Runs Deep (9 page)

DAY 2

“Morning, upstate New Yorkers! This is Billy the Kid on KLNQ. It’s started. Rain has hit most of our area this morning, and those lucky few who haven’t been hit yet will certainly be hit by the afternoon. Hope you’ve got your supplies in and maybe a rowboat handy, because it’s too late to leave now!”

CHAPTER 20

W
hen Steve woke up, he was disoriented for a minute as he looked at the sloping ceiling, blue walls, and white curtains. Then he heard the sound of Frank Sinatra drifting up the stairs and smelled the undeniable scent of cinnamon rolls.

I’m home,
he thought with a pang.

He glanced at the clock: four a.m. He hadn’t set the alarm. Four a.m. had been his wake-up time in Auburn. His system was primed for the early rise. Which was perfect, because it gave him an hour before he was due at the diner.

He rolled out of bed and dropped to the floor. He cranked out a hundred push-ups followed by a hundred sit-ups—his morning routine while inside. Then he sat on the floor, his back against the bed.

This had been his room since he was ten years old. His grandmother had carefully packed away most of his old teenage stuff, leaving only a few of his things out: his soccer and swimming trophies, some of his favorite books. He was glad she had put the other stuff away. He didn’t think he would have been able to face his old room, his old life. And she—or more likely, Jack—had picked up some clothes for him as well. He liked his room this way—a couple of mementos, but a fresh start.

The conversation with Julie flashed through his mind. He had really missed her. She’d never written him, never visited, but she’d kept him company nonetheless in his mind, helping him pass the interminable hours. He’d replayed all their board games, listened in on all their old conversations, and when it didn’t hurt too much, he’d even let himself daydream about what his life could have been with her.

And now, even though she was one street over, she felt farther away than ever.

He pulled over the box his brother had left for him. He’d opened it yesterday, but hadn’t yet removed the contents. He re-read the note attached:

Steve,

Sorry I couldn’t be there your first night home. But in case you thought I had forgotten you, I got you a little coming home present.

                                          The best big brother ever,

                                          Jack

Steve shook his head. He opened the box again. It was jam-packed with Twinkies. When Steve was a teenager, he’d been crazy about them, and for the first year he’d been away, he’d even dreamed about them. He smiled as he gazed at the familiar packaging.

The box also contained his old pocketknife. Jack must have held on to it for him. A relic from another life.

“You going to sleep all day?” his grandmother yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

Steve smiled. She always knew when he was awake. “I’m coming,” he yelled. He pulled on his jeans and slipped the knife in his pocket, then hustled down the stairs to the kitchen. The smells of breakfast assaulted his nostrils—eggs, bacon, pancakes and of course the cinnamon buns—and he nearly swooned. When he’d gone to sleep last night, he hadn’t expected this. He figured he’d slip out of the dark house while his grandmother slept.

He walked over to his grandmother, who stood at the stove. Putting his hands on her shoulder, he kissed her cheek. “I don’t deserve you.”

She patted his hand. “Yes, baby, you do. Now start eating before this gets cold.”

Steve took the plate she handed him. “Yes, ma’am.”

His grandmother took her own plate and sat across from him. Steve was about to dive in, but Bess’s silence stopped him. He looked up. She was giving him the look—again.

He nearly smiled. He’d even missed the look. He placed his fork and knife on his plate and took her hand.

With a nod, she closed her eyes. “Bless us, O Lord, and these your gifts, which we are about to receive from your bounty. Through
Christ
our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” Steve echoed, picking up his utensils.

His grandmother let him eat in silence, and Steve appreciated it. He had been dreaming about one of his grandmother’s breakfasts for ten long years, and now he savored every bit.

Finally, he leaned back from the table and patted his stomach. “Now
that
was delicious. And Declan’s right: if I keep eating like this, I won’t fit through the door.”

She smiled, a coffee mug in her hand. “I’m glad you liked it. You could use a little fattening up, too.”

Steve rolled his eyes with a smile.

“Jack said he’s going to stop by today,” his grandmother said, sipping her coffee.

Steve nodded. “Yeah. He told me.”

“He’s real happy you’re home again.”

“He the one who talked Mel into hiring me?”

