The Marvels of Prairie Creek

Chapter Twenty-Three

"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."