Page 44 of Cain
Dude, they’re all the freaking same!
“Cain’s been callin’ people, I hear.” Ricky triumphantly picks up a roll.
“What?” My heart, which was frozen moments ago, comes to life.
Thump. Thump.
“Cain’s been callin’ people,” he repeats.
I glare at him.
He chuckles. “Sweetheart, the man has told everyone how his family mistreated you, and he wants to make amends. You know, he called me and demanded I give you a job as a bartender.”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I feel sick. “Is that why you?—?”
“Fuck no!” Ricky exclaims. “I told him to fuck himself, ‘cause I was doin’ it anyway. I didn’t want him to take credit for it.”
It keeps happening.
People I hardly know show up with pie, tool sets, coffee,andan apology for crimes committed against me. It’s like the whole town is taking responsibility.
It’s confusing.
It’s also nice.
I get the full scoop from Georgia when I accept her invitation for dinner at her place.
I’m not ready to go to a diner or a coffee shop or, God forbid, Ripley’s. I’m still raw. I’m in pain in the places inside me that have thawed, and numb in others.
Turns out Cain stood in front of the congregation at the First Trinity Church and told themeverything.
“Told them what Paula and Melody did. What he did. What he didn’t do.Said he’s in love with you.”
I choked on my water.
“And he asked everyone to help him. Not because he deserves forgiveness, but because maybe you deserve to be validated and acknowledged.”
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Word spreads fast in a town like Silverton,” Georgia says. “Sometimes gossip heals instead of harms.”
19
REGRETFULLY YOURS, CAIN
FAITH
For Christmas, I get a pair of boots, a jacket, and oh so many books. I can’t even return them because these are from thetown,and not a specific person, not Cain.
Every time I go into town, people stop and talk to me. No one seems to mind that I’m a bartender at a strip club.
People arenice.
Cain comes byallthe time—usually afterhe closes Ripley’s. He sits at the bar with a book, leaves it behind, and a couple of days later talks to me about it.
Tonight, he taps the paperback copy ofLove in the Time of Cholera. “What did you think?” he asks, like it’s some kind of test he hopes I’ll pass.
