Page 69 of Omega’s Fold

I take a long pull on the beer. I set the bottle down too hard and the noise of it on the counter is louder than I meant.

“Sorry.”

Eli watches me.

What I keep doing instead, sat at this counter with the cold of the bottle on my palm, is seeing Pace’s hand. The hand on the desk between us, fingers spread and him saying the yokels will always find something to complain about.

I take another drink. The beer has gone warm in my hand and I do not care.

Eli has not said anything. Eli is good at that.

“They knew about it,” I say. “That kind of thing, it’s not my job. I know what that sounds like but it’s not. Someone else is supposed to check it and I took their word for it.”

Eli gets up. He goes to the cupboard above the stove where I keep the canned things and he opens it and shuts it. He goes to the fridge. He comes back with a block of cheese and a packet of crackers and a knife. He sets all three down on the counter between us and starts cutting cheese onto crackers without making a show of it.

I watch him do it.

The thing about Eli is that he has been my brother for thirty-three years and he has never, in any of that time, told me what to do.

He pushes the plate toward me. I take a cracker. I do not eat it.

“You want me to tell you what to do?” he asks.

“I am going to file the affidavit.”

“That’s what I thought.” He takes a cracker. He eats it, then he pushes the plate back toward me.

“Eat one.”

I obey dutifully. I take a long drink. I set the bottle down.

“First, I have an omega I need to talk to,” I say. “Not on the phone. Face to face.”

“Good talk,” Eli says. He raises his beer. I raise mine. Five minutes later, I start packing.

19. Wyatt

Mary’s Diner hasn’t changed since I was a boy. It has the same eight booths upholstered in fake red leather and the same posters on the walls. It wouldn’t surprise me if it was like that back in my parents’ day too.

The titular Mary is long gone. She was old Mr. Follett’s mother and he’s old as the hills now and set in his ways.

I can’t help wondering if Mary’s is going to survive Linden. The development is going to be huge. There’s a business park, warehouses, housing and a small mall. Part of their sales pitch was that it’d allow the big chains to move in.

The food at Mary’s is okay if you’re a local and know what to order and what to avoid. They’ve got away with that for a long time because they’re the town’s only option. They won’t be for much longer.

Matthew is sitting across from me with the laminated menu, working his way down the breakfast list one item at a time, even though he knows the menu by heart. Caleb is next to him, slumped against the window with his hood up. Nobody is speaking.

Mr. Follett comes over. “Coffee, Wyatt?”

“Please. Decaff.”

“And cocoa for Matthew,” he says with a wink. “I’ll do it just the way you like it. What about you, Caleb?”

“Coffee please.”

He gives us a minute to make up our minds about food and goes to get the drinks.

I look at the clock above the till. Quarter to twelve. The realtor said they’d be at the gate at one. I didn’t want to be there. I told her I would be in town. She said that was sensible, said it was easier on everybody if the owner was not standing in the kitchen while the buyers walked through.