“I suppose I don’t know what to say.”
A torrent of half-formed thoughts had been cutting hectic paths through her mind since leaving Young Acres. She couldn’t think straight. What would her parents say when Mrs. Crane alerted them? Did she really care? They’d finished with her, of their own accord, so why shouldn’t she be finished with them? Fern tried to envision working at a real library and living on her own. She considered the complications of borrowing money from Cal to set herself up and what his driving all the way to Zionsville meant. If he expected anything from her in return wasn’t clear, but her gut feeling said he didn’t. That wasn’t him.
He glanced across the bench seat. “I got a stop to make on the way back. Shouldn’t take long.”
There was mostly just farmland out here. Fernpushed aside a loose strand of hair that the wind kept tossing into her eyes. “Where?”
His attention was back on the road. She thought she saw him take a deep breath, but with the wind coming in through the windows, ruffling his hair and clothes, she couldn’t be sure.
“I need to check in on a pal.”
His flat tone and the barest shift of his jaw hinted that the visit wasn’t something he looked forward to.
“Does it have to do with Rodney?” Fern hated even saying his name. She didn’t understand how she could feel such fear for one brother but feel safe with the other.Safe. Had she lost her mind? Nothing about Cal was safe.
“It’s business,” he answered.
So, it did have to do with Rodney.
“Is it illegal?”
He turned his head toward her, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “If I say no, will you believe me?”
Fern realized the absurdity of her question and laughed at herself. “No.”
“Listen, nothing about hooch is legal, not right now, but it’s good business. Half the politicians supporting prohibition laws are making a healthy cut themselves. They know restricting something makes it more valuable. Simple economics.”
Fern knew that. The very government officials voting to dry out America were profiting off the illegal sale of alcohol, but it still left a sour wash in the pit of her stomach.
Ahead, the blue and white sign of a roadside dinerstood tall on the horizon. The Bluebird Diner had several cars and a few larger trucks parked in its lot.
“I could eat,” Cal announced, downshifting as his foot lifted from the gas pedal.
Her stomach grumbled at the thought of a food, but sweat beaded on the back of her neck too.
“How about you?” he asked. “Hungry?”
The Roadster rolled into the lot, tires crunching over loose dirt and rock. The windows showed people seated in booths, looking at menus, sipping fountain drinks.
“Fern?” Cal’s voice cut through the quiet. He’d turned off the engine without her noticing.
“I’ve not been in a restaurant in… I don’t know. Years.”
Cal sighed and sat back in his seat. “Your parents didn’t do you any favors by keeping you cooped up the way they did.”
She didn’t say it had been to protect her. She knew better now than to make that excuse.
Fern breathed in. Then out again. “If I’m going to work, I’m going to have to get used to going into public places.”
She was going to have to get used to the stares, maybe even repulsed expressions, and the potential questions of what had happened that resulted in her scars.
Cal took the key from the ignition and dropped it into his pocket. “If anyone says anything, I’ll knock out their teeth.”
Fern gasped and stared at him, open mouthed. “You wouldn’t!”
He winked and opened his door. She hoped he was only joking—though secretly, she reveled in the promise that he’d stick up for her.
With an unsteady pulse and legs that felt like two strands of soft, saltwater taffy, she walked with Cal to the Bluebird Diner’s front door. He pushed it open and stood aside for her to enter first. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, but she wished he’d gone in first. At least then, he could have been a sort of shield. But no—she couldn’t hide behind a shield any longer.
