33. Sunny
33
SUNNY
I don’t know what to think or what to say. Slowly , I approach him.
Real Kane is staring at me in an appraising kind of way—like he’s wondering what I’m worth. Which is a strange thing to think, but it’s what pops into my mind when I see him watching me.
“Er…hello. I’m Sunny — Sunny Young ,” I say. “ You must be…are you Kane Black ?”
“That’s me, little sis,” he rumbles. He has a deep, grating voice like boulders rubbing together in a dry streambed.
“Oh, well…” I begin, but Real Kane doesn’t let me finish. He gets up from the table and engulfs me in a hard hug that leaves me breathless. As he does, he bends his head down and presses his face to the side of my neck, inhaling deeply. Oh my God , he’s sniffing me! Sniffing my skin and hair!
I tighten up against him and want to get out of the hug at once. This is too weird— I don’t even know him! And it just feels wrong.
As he’s smelling me, I can smell him too. He has a musky animal odor about him. It reminds me of going into a pet store or the place in the animal shelter where they keep all the dogs.
It’s not pleasant, but for some reason I feel my body reacting to it. My nipples are suddenly tight and I’m throbbing between my legs. What’s wrong with me?
Real Kane holds me a little longer, still sniffing, before finally letting me go.
“Uh-huh,” he says nodding, as though he just confirmed something. “ You’re ripe all right, little sis. I’d bet on it.”
“Excuse me?” I put a hand on my hip. “ What are you talking about? I took a shower this morning!”
He lets out a bellow of laughter that hurts my ears and makes heads turn.
“That’s not what I meant, sweet thing!”
“Well, what did you mean, then?” I demand.
He shakes his bald head, still clearly amused about something.
“Never you mind. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I change the subject.
“Why didn’t you ever write me back?” I ask. “ I sent you hundreds of letters for years and years—the whole time you were in prison.”
He shrugs.
“Didn’t want to. I’m not much for reading or writing.”
Well, I guess I can’t argue with that, though it hurts my feelings. I think about telling him that his cellmate wrote me back—that he took advantage of me. But I don’t want to start trouble.
It occurs to me that he could tell me the true identity of his cellmate—the name of Fake Kane . But really, what would I do with that information? It’s not like I’m ever going to contact him and give him another chance to hurt me. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me, as my Momma used to say.
“Well…do you want something to eat?” I ask at last, lamely. There doesn’t seem to be anything else to say. It’s not like it was with Fake Kane — I don’t feel that instant connection—that little click like a missing piece of my heart falling into place.
“Sure— I could eat. Anything you got on the menu’s gotta be better than that fucking slop they served us in prison,” he says, dropping back into his chair. “ Bring me whatever’s good, sweet thing.”
I don’t particularly care for this nickname, but I figure that I probably won’t see him again after this. Despite writing to him for years and yearning to have family in my life, I find I have no interest in building any kind of relationship with this man. He feels foreign to me—strange. I’ll be fine if he leaves after eating his dinner and never comes back again.
I serve him the Blue Plate Special and a slice of pie and he inhales it all…except for the pie.
“Don’t you got any cake?” he asks, frowning at it. It’s my Chocolate Crème Supreme —one of our best sellers. “ I don’t like pie.”
“Sorry—we don’t have any cake right now,” I say coldly, even though I made a big carrot cake this morning. But I don’t think this man deserves it after turning up his nose at my pie.
“Fuck it.” He shrugs and rises from his chair.
“Er, that’s going to be 16.99,” I say, tearing the check off my pad.
“I’ll pay you later,” Real Kane says casually. “ I’m sure I’ll run into you again sometime, sweet thing. Maybe even sooner than you think.”
And with that, he saunters out of the diner without even paying his bill!
I stare after him in disbelieving silence until Annabelle comes up beside me.
“Did he just leave without paying?” she asks, frowning.
“Uh-huh.” I nod. “ Said he’d ‘pay me later’ if you can believe that.”
“That man looks like five miles of bad road,” is Annabelle’s verdict. “ Sorry , Sunny , but I think I liked your fake brother better. Your real brother is a jerk.”
She’s not wrong. I watch his hairy shoulders disappear down the sidewalk as he swaggers away. I hope I never see him again—family or not, I don’t want anything to do with him.
I have no idea that I’ll soon have no choice about spending time with my real big brother. Or what a nightmare having him find me is going to turn out to be…