“Silas, meet my man Maury,” Briar says. “He does a little bit ofeverything around here, including the cooking when called on to do that.”
I give Maury a small wave and say to Briar, “He looks like he could even bench-press me.”
“Only if I ask him nicely,” Briar says.
It turns out to be the kind of breakfast EJ whips up for me from time to time: buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup on the side, scrambled eggs with cheese melted on top, a stack of bacon nearly as tall as Maury, biscuits, grits, fresh-squeezed orange juice.
“I call a meal like this my Triple Bypass,” Briar says.
“Only a triple?” I ask.
Maury has poured coffee for us and brought out the food, having to make three or four trips back to the kitchen. Everything is as delicious as it looks and smells, as I expected it would be, Briar clearly putting it on big for me, for whatever his reasons and wherever we’re going with this.
He drinks some of his coffee, smacks his lips after he does.
“Jacu bird,” he says. “The coffee. Brazil’s finest and most expensive.”
I grin. “Guess I’m not at Scobee’s anymore.”
“No, sir, you’re not, not that you’ll get me to say anything bad about Miss Bess’s coffee,” Briar says. He shakes his head, smiling. “How about those girls of mine? I’m not ashamed to tell you they’ve made me a better man, Silas, even at this stage of my life.”
I tamp down the urge to ask if they’ve done the same for his no-account sons.
“‘The most potent moral force in her life,’” he says, “‘was the love of her father.’”
He juts out his chin at me, almost imperceptibly.
“Know who wrote that?” he asks.
“I do not.”
“Harper Lee,” he says. “That’s Scout talking inGo Set aWatchman.They sold it as a sequel toTo Kill a Mockingbird,but it turned out to have been more like a first draft of that book.”
“I remember reading the book,” I say. “I kind of liked it, maybe because it was about the alienation of somebody returning back home.”
Briar stares at me now. He’s wearing a long-sleeved polo shirt buttoned all the way up and tight, as if to show off the shape he’s still in. I’m just close enough to him to smell his aftershave.
“You feeling a little of that alienation?” he asks. “You being our town’s most favorite son, after all, and being back here the way you are?”
“Not at all,” I say. “I feel as connected to Cross Rivers as I ever have in my life.”
“You sure sounded angry at the stadium the other day,” Briar says. A tiny smile plays across his thin lips. “And that language at the end. Glad my baby girls weren’t there to hear it.”
I give him a long look now. “I know you were there. I saw you.”
“Know you did,” he says. “You may not choose to believe this, but I happen to be a concerned citizen, too. Why Iwasthere.”
“Is that why I’mhere?” I ask, figuring it’s time we got to it.
He takes his time, reaching down and, every movement precise, taking his cloth napkin off his lap and meticulously folding it next to his plate.
When he finally speaks again, his voice is even softer than normal, as if he’s just adjusted the volume.
“You’re here because I want to hire you,” he says.
FIFTY-FIVE
AS SURPRISED AS I am, I try not to show it. I take a beat, thoughts racing around inside my head as I wonder if Helene Mayes might think I could be more useful on the inside than the outside.
