Dearborn

by Jenni Moen

  When I reached Clive’s table, I slid his breakfast in front of him and set the to-go box to the side. As expected, he immediately wrinkled his exceptionally long and bony nose at me. “What’s this?” he wheezed, pointing at the foam container. “I didn’t order that.”

  “Hash browns. Ryan’s idea.”

  “Well, I’m not paying for it. I didn’t order it, and I don’t want it.”

  I countered his grumpy with a smile. “It’s a gift, Mr. Hansen. For Aristotle.”

  The shift in his mood was definite and immediate. Surprise. Understanding. Appreciation. With softer but still narrowed eyes, Clive nodded at me. “Very well. Thank you. Tell him I said thank you.”

  I nodded and spun on my heel. Table twelve was getting agitated. I returned to the counter and grabbed the coffee pot so I could refill their cups and restore peace and order to my tiny kingdom.

  Like Clive, the camouflage-covered men were regulars. They didn’t come in daily like he did, but I could usually count on them to show up at least once every weekend and more than that during hunting season. Creek Café was their weekend meeting spot for swapping stories about the big game they’d shot and, more recently, the mythical monster that kept eluding them.

  I’d known the men since high school but couldn’t call them friends. A few years older than I was, they ran in a different crowd. Even as small as it was, Woodland Creek was like that. The invisible ley lines running through it were an invisible barrier, segregating kids of the same age. The population split evenly between those ensconced in the magic of Woodland Creek and those who had no idea it even existed. Always one to want what I shouldn’t have, I’d dabbled with the boys from the normal side of town. I learned the hard way—from one of the men at table twelve, actually—that it was better to stick to your own kind.

  The diner didn’t operate under the same policy, though. Located directly between Old Town and New Town, it was an equal opportunity dining establishment, catering quite literally to all walks of life.

  As I approached the table, I pulled up my wall. Brick by brick it rose, shielding me from anything Tim Reyburn might throw at me. He knew what I was though he proclaimed not to believe it. The wall was a necessary protection mechanism I’d been perfecting my whole life. If I focused on the bricks, the wall was generally strong enough to keep out all but the loudest projectors. I’d have no problem keeping out Tim.

  “Fellas.” I began working my way around the table, filling each mug as I went. “Did you have a good morning?” It was a benign question though I knew their answers would be repugnant to me.

  Tim shook his head. “Nah. It was so foggy this morning that no one could get a clear shot.”

  I applauded Mother Nature for her plan-thwarting ways. “Oh well, it’s only the first week of the season,” I said, my voice lacking any real sympathy. “You still have lots of time yet to get your twelve point.”

  “Twelve point nothing. There have been sightings of an eighteen point roaming around over in Running Deer Forest. It’s been a long time since anyone’s seen one that big in these parts.”

  “Not since The Legend back in the early eighties, I think,” John Pierce chimed in.

  “If and when he wanders onto Reyburn land, he doesn’t stand a chance. The Legend put the slip on a Reyburn. It won’t happen again.”

  I smiled on the outside but shuddered internally. “Well, hopefully, he’ll make you work for it.”

  “He better not make me work too hard. I don’t have the patience for it anymore.”

  Of course you don’t. “But if you got him now, the fun would all be over, wouldn’t it?” I chided him.

  John nodded his head in agreement. “The lady makes a fine point. There’s no sport in it coming easily.”

  Sport. I bit my tongue as I filled his mug, resisting the temptation to dump the hot coffee all over his lap. I didn’t believe what they were doing was a sport, but I was biased. I had friends and loved ones in those woods, though during hunting season, the shifting community stayed pretty close to the national park where it was safer.

  I smiled and poured another cup of coffee before stopping behind the only empty chair at the table. The mug sitting there was still full though it had long grown cold. “Are you fellas ready for me to adios this menu?” I asked.

  As usual, Tim was the one to speak up first. The man loved to hear himself talk. “Yeah. It looks like Dearborn is a no-show. Again.” He sounded more annoyed than anything else. “What’s he hiding for anyway?”

  If anyone wanted Quinn Dearborn to come out of hiding, I did. Fifteen years ago, he’d been the shining star in our small town. A first-class athlete who’d led the Craft County Bucks to the state finals both his junior and senior years. Like all high schools, the football players roamed the halls as if they owned the place, but everyone knew Quinn was the biggest buck of them all. He wore a new pair of shoes, and five other guys had them the next day. He smiled at the girls as he walked to his next class, and panties dropped all around him.

  He’d ruled the school, but it was here, in the diner, where he’d stolen my heart.

  His mother worked at the Woodland Creek Chronicle and had to be there early. To ensure her only child went to school with a full stomach every morning, she’d worked out a deal with Janice. Quinn got breakfast every morning, and Janice got a discount on any ads she ran in the paper.

  It hadn’t taken Janice long to figure out I had a king-size crush on the boy. Janice loved love, so she always made sure his table was in my section and never gave me a hard time when I lingered too long.

