Page 56 of Kane

Pumpkin’s tail curls around my ankle as he paws the cuff of my jeans, biting at it like it’s a toy, and I don’t have the heart to push him off. Not right now.

I watch as she kisses their head with rapid fire kisses.

“Can’t say I blame you,” I grunt. “I’d probably do the same. If I had pets, I mean.”

I don’t think I would, though. I think if I did have pets, I wouldn’t go anywhere they couldn’t go with me, but what do I know.

I swallow my sadness and let out a breath. “How can I help?”

She smiles kindly.

“Well, for starters, if you know anyone looking for a cat, that would be helpful.” She lets out a soft chuckle, but I can’t find it in me to laugh. “I’m just not sure these flyers are doing much, and I’m not very good with the computer, you know,” she says with a frown. I look at her computer—an old ass Gateway from the late 90s that collects dust in the corner—and sigh.

I meant what I said when I offered to help, and it’s not that I don’t want to or don’t have the time. It just feels extra cruel for some reason. Like I’m being chosen to train my replacement. But what kind of friend or neighbor would I be if I didn’t help her out when I know she needs it?

“I can ask around,” I say, already spinning the wheels in my brain of who the hell I could even reach out to about this. I guess there’s Carter. He volunteers at that animal shelter; maybe he might know someone looking for a cat. Or at the very least, maybe his shelter could take them if we can’t find anyone else. It’s not ideal, but it’s a decent back up plan. Sure I could take them to any shelter, but I at least have heard Carter talk about the staff there, and if he goes, I can at least vouch that the rest of the staff are probably decent people. I mean, you’d have to be, to spend your free time with animals that have been lost, left, or come from bad situations.

It takes a certain kind of person to give their time and their heart to causes like that.

“Thank you,” she says as I finish my coffee and get up.

I nod in response, clearing my throat if only because I’m starting to get anxious. I don’t make it a habit of coming in here, or visiting anyone, really.

I don’t do well in other people’s homes. Never have. Too many unfamiliar things, unfamiliar smells. Not to mention, most people don’t clean their houses as well as they should, and messy houses make my skin crawl.

That’s how you get bugs, and bugs are fucking disgusting.

My head starts to pound and my vision blurs, and then I feel the sweat form on my brow.

Oh no.

I close my eyes tight, trying to fight the memory that tries to dislodge itself.

But it’s no use.

I watch the spider, its spindly legs moving faster than I would have imagined a spider could move. I’m hot, but then again, I’m always hot when we visit Daddy’s friend, Eddy, because he ain’t got no air because his house is old. The kind of old that has those bar things that make heat. Mama says they’s called a ray-dee–titor or something. I can’t say it because I get stuck on the t’s.

Eddy sits next to us, his blonde hair slicked back. His gold chain glints in the sun and he offers me a drink.

I look at it; at the streams of water on the outside. It must be cold, and I’m really thirsty. But Mama said never to take drinks from people if I don’t know what’s in them.

“Go on, son,” Daddy says gruffly, and I want to argue with him. “It ain’t gonna bite ya.”

Eddy gives me a soft smile, and reluctantly, I take the glass from his hand.

“Thank you,” I say quietly and he nods.

“Heat’s a bitch this time of year.”

Daddy sips his drink, which smells strong. His glass is full of amber liquid. He sets it down, lights his cigarette as Eddy takes his seat.

“Some dickhead knocked on my door yesterday, asking ‘bout that girl.”

I glance at the movie playing on Eddy’s TV. It’s a little fuzzy because Daddy says out here in the mountains you don’t need TV.

Batman flies across the screen, his dark cape swooshing, and I sip my water. It tastes good. Cold.

“What girl?” Daddy asks.