She looked away. “No, honey. Mel did that all on his own.”

Steve sighed, wishing she wouldn’t bother trying to lie. He pushed away from the table and took his plate to the sink. But when he turned on the water to wash it, his grandmother gently pushed him aside.

“Go take your shower, sweetie. I don’t want you late on your first day.”

He set the plate down in the sink. “Okay, I’m going.”

He kept his tone upbeat, but fear bounced around his brain. Mel hadn’t volunteered to hire him, he knew that much. How was Mel going to react when he saw him? How was
anyone
going to react when they saw him?

He took a deep breath as he headed for the stairs. He’d faced down the inmates at one of the country’s oldest prisons. He could handle the residents of Millners Kill.

CHAPTER 21

W
ith a neon sign rimmed in white and red, Mel’s Diner—named after Mel himself, although everyone thought he’d named it after the old TV show—stood at the end of Main Street about two hundred yards from the bridge. As Steve jogged down the sidewalk toward the diner, careful to avoid the giant puddles that pooled there, he saw that sawhorses now blocked the bridge—along with a sign announcing that the bridge was closed.

Steve smiled.
Go Declan
.

He stopped across the street from the diner, and was surprised to feel a pang of homesickness just looking at the place. He’d worked there from the time he was eleven until he was sixteen. He’d started as a busboy and worked his way up to a short order cook. Mel had said he was a natural.

Dodging the early morning traffic and the waves of water they created on the rain-drenched street, Steve crossed and stood for a moment at the door. He blew out a breath.
You can do this.

He pulled open the door. The bell above it jangled.

Mel came out of the kitchen drying his hands on a towel. He still looked the same: white shirt and white pants with a white apron over it. The only splash of color was the St. Christopher’s necklace he always wore. Steve and Julie used to joke that with his bald head, thick arms, and round stomach, if Mel was a dog he’d be a bulldog.

The thought of Julie brought back memories from last night. Steve shoved them aside.
One difficult reacquaintance at a time.

“We’re not open yet, but if you—” Mel stopped short and took a step back. “Steve.” He acted surprised to see him and seemed decidedly uncomfortable.

Steve shifted his feet. “Um, I thought I was starting this morning.”

Mel shook his head. “Right, right. You are. Sorry, with the storm coming I just forgot. Um, come on around back.”

Steve nodded, feeling the tension in the air. He wasn’t sure how to make it go away. Assure Mel he hadn’t killed Simone Granger? Assure him he wouldn’t harm any customers? But he knew from experience that his words would have no effect. They never did. So he silently followed Mel through the kitchen doors.

Mel nodded toward the food prep area. “Okay, so for the morning, the main priorities are getting the griddle up and running and prepping for the lunch crowd. Breakfast is mainly eggs, bacon, and pancakes. For lunch, you’ll need to prep—”

“The tomatoes, pickles, and lettuce. I remember.”

Mel nodded. “Good. Well, I’m going to put on the coffee. Everything’s where it used to be.”

Steve grabbed a white apron off the hook to his right and tied it around his waist. “Sure. No problem.”

Mel headed for the dining area, but then turned back. “Steve, it’s probably best if you stay in the back today. At least until people get used to you being back.”

Steve’s back stiffened. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

Mel watched him for a minute, and Steve knew he was struggling with whatever he was going to say. Mel finally looked him in the eye. “Look, I don’t know if you did what they say you did. I gave you this job for your grandmother. It about killed her to see you get locked up. If you’re thinking of doing anything stupid, just remember her. She doesn’t deserve any more grief in her life.”

On that they agreed.

“I know.”

Mel nodded. “All right then. Let’s get to work.”

Steve went over to the fridge and started pulling out supplies, but the memory of his grandmother heartbroken after the verdict stayed in the forefront of his mind. Jack had looked equally devastated. They’d been through so much.

But then, so had he. He might not be able to control any of what had happened before, but he was sure not going to let them get hurt again because of him.

But Steve put all those thoughts out of his mind and focused on the job at hand.
One thing at a time.
After a few fumbled starts, Steve soon got the hang of things and fell back into the old, familiar rhythm of the diner. It went pretty well, everything considered. In fact, the only fly in the ointment was Mel’s waitress, Wendy. She had been decidedly cold, if not downright hostile.

