Bullies Mocked a New Cheerleader at School, Never Realizing Her Father Was a Member of the Hells Angels

He’d never quite gotten used to seeing them in his daughter’s face, even after 3 years of Callie being gone. It wasn’t painful exactly. Not anymore. It was more like a reminder, a gentle recurring one. Smaller than Louisville, Ren said.

Most places are. She looked at the diner, then the barber shop, then up at the water tower where a painted raven spread its wings above the words Mil Haven High. Ravens, she said. Apparently, she was quiet a moment processing. Then I’d guess cheerleaders for the Ravens are somewhere in this town.

I’d guess so. She nodded once, filing it away. Boon wanted to say something useful then. Something a father said when he was moving his daughter to her fourth town in 6 years, when he was 59 years old and finally finally trying to put down roots in ground he hadn’t already poisoned. What came out instead was, “You hungry? ” She looked at him.

One corner of her mouth lifted. Always, she said. Inside Callahanss, the smell hit them before anything else. Coffee and bacon grease and something baking biscuits. Probably the kind of smell that doesn’t apologize for itself or try to be anything other than what it is.

Four people were already seated at this hour. Two older men at the counter, not talking, comfortable in their shared silence, the way men get when they’ve been sharing silences for 30 years. A woman in a postal uniform reading her phone with the focused expression of someone catching up on something she’d been waiting on. A man in muddy work boots staring at his eggs like they’d said something he found personally offensive. The woman behind the counter was somewhere in her mid60s.

Big framed glasses, gray hair pulled back in a knot that was practical rather than styled. An apron with a faded rooster stitched on the front. She moved between the coffee station and the counter with the ease of someone who had done that exact sequence of movements 10,000 times, which she had. She looked up when Boon and Ren came in. She didn’t stare at the leather jacket.

Didn’t miss a beat. Two of you, two of us. Corner booths got the best light in the morning. Take it if you want it. They took it.

Boon ordered black coffee and eggs over easy. Ren ordered orange juice and a short stack with extra butter. The way she’d been ordering pancakes since she was 9 years old and had no intention of changing. The woman brought the drinks herself, set them down with practiced efficiency, no wasted motion. Then she looked at Boon, not with suspicion, not with alarm, just looked.