  We talked about school. We talked about classmates who were in trouble. We talked about sports, books, and music—all normal teenager stuff. Behavior commonplace to anyone else—and probably Quinn, too—was an entirely new experience for me.

  It’s human nature to focus on the misery of life, and most of the folks eating in the diner reflected that. The negative energy could be hard for me to take at times but Quinn was different. Positive energy practically poured out of him. He was just happy. A completely contented person. He was a beacon of light in the darkness, and I was drawn to him. Even when we weren’t talking, I would find myself near his table so I could let his positive energy wash over me.

  When he’d left town after graduation, he’d taken all of the positive energy with him, leaving Woodland Creek a little more drab for me. As far as I knew, Quinn hadn’t visited once during the last fifteen years. While he’d been away, his friends had flipped an empty coffee cup upside down to reserve his place at their table. It was a tribute to the boy they’d fought for state titles with and a salute to the friend who was now fighting bigger battles without them. I had to admit I found the gesture endearing. Those flipped over mugs even won back a few bonus points for Tim.

  Now that he was back in town, they asked me to fill it every week even though Quinn had yet to show his face. It was a standing invitation for him to join them again. Counting today as another no-show, I picked up the unused menu next to the untouched coffee and turned away.

  “Have you seen him at all?” Tim asked in his typical share-it-with-the-whole-room voice.

  “Not recently,” Bryson Rafferty said in a voice much more subdued than Tim’s was. “We texted a few times last night, and he said he would try to come. But I guess I didn’t really expect him to.” Bryson was the one I least wanted to see maimed in an unfortunate hunting accident.

  I knew better than to eavesdrop—it was rude—but I couldn’t help myself. I began wiping the counter, so I could consider myself a productive eavesdropper.

  “I just don’t understand. It’s been three months, man.”

  “He made it through alive, and it’s time to get back to living.”

  “It’s almost like he’s hiding from us.” There was an accusation in Tim’s voice; a complete lack of sympathy for a man who’d been through God knows what. His attitude certainly belied all of those full cups of coffee I’d poured and dumped down the drain
, and I wondered whose idea they’d been. Certainly not his.

  “Cut the guy some slack. He’ll come around when he’s ready.” Bryson continued to be the voice of reason in the bunch.

  “He’s going to miss all of deer season if he’s not careful.”

  “He’s missed the last fourteen deer seasons. I don’t think he’s worried about missing one more. Maybe he’s not ready to pick up a gun again or something.”

  I nodded my head in agreement before catching myself. It was one less beating heart for me to worry about.

  “It’s bow season, man. That’s primal. Man against beast. Nothing like war.”

  I rolled my eyes, ashamed that I’d dated such an idiot.

  As my hands went through the motions of refilling the sugar shakers for the lunch crowd that would start trickling in soon, I got lost in my own thoughts. All I knew about Quinn Dearborn’s return was what the paper had printed. The article didn’t include many details about the accident that had sent him home. Maybe it was classified. Maybe the Woodland Creek Chronicle thought we didn’t need all of the gory details. Or maybe his mother, who still worked there, had pulled some strings to guard her son’s privacy. Whatever the reason was, all the paper reported was that Quinn had saved two members of his platoon after a vehicle in their convoy detonated a land mine. Four American soldiers died that day, but two of the survivors, one a general, had Quinn to thank for it.

  Like everyone in town, I’d read the story. Hell, I’d cut it out and pinned it on the wall in the diner. Mostly, people used the bulletin board to post ads for get-skinny-quick products and lost dogs, but when a townie made the paper for doing something notable, I posted it. The articles instilled a little town pride and helped customers pass the time while they hovered in the hall waiting to use the one-seater bathroom.

  Wiping my hands on my apron, I stepped around the corner and came to a stop in front of Quinn’s article. “Town Hero Comes Home a National Hero.” It was old news now and partially covered by a cleaning service business card and a handwritten note looking for someone to sublease an apartment over by the college. I took the pins out of those items and moved them to an open spot on the bulletin board so his article was completely visible again.

  It was more pictures than text, more focused on his glory days as a footballer than his days as a soldier. I wasn’t surprised. Ask anyone in Woodland Creek who Quinn Dearborn was, and they’d tell you, “the best quarterback in the state for two years running.” They wouldn’t tell you that was fifteen years ago because, in the mind of Woodland Creek, Quinn was still that kid.

  I ran my finger over the photo taking up the better part of the article. It was his senior picture, and he wore his football uniform. A ball was tucked under his arm, his smile was wide, and his eyes full of anticipation. Everyone expected that year to be a great one for Quinn, and it had delivered. He had a state title in the bag, the prettiest girl in school on his arm, and college recruits fast on his trail. All he had to do was keep his grades above passing and pick a college that would let him keep up his winning streak.

  The town invested in him. So much so that when it looked like he might fail a math test and land himself on the ineligible list, someone had anonymously hired a tutor for him. I’d been stunned when the school counselor asked me if I was interested in taking the job.

  “You have to do it,” Janice had said when I’d told her about the offer. “Lord knows you aren’t making enough working the morning shift here. Besides, I see the way you look at him when he comes in here. There’s a spark there.”

