K. Weiland - Storming

“I have knowledge enough about your Groundsworld,” Jael said. “Going home is what I must do.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “Home’s a place where people want what you don’t have it in you to give them. And then they blame you for not having it to give to them in the first place.”

“Yes.” She trudged along behind him. “This I am having knowledge about Groundsmen too.”

“What’s that?”

“Your families you are not liking. You take no care for them.”

He stopped short, just outside of Dan and Rosie’s Cafe. “There, right there. That’s one of your snarled-up facts. First of all, I’m not exactly typical of Groundsmen.” Not that she had been near enough to hear most of his conversation with Nan about Celia. “Second, I didn’t say anything about not loving my family. I’m just not good at pretending I belong someplace I don’t.”

“This pretend—this means what?”

“Means acting like something’s real when it’s not.”

She fiddled with her cuff. “This pretending, it is not better than never to be belonging?”

He shrugged. “Everything comes with a price.”

The greasy smell of fried chicken wafted out of the cafe’s open door.

Jael’s stomach rumbled audibly.

He looked through the open door.

From inside the cafe, Lilla leaned back on a red counter stool and waved at him. “Hitch! Come inside! They have the most fabulous orange phosphate.”

He felt the remaining dollars in his pocket. His own middle felt pretty pinched at that. It had been hours since Matthew fed them breakfast.

He gestured Jael to walk in front of him. “C’mon.”

The cafe was just one small front room, filled with square tables. A counter with swiveling stools separated the dining area from the cash register and the shelves of dishes. Beyond that, the kitchen was visible through the serving window in the wall.

Behind the counter, a short, balding man in a stained apron stopped polishing a mug and squinted. “I’ll be dogged. Hitch Hitchcock, is that you?”

Jael shot Hitch a narrow look, both eyebrows going up.

He tapped her arm to guide her forward. “It’s all right, I knew him back when.”

Still, she walked slowly, her weight on the balls of her feet, her hands loose at her sides, like she was ready to run—or more likely fight—if one of the old codgers inside decided to wave a fork at her.

He took her elbow, as much to keep her from doing anything stupid as to reassure her.

Dan Holloway raised the empty mug he’d been polishing and grinned. “Well, so it is. The prodigal back after all these years.” He looked at the room at large. “Didn’t I tell you he’d be back?”

Hitch glanced around. He recognized most of the folks dining at the checked-cloth tables. Two oldsters by the door—Scottie Shepherd and Lou Parker—didn’t look a bit different from how they had when he’d left. According to Matthew, Scottie was the one who’d seen one of those bodies fall out of the sky.

Lou dabbed his mustache with the end of the napkin stuck in his collar. “And aren’t you the spitting image of your daddy?” He gave Hitch’s arm a slap as he passed. “Bless his soul.”

Hitch’s insides twitched. His dad’s was another funeral he should have come back for. But he and his old man hadn’t parted on good terms. For that matter, they hadn’t been on good terms since Hitch’s mother died when he was eleven. His dad never quite understood how flying could be so much better than farming.

Hitch managed a grin. “But handsomer, right?”

Scottie turned in his seat to watch Hitch cross the room. A day’s whiskers covered his cheeks and ketchup stained his overalls’ bib. “Well, you surprised me, son. We heard all kinds of rumors about you running off with some kind of shipment you were flying out for Sheriff Campbell. If that’s the truth, then I’m surprised you’re back at all.”

That would be what Campbell would have them all believing.

“Calling me a thief, old-timer?” He managed to keep his tone light—barely.

Scottie shrugged. “Eh. Rumors is rumors.”

“And you believe them?”

Scottie grinned. “Might’ve—if you hadn’t ever come back.”

Lou didn’t look quite so convinced. “I expect the sheriff generally knows what he’s talking about, don’t you?”

At the counter, Hitch stopped and looked back. “Campbell’s not still sheriff, is he?”

Scottie’s eyes twinkled. “Ain’t he though? Why’d we kick the best sheriff we ever had out of office? Older they get, the better they get. Ain’t that right, Lou?”

Oh, gravy. That was bad. Hitch’s smile grew more and more wooden. He turned to take a seat next to Lilla, with Jael on his other side.

“You look poorly,” Lilla observed. “Have an orange phosphate.” She stuck another straw in hers and passed it over.

How stupid could he be? Nan’s anger—that he could deal with. But Bill Campbell was another matter altogether.

There were lots of reasons he hadn’t come home when Celia died, but if you rooted around to the very bottom of it, what you’d find was Bill Campbell. Folks must still have no idea what Campbell was capable of pulling behind their backs.

Sure, Campbell was a good sheriff. The reason he was so good was that the only rules he played by were his own, and one of those rules was making sure people like Hitch never got a second opportunity to defy him.

Dan slung his towel over one shoulder. “Don’t worry about Campbell. Your brother will fix it all, I expect.”

“My brother?” Hitch looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Why, Griff’s a deputy now, didn’t you know?”

His little brother was working for Campbell? His ears buzzed. Griff knew better than that. He’d always been the smart one—the straight one.

“When did that happen?”

“Oh, about seven years, I reckon. He’s a good deputy too. You haven’t seen him?”

“Not yet.”

Dan picked up his notepad and pencil. “Well, what’ll you have, lady and gent?”

“Um.” Hitch ordered from memory. “Roast beef, mashed potatoes, and green beans.” Except in his memory, he’d been a lot richer. “Or wait, just two cheese sandwiches and two cups of coffee.”

Lilla took her glass back. “You’re missing out. The orange phosphate is delicious. I’m waiting for Rick. He finally found a station to put gasoline in the motorcar. He thought the first two places were disrespecting him.”

“What’d they say?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t notice.”

Probably because there hadn’t been anything to notice.

Lilla leaned forward to see around Hitch. “Hi, there. I’m Lilla Malone.”

On the other stool, Jael sat about as easy as a broncbuster on a confirmed outlaw. She gripped the edge of the counter and kept looking over her shoulder. She eyed Lilla, then glanced at Hitch.

He nodded. “It’s all right. Lilla works for me. This is Jael.”

Lilla reached past Hitch to offer her hand. “How do?”

Jael looked at it.

“She’s not from around here,” Hitch said.

“Oh, well, that’s all right.” Lilla pulled her hand back. “I’m new here too, come to that. Your kerchief is lovely.”

Jael touched her head, then smiled. Her whole face changed when she smiled. The hard angles faded, and the silver specks in her eyes sparkled.

“Tonk you.”

“So you’re a friend of Hitch’s? From when he lived here?”

“Not exactly,” Hitch said. “I kind of found her this morning. I’m trying to get her a place to stay.”

“Oh, that’s no problem. She can stay with us.”

“No, she’s got to be here—in town—so that when her friends come looking for her, they’ll know where to find her.”