Chapter 4 #2
"Why would that be?"
"Because I don't have the best reputation."
She hesitates, looks at our hands again, and then at me.
"If I allowed myself to care what other people thought about me, Riley Crowe, I would never leave my bedroom at my parents' house in Chicago.
" She tightens her grip on my hand and moves for the entrance.
"But more to the point, I find I quite enjoy holding your hand. "
This should not thrill me, but it does. I ignore that and just focus on enjoying the moment for what it is—innocent hand-holding totally free of any deeper meaning or significance.
We enter The Alt, and the bell above the door rings, announcing our entrance.
It's pretty packed in here, so our only choice of seating is a two-top near the bathrooms. We stand in line to order, and Cadence never lets go of my hand as she studies the menu—hand-written in chalk by Lainey, with cute doodles here and there.
We're next in line when Cadence turns to me, looking worried. "It is our turn next, and I cannot decide what to get. Will you choose for me, please?"
"Sure. Any foods you can't eat or don't like?"
“Yes. I dislike onions and olives. And I am not a fan of spicy foods, although this does not appear to be the sort of establishment which serves such fare.”
I grin. "You vegan, vegetarian, or gluten-free?"
"None of the above, although I limit my red meat intake, and prefer whole grains and simple, natural carbohydrates, and almost never indulge in fast carbohydrates or ultra-processed foods."
"Well, you're in the right place, in that case, ’cause Lainey and Layla don't serve any of that shit here. This is the healthiest place to eat in town. The food is damn good, too." I pick something at random from the menu. "How about the Upside Down Turkey Wonder?"
She reads the description—an open-face turkey sandwich with the fixings on the bottom, layered under turkey and melted brie. "That sounds excellent."
Layla is at the register and gives me a bright smile when she sees me. "Riley! I never see you in here." Her bright light brown eyes dancing merrily—and then fixing like lasers on Cadence's and my joined hands. "Who's your…friend?"
"Layla Cartwright, co-owner of this fine establishment, this is Cadence Creswell, MD."
Cadence lets go of my hand and extends hers to Layla. "It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Layla Cartwright. Your cafe has a very welcoming ambience."
Layla blinks and then laughs. "Why, thank you! Are you new in town?"
Cadence frowns. "I suppose so."
"So then how did you and Riley meet?"
Cadence goes still, as if the question, innocently meant, has put her off balance. "I was sitting on a park bench crying, and he stopped to inquire as to how he could be of assistance."
I see Layla picking up on Cadence's unusual way of speaking. "That's Riley for you. Loves to be of assistance. Especially for pretty girls like you."
I glare at her. "Layla, c'mon. It wasn't like that."
She snickers. "I'm just teasing, Rye." She winks at Cadence. "Don't take me seriously. I just like to fuck with Riley."
Cadence nods sagely. "I see." She glances up at the menu and then at Layla. "May I have the Upside Down Turkey Wonder, please?"
"Anything to drink?"
She freezes, looks to me as if for some kind of reassurance and then clears her throat. "Um. Tea. Hot tea. Please. Oolong, if possible."
"Certainly." Layla offers her a warm smile. "For you, Rye?"
"I don't see it on the menu, but I'm hoping you can still do it," I say. "Last time I was here, you had this bowl that had diced chicken, hummus, spinach, Greek yogurt—all sorts of good shit."
Layla snorts a laugh, shaking her head. "That was a weekly special, but since I’m so fabulous, I'll whip it up for you, seeing as we have all the ingredients on hand."
"You are fabulous, Layla." I hand her my card. "Iced tea with mine, please."
Layla runs my card, hands it back, and flicks her gaze one more time to our hands…which are still joined. "I'll bring it out to you. Sit wherever."
"Thanks."
By the time we've ordered, a table has opened up by the window, and we sit, finally releasing each other's hands. Cadence looks at Layla, who is preparing our drinks. "You and Layla seem to know each other quite well."
I shrug. "I guess. Three Rivers is a small town. Everyone knows everyone. The Cartwright twins were…a grade beneath me, I think? Hard to remember."
"She is extraordinarily pretty," Cadence says.
I nod. "Yup. Always has been."
"I wonder that you do not seek to court her."
"Court?" I can't help but laugh. "Like…date? Nah. I, uh…Layla and I…yeah, no."
