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When Kyrie turned back, her eyes had changed. I could see the jealousy there. Orsomethingthere. “You’re not the only fresh meat.”
“You gonna tell me what happens to fresh meat or leave me wondering again?” I asked, handing her a napkin.
“Leave you wondering,” Kyrie replied, reaching for the tray.
THREE
Valerie’s new job at the Family Café in Hart Hollow wasn’t hard work. Not to her, anyway. It was busy, familiar, and held a sense of home. She was used to feeding people. It was her assigned position at the ranch. And though she longed to leave that life behind and the horror experienced in their last hours there, she found comfort in the routine of making meals for people, in keeping her hands busy.
Idle hands were …
It’d been one week since she started at the Family Café.
She went to bed early and rose early to feed the morning crowd, which consisted of farmers and locals. No one passed through Hart Hollow. It was a forgotten town, buried in winding roads and the hills of the Ozarks. She liked it there. She enjoyed the people. God-fearing people. It was familiar. The people they left behind at the ranch were pretenders. It’s what she told herself when she heard their screams. And she often did in the night, and she wondered if Nicholas did, too. He had trouble sleeping, but he hadn’t left the trailer yet. Not far from it, anyway. She suspected he sat on the bench behind the trailer. There was a small cemetery behind their new home in the woods, and she knew he harbored a fascination for them. She’d found sketches in his backpack once, dark poetry, and after nearly being caught snooping, she never looked again.
Though she acted as Nicholas’s guardian, she often felt they were more like siblings because of the nine-year age difference, and she often still felt like a kid at twenty-six.
The patrons of the café called her young lady when they saw her leave the kitchen, complimenting her on her cooking. It was a run of luck that the previous cook was ready to retire when she visited looking for a job. She studied under the woman for a week before she was on her own with the part-time workers that came in a few times a week.
She’d lied on her application, saying she was the head cook on a cattle ranch in California. Then, she lied again, saying the ranch owners had moved.
They hadn’t moved, not the leaders of theranchthey’d lived on.
They were dead.
It was a late morning in Hart Hollow as she reminisced about the past. The early rush had come and gone, and the café was empty as she headed behind the building to take a break where the lone server was smoking. The front door had a bell that chimed out back, so they could take these moments.
Charla smiled at her when she stepped out into the scorching morning air. She puffed out a cloud of smoke and grinned around the grey. “Hey. Smoke?” she asked as she pulled a pack from her front pocket.
Valerie shook her head. “No.” She didn’t have vices such as that. And this was a new leaf. Left behind were envy, greed, and the spite she often felt when she looked at familiar faces.Tabula Rasa.
“Smart. I’m trying to quit,” Charla said, shoving the pack back into her pocket.
Valerie nodded, unsure what to say. It’s why she could never do Charla’s job. The thirty-something woman was friendly and outgoing. She charmed the customers and made great tips. Well, as great as you could get from farmers in forgotten towns. But you didn’t need much to live in Hart Hollow. The line between the well-to-do and the less fortunate was thin. Easily crossed.
Before Valerie could suffer another moment of wondering what to say or do with her hands, the bell chimed above the two women.
“Shit,” Charla said, moving to throw her cigarette in the dirt.
“I’ll seat them. Finish your smoke,” Valerie said, her voice a whisper.
Charla smiled, bringing the cigarette to her lips. “Thanks. I’ll be in in a second.”
Valerie nodded, walking into the building.
Waiting at the door was a tall man in dark slacks, a white button up shirt, and black glasses. He held a cane in his hand, and his eyes were trained on the wall.
She could tell he heard her approaching, but his lack of sight was apparent in how he moved his head back and forth. “Good morning, you’re new, aren’t you?” the man said, smiling.
Valerie furrowed her brow as she approached. “Yes. Hi. Charla is just out back. She’ll be inside in a second. I can get you seated, though.”
The man was handsome, dark-haired, and broad-shouldered. “And who is seating me, may I ask?” His voice betrayed his appearance. He seemed older than the skin on his face suggested. Yet, he had no wrinkles and a smile that was all teeth.
“I’m Valerie. I work in the kitchen. I started a couple of weeks ago.”
The man offered his hand, and Valerie stepped forward to take it, finding his palm was cool to the touch.
“I’m Deacon Ed Rex. Nice to meet you.”
