Cajun Justice(30)

“The usual.” He smiled, feeling the strain on his windblown face.

“Sure,” the server replied without even writing it down. Anyone who asked for “the usual” was a local.

Two minutes later, she returned with chicory coffee and a plate of freshly fried beignets coated with powdered sugar. Cain sipped his coffee and ate his beignets. His body was still stiff from the long road trip from Arlington, but the bold coffee felt like medicine as it lubricated his joints. From his table, he watched pigeons walking around, pecking at crumbs. Farther in the distance, across the square, he saw the three spires of St. Louis Cathedral. Claire had been far more religious than he was, and it had meant a great deal to her to get married at the oldest cathedral in the United States. Their wedding was not the huge spectacle it could have been, but, stepping out into the square when the ceremony was over, Cain thought the whole world was open to them. He had never been happier.

It’s been years since I’ve stepped foot in that church, he thought. He placed a ten-dollar bill on the table and secured it with his now empty mug. He stood and meandered along the sidewalk, through a gathering of artists and street vendors now setting up for the day, and arrived at the front steps of the cathedral.

He looked skyward. The cathedral towered into the heavens. He walked up the stairs and pushed the heavy, solid-wood doors open. The church was lit by the early-morning sun shining through the stained-glass windows. A row of flags adorned the second-story balcony. Although it was an American church, it looked as though it had been transplanted straight from a village in France.

Cain spotted the confessional in the corner. He pushed the curtain aside and entered. He kneeled and made the sign of the cross. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been eight years since my last confession.”

A creaking sound echoed in the chamber as the old priest shifted his position. “May the God of all mercies help you make a good confession. Proceed, my son.”

Cain took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I killed my wife and son.”





Chapter 29



Cain pushed through the church doors. The outside light blinded him. The sun was shining over the Mississippi River, its rays reflecting off the downtown buildings like a prism. It was a typical Louisiana day: hot and muggy. He was pissed when he realized he had left his Ray-Ban sunglasses in the confessional, but he wasn’t going back for them. He lifted his hand to shield the blaze.

He had done it. Finally. He had confessed. Yet he didn’t feel any better. No weight had been lifted off his shoulders. That void deep in his heart still ached. The confession had managed only to bring up the past and stoke the fires of that trauma.

Cain hurried through the crowd of tourists that had grown. He was soaked in sweat. He climbed onto his Harley and navigated the busy, tight streets until he accelerated onto the on-ramp for I-10 westbound toward Baton Rouge. When he crossed the grated bridge and looked left toward LSU’s football stadium, he knew he’d be home in no time. He kept pushing westward until he arrived in Lafayette—a thriving city that still felt like a small town.

Cruising old asphalt roads past South Louisiana’s rice fields brought back memories. Riding the bike allowed Cain to be part of the countryside, not just an observer. The thick air whipped past his helmet, and he smelled the familiar odors of mud and wetlands. Home was drawing near. Everywhere he looked, he saw flashes of his past—where he’d hunted ducks with his dad, where he’d ridden dirt bikes with Seth, and where he, Bonnie, and their friends would gather around the bonfire on Friday nights after school. He’d had the best of both worlds: he had grown up in the country, but the city life of Lafayette was close by.

At the end of the paved road, he turned right onto a dirt road and headed toward the lone house in the distance. The white paint was fading and chipping in certain parts of the early-1900s Acadian-style farmhouse. He found himself rolling on the throttle, eager to finally arrive home. His motorcycle kicked up a trail of dust that followed him like a shadow. When he came to a halt, it engulfed him.

The southern breeze carried the dust away, and Cain patted the remaining dirt off his clothes. His dad and younger brother were draining the oil on a bright-yellow crop duster in the barn, which served as a makeshift hangar. They stopped long enough to look up to see who had arrived.

Cain removed his helmet and hung it on the handlebar. Sunny, the golden retriever that the local American Legion had given Seth to help with his PTSD episodes, trotted toward Cain with his tail wagging.

“Hey, buddy,” Cain said as he patted the top of the friendly dog’s head. “You been taking care of my brother?”

Claude removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. When he realized it was his older son, he dropped his tools and raced toward Cain. The two of them embraced, cheek to cheek. Cain almost collapsed into his arms, supported by his father.

“It’s been way too long.” Cain sighed.

“Stopping by to make your annual visit?” Seth said sarcastically as he casually strolled toward Cain, wiping grease off his hands with a rag.

“I’d come more if you weren’t here,” Cain joked. “Get over here and give me a hug. You’re moving like an old man.”

“Welcome home, son.” Tears were forming in Claude’s joyful eyes. “Are you jus’ makin’ a pit stop, or ees dis for good?”