, I started visiting Fanny Burken. I know that sounds weird. Why would a seventeen-year-old want to spend time with an old lady? Truth be told, I had few friend options at the moment, and I also wanted to check up on her and her light bulbs. And if I’m being completely honest, I wanted someone to talk to. I quickly learned that there was nothing little old ladyish about her. She was sharp and witty and spunky.

On this particularly low Monday afternoon, I decided to spill my guts.

“Fanny, I’m an ex-con,” I began.

“That’s fantastic!” she cried. “So am I.”

“Excuse me?”

“I had a bit of a shoplifting problem in my thirties,” she explained.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Not at all. I shoplifted everything. Cigarettes. Magazines. Diapers. Gum.”

“Diapers?”

“It was a whole big mess. I was lonely and mad at my husband.”

“Did you actually go to jail?” I asked.

“Well, no. I could have, but I got community service instead. Who’s gonna put a sweet, pretty little thing like me away in a nasty old jail?” she asked, then mumbled, “Suckers.”

“Fanny!”

She giggled and poured my tea.

“I hate tea, by the way,” I said.

“Well, a social grace you’ll just have to get used to. You drink tea when it’s offered, and you serve tea when people visit.”

“That’s an English thing,” I argued.

“That’s a good hostess thing, missy,” she replied. “Sugar? Milk?”

I shrugged, and she plopped three sugar cubes in my teacup. No milk.

“Well, I really did get put behind bars,” I said.

“For what?”

“Holding up a convenience store with a tranquilizer gun,” I replied. “While I was high on cocaine.”

“Cadence, drugs are bad,” she said. She didn’t reprimand me for the robbery.

“I know. It was one time. And I wasn’t holding the tranquilizer gun.” I took a sip of tea. It was so sweet it made my teeth ache.

“Then why did you get in trouble?” Fanny asked.