Lila

By R. Cane

Novelette: Lila. While Morgan crashes through life as best she can with the help of several exes who are now friends, and a couple other curious queers, most of whom camp out at her house, a prim, proper woman feels inspired to escape her troubles, lands on their doorstep. Now the merry band of misfits has lovely miss Lila and her young son to contend with even as they struggle to manage themselves. Sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, sometimes clashing, they are each other’s ragtag family and have always muddled through, though this newest challenge is throwing all a curve. With a great deal of humor and heart, one or two old, new, hardly conventional romances, this curious collection of queers and one rattled Southern housewife grapple to occupy the same space, while also struggling to accept themselves, and each other. (references to domestic abuse)

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Sample from Lila:

An hour later we are all around the table, wine open, poured. Lila is arranging her son’s food, talking quietly to him.

Kat looks over at them, “why doesn’t he talk?”

The blond flushes, “he can. He just doesn’t” as an afterthought “lately.” I get the impression she is worried too, but wrestling with too much as it is.

“Pretty brave, just up and leaving like that,” Lettie observes, clinks her glass.

The runaway flicks panicked eyes my way, “you told them?”

“I had to, they all kind of live here.” Except Kat, but she’s a given anyway, and here all the time.

Seeing the woman’s hands gripping the edge of the table, white-knuckled, Kat’s sultry tones offer comfort, “we are all friends here.” Gentle smile. “And all refugees in one way or another,” glancing at me “no one here will hurt you.” Pausing to look at each of us, “right?” We all nod, agree. Reaching a hand, very, very slowly, she puts it over Lila’s. “You are safe here.”

The woman gulps, forces herself to relax. Billee passes through, “grabbing a plate.” It occurs to me that one speaks about as much as Lucas. Rarely sits with us, though often nearby. But I know we mean something to their quirky self. I always thought talking was over rated anyway, I smile to myself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. Cane
• Release date: Apr 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463731840

R. Cane

Finding the human condition and our antics endlessly fascinating, I tend to write ‘slice of life’ pieces about moments, situations, interactions, personalities – most often with some amount of humor or irony, always with wonder. The subject or subjects are frequently lgbtq, w/w, to the degree it matters, since people are people, stories are stories.

Book preview

Lila

by R. Cane

Published by R. Cane

Copyright 2020 R. Cane, including art, images

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Lila

So wait, where is she now? my friend Kat asks, all concern.

In my living room. A thought pops up, hopefully she hasn’t wandered through the house!

Morg! astounded, you left her in the house?

I needed you to help figure this out! Beginning to realize what I did, fuck! I left her in the house! Taking in air, ok, pressing hands downward, breathing out, this is going to be ok, a trick I learned from a chick who did yoga.

You left some strange, possibly unbalanced woman in your house – how is that ok?

What do you mean, unbalanced? losing more ground toward panic.

She appeared on the doorstep based on an online advice column? furrowed brow, with a kid? Thought dawning, how did she even find you?

Blog, Instagram, online clues, then the volunteer event we shared. I was the only one not wearing a name tag, she correctly deduced it was to protect my identity.

Well, head tilt, she’s not stupid at least. But what, then she followed you home?

I try to slow my mind down, it is crazy, isn’t it?

Mind churning, the brilliant one who never holds back says, do you think it’s a scam? Do you think she’s driving away with everything you own, right now?

Jesus Kat! standing up, nerves flaring, is this your idea of helpful? I start to pace. And no, I saw the look in her eye, she might be crazy, but she’s genuinely afraid.

Ok, ok, hands out, let’s think this through. After a moment, deep breath, she can’t stay. It’s not cool to just show up like that.

Turning around, she left her abusive husband – what am I supposed to do, send her back?

Morg – you write a frickin advice column, a blog, you don’t run a shelter! Snapping her fingers, that’s it, send her to a shelter!

Right. That makes sense. My relief is short lived, she has a four year old son –

My friend taps me on the shoulder, gives me her best mature expression, who is also not your problem. It’s not cool, what she did, showing up on your doorstep, it’s ok to point her in another, reasonable direction, that’s enough.

Fading onto the sofa, she said she left him because of what I write, felt inspired to change her life. I feel kind of responsible.

But you’re not, guiding my chin so I look in her steady, pretty brown eyes, sane people know the internet is not real. You write shit, if it helps people, great, but you don’t owe them anything.

But if she really did this because of the blog –

No! You didn’t reach out to her person and tell her to turn life upside down, or that you’d take her in – that’s crazy!

But her life is still upside down?

Slapping the sofa, maybe. Or maybe she’s playing you? Or worse, what if she really did all that, and her abusive fuck of a husband comes looking for her? Searching her favorite eyes, this could be for real dangerous!

And that’s what I should send her back to?

Uuhhhhh! getting up to walk off frustration. The last thing we said was a shelter, or call the police.

I might be an internet hack, but even I know the police don’t always take these things seriously. And she’s now several states away, they aren’t going to bother with this – where she came from, or where she landed.

Morgan, hand on my arm, I can hear that protective tone creeping in. This is not your problem. Find her a safe place, I know you feel you have to do something, but get her out of the house!

I know, nod, but remember those clear blue eyes, the way they clouded over at the topic of what she’d left behind.

Morgan, repeated with a firmer tone, this is not your battle. Seeing no change in my sympathetic expression, ups the ante, you aren’t even a real advice columnist for fuck sake!

Big breath, no kidding. Ah hah! Wait, this is your fault for sticking me in this gig in the first place!

No, no, no, no, no! shaking her head. Did I tell you to sleep with your assignment, spiral her off on some self-discovery trip? No! Eyeing me, "the assignment was simple enough, but you did you, slept with the woman and