For the umpteenth time that morning, Steve placed a plate on the window and rang the bell. “Order up.”

Wendy came and picked it up, careful not to make eye contact with him. Steve had overheard her complaining to Mel about having to work with a murderer. Steve really hoped he didn’t get fired. He needed this job. One of the conditions of his parole was employment. It was a tough job market, and that was before you added the ex-con line to the resume. He’d met a few guys inside who’d been yanked back in when they’d lost their jobs. Steve couldn’t even think about that possibility.

Shawn, who’d worked with Mel forever, had shown up to take care of the lunch crowd about an hour ago. Shawn was rail thin, with a full head of pure white hair, dark skin, and a big smile. He and Mel had met in the Navy. In fact, Shawn was the one who’d convinced Mel to move to Millners Kill when their tours were up.

Steve had been scheduled to leave when Shawn took over, but the diner had gotten slammed—everyone must have realized this was probably their last chance to get out and about before the storm hit—so Steve stayed to help. Still, heeding Mel’s words, he made sure to stay away from the kitchen window. He even kept his back to the dining area as much as possible when working. And it seemed to have worked. No one had given him a second glance.

Eventually, things settled down, and the diner started to clear out. Shawn leaned back against the counter and wiped his hands on a towel. “Well, I think that’s the end of the rush. Thanks for sticking around.”

“Sure. Actually, I enjoyed it.” And it was true. It was nice to be working—and not thinking.

Shawn nodded. “I ever tell you about my time inside?”

Steve looked back, surprised. “No. You never mentioned it.”

“It was back when I was eighteen. Stupid shit. Friend decided to rob a store. I drove the car. I didn’t realize what was happening.” He paused. “Ah, hell, I probably did. I just didn’t think too much about it. Anyway, we got caught because we were a couple of idiots. I spent four years inside.”

“Where?”

“Auburn. When I got out, I had a chip the size of a boulder on my shoulder.” He shook his head. “Took a while to get that off. Navy helped with that. One day, though, I just realized that all the bad things happening to me, I’d really done to myself. My life wasn’t going to get better on its own. I had to make that happen. Wasn’t easy, but I did. You can too.”

Steve took a good long look at Shawn. He’d never realized Shawn had been locked up. Shawn was married, had been for years, even had a couple of grandkids. Steve felt a little kernel of hope.

Shawn stuck out his hand. “Just keep moving forward, kid. You’ll get there.”

“Yeah, I will. And thanks.” Steve shook Shawn’s hand before untying his apron and hanging it on the same hook he’d taken it from nine hours ago. He was about to head out when Mel appeared from the hall that led back to his office. He wasn’t smiling.

“Steve, can I talk to you for a minute?”

A pit formed at the bottom of Steve’s stomach.
Oh, no, no, no. I can’t get fired. I can’t go home and tell Grandma I got fired.
But despite the storm of emotions running through him, he kept his face a mask and his voice even. “Sure.”

He followed Mel down the back hall to his office, which was located across from the storeroom and next to the back exit.

“Close the door,” Mel said as he took a seat behind his desk.

Steve closed the door and sat on one of the folding chairs in front of Mel’s ancient desk. “Look, Mel, I know Wendy’s not happy I’m here—”

Mel waved his words away. “Oh please. That girl is always complaining. If I could find another waitress, I’d let her go in a heartbeat.”

“So, you’re not going to fire me?”

Mel’s surprise was evident. “Fire you? Is that what you thought? No. You did a great job. And I appreciate you sticking around to help out Shawn. No, actually I wanted to see if you want some more hours. Shawn wants to spend some time with the grandkids. So I need someone to fill in on Saturdays. I know I already have you scheduled for Monday through Friday, but—”

“Yeah. Absolutely. That would be great.”

Mel smiled. “Good, good. Takes a load off. Oh, and I meant to tell you, we’re going to be closed for the next two days because of the storm. Okay?”

Steve felt lightheaded with relief. He wasn’t getting fired. “Yeah. No problem.”

Mel stood and extended his hand. “You did good today. Keep it up.”

Steve took Mel’s hand. “I will. And thanks.”