Good by S. Walden Page B

close to Mr. Connelly in order to shine the light on the pipes. The opening under the sink was tight, and he took up most of the space.
    “Shine it right here over my face,” he said, watching the light bounce around the darkness as I positioned myself. I sat with my legs tucked under me, hunched over, leaning into his thigh. ‘That’s good,” he said. “Hold what you’ve got.”
    I watched his arm muscle flex every time he worked the wrench. I felt the flexing in his thigh, too—how it went rigid then relaxed each time he tightened the bolt. And my body responded to him against my will. My brain screamed for me to stay still all the while I felt my weight shift, leaning further over, further into his body. It felt so good, my thigh pressed against his, and I closed my eyes, imagining how the feeling would be different if our legs were naked.
    “Cadence?” I heard from far away.
    I fought the urge to touch his leg. I wanted to more than anything. And not with my own leg. I wanted to reach out and run my hand along his thigh.
    “Cadence?” The voice was coming closer.
    I opened my eyes to see Mr. Connelly staring at me. His expression was unnerving, like he knew exactly what had been playing through my mind. But he wouldn’t dare say it out loud.
    “The light?” he asked.
    I hadn’t realized Id lowered the flashlight and aimed it back into position.
    “Sorry,” I mumbled, and looked over in the direction of the dryer when I heard it buzz.
    “Just in time,” Mr. Connelly said. “All done.”
    I got up without a word to get the sheets.
    Fanny and I put clean linens on her bed, and while I was in her room, she showed me a collection of old love letters written by her late husband when they dated in high school. I’d never seen an actual love letter, hand-written in cursive. I didn’t think men could write in cursive. It was old school love, and I thought I’d like someone to write a love letter to me.
    Team 2 was busy outside cleaning the yard. When we finally checked off all the inside jobs, we headed out to help. Most everything was almost finished, and I was tired. I swept the front porch before taking a seat beside Fanny to hear her childhood stories. She had a lot, and they were fascinating, but I mostly listened because I knew she needed someone to hear them. I thought it had been a long time since someone listened to her memories.
    I grew frightened in the midst of her storytelling, thinking that I didn’t want to be alone when I was old. It never occurred to me until now, but my life was moving in that direction. I had no friends except Avery, and she really didn’t count as a true friend. I wasn’t on good terms with my parents and was unsure if I could rely on them for anything. I had no boyfriend.
    I realized I went some days barely speaking because I had no one to talk to. If I couldn’t exercise my social skills now, how did I expect to make friends in college? How did I expect to date and fall in love and get married? I would end up alone, old and gray in my little house for one, regretting a past where I made one lousy mistake my junior year of high school that cost me love and friendship for the rest of my life.
    “But those were different times,” I heard Fanny say. “We were poor, and a Coke was a treat.”
    I smiled, trying hard to ignore my fears.
    “Let me tell you about the pennies I earned for swatting flies,” Fanny continued, and I imagined myself as the fly on the wall, but not in the proverbial sense. I was an actual fly on the wall, going about my fly business, unaware that I was taking my last breaths as Fanny hovered above me, flyswatter poised, ready to eliminate me like I mattered for nothing.
     
    ***
     
    “You’re very quiet, Cadence,” Mr. Connelly said, sitting across from me. I watched him shake red pepper flakes over his pizza.
    We all met at Alfredo’s for dinner—a treat from Mr. and Mrs. Sunders for a successful workday. I wanted to go home. I felt hot