32. Sunny
32
SUNNY
T he next week is possibly one of the worst of my life and that’s including the time I spent grieving after first Nan , then Daddy and then Momma passed. I hate the man who pretended to be my brother. But at the same time, I can’t deny it— I miss him.
Fake Kane , as I’ve started calling him in my mind, seemed so sweet and kind. He was so understanding—we could talk for hours and never run out of things to say. And then there was the way he made me feel…sexually.
Now that he’s gone, I’m having a hard time admitting what I did with him. What was wrong with me, acting like that when I thought he was my brother? Did I go crazy for a little while? He just felt so right to me—like we belonged together. Which is insane, right?
Of course, I have to explain to Cookie that Fake Kane wasn’t who he said and that he’d been lying to all of us. Cookie is sympathetic and tells me not to worry about it—it’s not my fault. He offers to get me someone else to help with the pies in the morning, but I tell him no. I’d rather be alone—it would be too painful to work with someone else now that Fake Kane is gone.
Cookie does hire someone else though—a nice new girl named Samantha — Sam for short. She’s apparently living with her aunt in the next town over and needs a job. She takes over the dishwashing and table bussing.
Sam’s very efficient but every time I look over and see someone else besides Fake Kane spraying off the dishes or clearing the tables, I feel it like a stab in the heart. She tries to make small-talk with me, but I just can’t. I’m not rude, but I’m not interested in getting close to anyone new for a while.
Speaking of being close to someone, Annabelle sidles up to me about two days after Fake Kane left and asks me if I’m okay.
“You can see I’m not,” I snap at her. In fact, I burned a whole batch of Raspberry Ripple pies that morning. I haven’t burned anything in years. You know I’m going through it when my oven-sense is off.
“Sorry!” Annabelle holds up her hands in a “don’t shoot” gesture. “ I was wondering because, well…because of something Charles is saying around town.”
“What?” I feel sick. This is my greatest fear. Charles and I haven’t spoken since he caught me and Fake Kane on the couch but I was hoping he would keep what he saw to himself.
Which was foolish, really. Charles has always been a terrible gossip. He’s one of those people who likes to know everyone’s business so he can spread it all around. And because he works at his Dad’s dealership and knows so many people, he has a lot to spread.
“What is he saying?” I demand of Annabelle .
She shifts uncomfortably and won’t meet my eyes.
“He’s saying he, uh, saw you and the guy we all thought was your brother together when he came to warn you that he wasn’t really Kane . I mean like… together together—you know?”
I feel even sicker. I don’t like to lie, but if this gets around, it’s going to ruin me. Instead of being the “pie lady” I’ll be known as the girl who screwed her own brother—or at least, the guy she thought was her brother.
“He’s really saying that?” I ask in a weak voice.
“Uh-huh.” Annabelle nods. “ Of course, nobody believes it,” she adds, obviously trying to comfort me. “ I mean, that would be disgusting. Unless you knew he wasn’t your brother?”
“I didn’t know,” I say dully. “ And Charles is being an asshole.”
Which is all true, and I’m hoping that I’ve given her the impression that Charles is lying without actually saying it, and lying myself. God , this is so convoluted! I’m just not a good liar— I can’t keep up a lie for very long before I wind up telling the truth. And I really don’t want the truth getting out in this case.
“Of course he is.” Annabelle squeezes my arm. “ I just hate that he’s spreading this nasty rumor all around town on you.”
I hate it too. Because I know if he says it enough, people are going to start believing it. I’ve lived in Singing Rock all my life, but it might be time to think of moving. Where can I go, though?
I start to seriously consider that question in the next few days, because I notice people looking at me funny and sometimes whispering to each other after I leave their table. Charles is spreading the news—little by little my reputation is being ruined and that really matters when you live in a small town.
As if all those troubles and worries aren’t enough, my body starts acting up too. My breasts, which have been feeling heavy and tender for days suddenly start leaking this weird, amber liquid. It’s thick and sticky, almost like honey, and when I taste some on the tip of my finger, it’s sweet.
What the Hell is happening to me?
At least my breasts only leak a little at first so I can cover it up by putting some tissues in my bra. But the problem seems to be getting worse, instead of better. My breasts feel heavy and swollen and my nipples are unbearably tender. Should I make an appointment with the doctor? But I don’t have one. Cookie doesn’t make enough with the diner to pay for us to have insurance and I’ve always been healthy up until now, so I don’t know what to do.
As if all that isn’t enough, I start having strange dreams at night— sex dreams. Almost all of them feature a man in a black mask—someone who seems familiar but I’m sure I’ve never seen him before. In my dreams, he does all kinds of things to me. Things that make me moan and beg for more.
I wake up all hot and bothered, feeling empty inside, between my thighs. I’ve never experienced anything like this— I don’t know if it has anything to do with the breast thing or not.
I try looking it up on the internet, but I can’t find anything about breasts leaking sweet amber liquid and apparently the only people who have sex dreams are adolescent boys. None of it makes sense.
It feels like my whole life is spinning out of control and I can’t do anything to stop it.
About the fourth day after Fake Kane left, Sam , the new dishwasher, comes into the ladies room just as I’m changing the tissues I put in my bra to soak up the amber liquid my nipples are leaking.
Quickly, I finish stuffing the new tissues into my bra. Then I crumple the used tissues and throw them in the trash but I can tell she saw some of what I was doing.
“Hey, you all right?” she asks casually, coming up to the sink beside me.
“Fine,” I say shortly. “ Just fine.”
“Okay, great. Uh …there’s someone here who says he wants to talk to you,” she says.
“What?” My heart starts pounding. Could it be Fake Kane ? Did he come back to me? Of course, I won’t have anything to do with him but just the idea that he might be here makes my heart flutter.
“He says he’s your brother,” Sam says and shrugs. “ I don’t know though—the two of you have the same hair and eye color but he’s huge and you’re tiny. So …” She shrugs again.
I feel my stomach drop. That can’t be Fake Kane , then.
“I’d better go see who it is,” I say, trying to sound like its no big deal.
“I sat him in your section—hope that’s okay,” Sam says. She’s pulling out her cell phone, clearly about to make a call.
“Yeah, sure. Thanks .”
I hurry out of the ladies room and around the corner. I stop dead in my tracks when I see him.
Sitting right there at table three is a huge mountain of a man. He’s as big as Fake Kane was but even beefier. His head is shaved bald but he has a thick, bushy black beard and mustache and when he looks up, his eyes are the same light amber mine are. He’s wearing a white muscle shirt that shows hairy arms and shoulders— ugh .
But his excess body hair isn’t what has me staring. This is the same man in the picture that Charles showed me on the night he exposed Fake Kane . This is the real Kane —my real big brother and he’s sitting right here in my section of the diner.
I have absolutely no idea what to say to him.