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“They just don't know you yet.”
“I get it.”
And I did. Once upon a time, if I'd heard that some guy moved into town who'd been locked up for ending someone's life, I'd have jumped right on that rumor train with everyone else. But that didn't mean being on the other side of the rumors didn't suck. In fact, it hurt. It hurt a lot. But what was I going to do about it, other than to be patient and hope they gave me a chance?
“Hey there!” Howard called, wearing an apron and apin-stripedshirt.
He looked like he belonged in an old-timey painting of a general store, and so did The Fisch Market with its wooden fruit displays, two mechanical cash registers, and antique gumball machine. He ran over to us and shook each of our hands before leading us to a room toward the back of the store.
“All right, Soldier,” he said, then chuckled. “I'm sorry. It's just hard to get used to calling a man Soldier who isn't … well, a soldier.”
I shrugged, sweeping my gaze around the small frozen food section. “I probably would've been better off if I were, to be honest with you. The military would’ve done me some good before I had the chance toreallyscrew things up.”
Howard twisted his face with immediate discomfort. “I think you should keep talk about your past to a minimum, if you catch my drift.”
Before I had the chance to reply, he cleared his throat as he opened the door to reveal a closet full of cleaning supplies. He began to point them out, but I stopped him to say I’d spent most of my life cleaning and that I knew my way around a broom closet.
He nodded with approval before saying, “Now, I don’t expect you to wear much of a uniform. All I ask is that you make sure to cover your tattoos with long-sleeved shirts and wear one of the store aprons.”
I swallowed and made a mental note to buy some more clothes as soon as I was able.
And as if he were reading my mind, Howard said, “If you don’t have any long-sleeved shirts—”
“I think I might have a couple,” I said, cutting him off. “I’ll just have to wash them often. It’s all good.”
He nodded with satisfaction. “All right. So, when do you want to start?”
I looked between him and Harry and said, “Uh, today?”
Howard clapped Harry on the back. “I think we’re going to get along just fine.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
11:11
So, I began my life in River Canyon.
And like many things worth having, it didn’t come easily at first.
My first day of work was going well enough. There was nothing difficult about pushing a broom and making sure the toilet flushed properly. But if anything got under my skin, it was the whispers.
Not even the curious and accusing looks could compete with the whispers.
“What happened to his face?”
“How many people do you think he killed?”
“What the hell was Mayor Fischer thinking?”
I thought what got to me the most was, I knew my name was public knowledge, and so was my record. I was sure every one of them had a phone they could use to look me up and find out exactly what had happened and what I’d done. But no. People preferred to speculate; they preferred to talk. All because it was more interesting than the truth.
I got through it though, and because I hadn’t expected to work that day, Harry had left me without a ride back home.
Home.
1111 Daffodil Lane.
So, I walked the short ten minutes it took to get from The Fisch Market to my run-down trailer, where I made a can of soup I’d bought at the store and went to sleep on the air mattress Harry was letting me borrow until I got my hands on a bed.
