Loving Mr. Cane (Cane 3)

Curled up in my recliner, I stared out of my window, watching the wind yank fresh leaves off the tree in front of my house. It was gray outside, the sky so hazy I couldn’t even figure out where the sun was. I heard Mom in the kitchen, pans and pots clattering and silverware scraping. She was most likely cleaning.

I didn’t care.

I didn’t care about a lot of things.

I didn’t care that I hadn’t showered in days. I didn’t care that the world was still spinning, that I was lucky to be alive. I wasn’t living.

I sat in that chair, slept in it—lived in it for three whole days. Food was brought up, of course, but I didn’t budge and neither did Mom. She understood my grief, I suppose.

“I know it’s hard,” she whispered one day, caressing my hair, “but you are strong, baby. God didn’t raise us to be weak.”

Those words went in one ear and right back out the other, but the next set didn’t.

“I called Frankie a few days ago,” she murmured. “Told her everything that’s happened. She’s in town. Wants to see you.”

I perked up then, turning my head and peering up at her. “Tell her she can come by.”

Mom smiled and relief shimmered in her eyes. “Okay.”

She took off instantly, as if she were afraid I’d change my mind at the last minute, but I wouldn’t. I think what I needed was Frankie. Someone who I knew wouldn’t judge me for anything I’d done. A friend who would see both sides of the story and tell me what to really do.

An hour later, there was a knock on my bedroom door.

My best friend walked into the room, and of course her smile was sympathetic. She shut the door behind her with one hand and in the other she had a plastic bag. “Hey, K.J,” she said softly, like I was some lost, fragile child.

“Hey, Frank.” I had finally made a move and got out of the recliner to sit on my bed with my back against the headboard. Frankie came toward me and dropped the bag on the bed. She looked me all over, but I pulled my eyes away before she could find them.

“I brought some of your favorites.” Her voice was hopeful, cheerful. She opened the plastic bag and dug out a bottle of Mountain Dew, our favorite brand of gummy worms, and even had my favorite cheese puff chips. I couldn’t help smiling as she dangled the gummy worms in my face. “I’ll let you have all the green ones.”

I huffed a laugh, grabbing the pack and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “When’s the last time you washed that nest anyway?” she asked, and when I looked up, of course she was focused on my hair.

“I thought washing was only required if I left the house.” I bit into a gummy worm, shrugging.

“Actually, now that I think about it, that’s true.” She sighed, taking the worms from me and digging in for a handful. “You could have called me, you know? Sent a text—anything instead of ignoring me.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I’ve had my phone off for the past few weeks. Haven’t really wanted to talk to anyone.”

She nodded. “It’s okay. I understand. Your mom told me about Kelly.” Her eyes stretched wide as she chewed. “I still can’t believe that happened. And then to know that you might not be able to have kids because of it.” She slid closer to me.

I avoided her eyes.

“Tell me how you feel,” Frank insisted, and I finally looked up at her.

“It should be pretty clear how I feel. How would you feel?”

“Honestly? I’d feel like killing her.”

“Well, if prison wasn’t a consequence, I’d have done it already.”

“I know. Fuck.” She dropped the pack of gummies. “I read in the newspaper that they aren’t taking the case to trial. The story isn’t even on the news anymore. That’s how quiet they’re keeping it. Anyway, someone vouched for her mental health, so it will be a quiet case. For all we know, she’ll strike a good deal and only have to do community service or something.”

My eyes stretched. “What?”

Frankie looked uneasy. “I—I thought you knew, K.J. They made it a bench trial a few days ago. No jury, just a judge. Your parents haven’t told you?”

“No, they haven’t told me!”

“I guess they didn’t want to upset you. But hey, she can’t bother you anymore, right? She would be stupid to come after you while her trail is so hot.”

“She should be in prison for what she did to me,” I growled through my teeth. “She won’t suffer with community service or a stupid slap on the wrist. That’s bullshit, if she pleads mentally unstable.”

“I know, but she’s rich and pretty, and from what your mom told me, her family has a lot of power. There’s never really any justice these days for people like them.” She lowered her gaze. “I didn’t tell you to upset you.” She paused, drawing imaginary circles on my comforter with the pad of her finger. “Have you talked to him? Cane?”