She peers at me. "You are omitting something, I believe."
Fuck it. May as well make it perfectly clear to her what kind of guy I am, so she can make the only smart decision and get out of Three Rivers and away from me as fast as possible.
"I hooked up with her, few years back."
"Hooked up." It's a statement, not a question. "You mean you had consensual, extramarital sexual relations with her."
At that precise moment, Layla walks up to the table with Cadence's hot tea and my iced tea. "Yes," she says, placing the beverages on the table. "That's precisely what we did." She smiles at Cadence. "But don't worry, it was a long time ago, and it didn't mean much."
"That's…" my gut twists at the way she's presenting it. "Layla, hold on, now. That's not entirely fair."
She cackles. "Bro, you bounced literally fifteen minutes after we finished. My legs weren't even working, yet." She pats me on the shoulder. "It's okay. I knew who you were. I knew what I was doing. I wasn't mad then, and I'm not mad now."
Cadence looks from Layla to me. "Perhaps this is not the correct time or place for this conversation. Nor should it include me."
Layla inhales, holds it, and lets it out slowly. "Girl, you are all kinds of right. It's ancient history and not worth bringing up. Rye is a good guy, Cadence. He really is." She leans closer to Cadence, stage whispering. "He just doesn't realize it."
"Is that a secret?" Cadence says, puzzled. "Why did you whisper so loudly?”
Layla barks a laugh. "I…no, I was teasing."
"Oh. Of course."
Layla looks at me, and her expression communicates a whole lot of questions. Not that I have answers for any of them, and not that I'd give them to her, even if I did.
Layla forces a smile at us both. "Your food will be out shortly."
When she's gone, I lean toward Cadence. "Look, Cadence, I…"
"Please pardon the interruption, but I neither need nor desire explanations. Your life is your own."
"Yeah, but…" I scrub my hand through my hair. "Fact is, babe, that's who I am. I've never been serious about anyone."
She nods but says nothing. "I believe it is time for me to admit defeat and return home. I have attempted to come up with a scheme which might allow me to raise the money I need, but nothing I can think of will have the desired effect in the time necessary."
"What's the urgency?" I ask.
"There are very few flights going anywhere near where I wish to go.
I have managed to secure a seat on a flight into South Sudan, which I have already paid for and which is nonrefundable.
That is not insurmountable, as I could deal with the loss of money if it were simply a matter of the airfare, but I have raised a rather large amount of funds for this mission.
I have purchased supplies. I have arranged for security.
I have secured lodging. I have arranged for personal protection.
I have the necessary visa and vaccinations.
I have a contact with a local organization that will place me where I am most needed.
The money I am missing is vitally important, however.
Without it, all of the preparations I have spent the last six months of my life working for will be for nothing. "
"And you need eighty grand?"
"Yes."
"And that old man we visited, Mr. Crenshaw, was gonna give you eighty fucking grand?"
"The Crenshaws are very wealthy. Mr. Crenshaw invented a piece of technology that has something to do with commercial airplanes—I am afraid I could not say what, only that it made them very, very wealthy.
They were patrons of my parents when they were missionaries.
And now that I am carrying the torch of my family's medical missionary legacy, they seek to support me, as well.
But as you heard, they do not feel it is responsible to encourage or support me in going to a war-torn country. "
"I…maybe there's merit to that, though. Y'know? Like, I don't know shit about global politics or whatever, but I know that place is supposed to be pretty fuckin’ dangerous."
"Indeed, it is. It is a level Four ‘do not travel’ advisory."
"So…why there? Surely there are people in other, less dangerous places who need help just as badly."
She nods. "Assuredly there are. There are people here in this country.
But my mind is made up. I…" she looks away, thinking.
"I met someone when I was in the Congo last year.
A refugee from the war in Sudan. Her name was Atong, which means ‘born in war.’ She is—was, rather—a very beautiful, very kind young girl.
She had suffered a great deal in her escape from Sudan.
Her father was killed in front of her. Her mother was violated and killed in front of her.
Her elder brother helped her escape, but he too was killed, although his death was a tragic accident rather than violence.
But Atong was a precious child, so utterly innocent.
She carried no hatred in her heart despite all that she had seen and suffered. "
"What…um…what happened? To Atong?"