Page 70 of Cain
“You fed on Paula’s delusions and called it friendship. You weaponized your jealousy and called it love. But all you ever did was poison the well and cry when the water turned black. Now you can both rot in it.”
I exhale, releasing some of the horror inside me over what these two women did.
She screams something behind me as I leave. I don’t turn around.
I talk to my parents on my way to Faith’s place. They’re at the airport waiting for their flight. They’re disappointed, heartbroken, and in pain. I don’t know how to help them. And I doubt my method of feeling better, which is to cuddle up with Faith, is going to work for them.
When I walk into Faith’s apartment, she’s curled up on the couch, a book open on her lap. She looks up, and everything in me stills. I take my shoes off and walk up to her. Kiss her softly.
“Hey,” she says gently.
I get on the couch and lay my head in her lap.
“Done?” she asks, fingers moving through my hair.
“Yeah. With all of them.”
“She’ll always be your sister, Cain.”
“I know. But I can’t be her brother any longer.”
She leans down and kisses my forehead. “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“That was a ‘we’ll discuss this at another time’okay.”
I grab her hand and bring it to my lips. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“Being here. Being you. Being with me. Being mine. Letting me be yours.”
“My, my, that’s a lot of things you’re thanking me for,” she teases.
“I know.”
We are quiet after that.
I doze off on her lap while she strokes my hair, reads.
It’s nice.
I’m home.
30
GIVING THANKS
FAITH
The air in Palm Desert is warm and dry, a subtle balm against the chill that still lingers in my bones from Oregon.
Everything is sun-drenched and slow-moving. The shadows stretch long in the late afternoon. People speak softer, as if to match the pace of the earth beneath them.
Cain’s parents live in a sprawling stucco home with a terracotta roof, whitewashed walls, and a courtyard that blooms with bougainvillea in shocking fuchsia.
There’s a fountain bubbling quietly in the front walkway. It looks like a dream.