  I’d been quick to point out that my one-sided infatuation was not a spark, but in the end, I’d taken her advice. I needed the money. Getting to spend a little extra time in Quinn’s company was the cherry on top.

  It was only for one week, just to get him to pass one test, but what I discovered was everyone, including Quinn, had underestimated him. There wasn’t anything subpar about him. He was as brainy as he was brawny. I suspected no one had ever told him that, though. Because of his size, he’d always been encouraged to focus on sports rather than his studies.

  “Thanks for not treating me like I’m stupid,” he’d said during our last session.

  “Thanks for not being stupid.”

  He’d smiled as if he still wasn’t sure he believed me. “I’ve always been more interested in things other than school, I guess. Classes came second to ball.”

  “You’re smart, Quinn. You just needed someone to tell you that.”

  He’d nodded and smiled a goofy grin. “You think I can handle college? Not just the ball but the rest too?”

  “I know you can.”

  When our week was up, I’d genuinely thought I had gotten through to him. I thought that one day he’d remember the odd girl from the diner as having made a tiny difference in his life. It had been a shock when, instead of picking a college, he’d announced his enlistment in the Army.

  My finger trailed across the article to the photo of him in uniform. It hadn’t been taken long after the other one, probably right after he’d enlisted. I wished the article had included a more recent one, but maybe it was all they had. Keeping your portrait portfolio up to date probably wasn’t a high priority when you’re hunting terrorists.

  I wondered what he would look like today. Even if Afghanistan had marred his pretty face or robbed him of one of his able limbs, his eyes would be the same. They were what I remembered best. They were the color of emeralds—and not those shitty lab-grown stones they sell at chain stores in the mall. Quinn’s eyes were a deep, dark green. When they focused on you, everything else faded away. The black and white photos in the newspaper certainly didn’t do them justice.

  The bell over the front door interrupted my thoughts, pulling me back to the here and now of the diner. I turned to greet the new customer but was struck by a wave emotion that nearly knocked me to the floor. I’d been lost in my own thoughts, reminiscing about Quinn, and I’d let the wall fall. I grabbed my chest and squeezed my eyes shut as I tried to erect it again. My head pounded.

  Anxiety was always the hardest emotion for me to handle, and my new customer had a severe case of it.

  QUINN

  THEY WERE ABOUT TO LEAVE. Their plates were empty, and their money was already on the table. After dodging them for months, they probably thought I’d planned it that way. If so, they’d be right. This was just a formality. I’d be gone soon enough.

  I stood awkwardly next to their table, letting my three oldest friends greet me first. I was no good at this anymore. Three months and I still hadn’t figured out how to deal with normal everyday tasks like conversing. Even with people I knew and loved, I was a lost cause.

  Tim chuckled. “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

  “Hey, man. Glad you made it.” Bryson smiled.

  In high school, Tim had been my best friend. We’d done everything together, but Bryson had been the one to reach out to me after I had returned to Woodland Creek. He was the only one to come to the house, which was a relief. I abhorred visitors, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d warned the others to stay away after his one and only visit.

  “Can I sit here?” I asked. I pointed at the only empty seat at the table. A cup of seemingly untouched coffee sat at the spot.

  “Yeah, that’s yours,” Bryson answered, gesturing to the chair or the coffee or both. I wasn’t sure. I sat down and pushed the cold mug away. He looked over his shoulder and gestured toward the back of the café.

  Within seconds, a steaming mug of coffee and a menu slid in front of me. “I’ll give you a few minutes and come back.” Her voice was like music, soothing and melodic, but I ignored it.

  I scanned the menu without really seeing the words. “Thanks, but I’m not really hungry.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked in her sweet singsong voice. Rage surged through me. If there was one thing I was tired of, it was people thinking they knew what I needed better than I did. “We’ve got chocolate mousse p
ie today,” her voice wavered. “But I guess it’s kind of early for that. Maybe just a bowl of oatmeal? It’s pretty bland.”

  Janice’s chocolate pie had always been my favorite, but not even that sounded good at the moment. My sour stomach was as angry as I was. “That will be fine,” I answered through gritted teeth.

  I handed the menu back to her and wished her away.

  I reached for the cup of coffee at the same time she reached for a pile of trash on the table, and our hands collided. I finally looked at her and was instantly ashamed of myself. I knew her, or at least I’d known her, even it felt like a lifetime ago. I racked my brain for her name, knowing it was in there somewhere. These days, it seemed the bad memories were the only ones that hadn’t abandoned me.

  She peered back at me with an intensity that told me she wasn’t having the same problem remembering me. She smiled faintly and turned to walk away just as it came to me.

  Willow. Her name was Willow Ryker, and she’d tutored me in math once upon a time.

  Relief swept over me, and she paused to cast another look at me over her shoulder. Her smile wider now, her eyes reflecting the same relief I felt—almost as if she somehow knew the inner turmoil I’d just gone through.

  I felt like we’d just had a moment—the kind they make into Folger’s coffee commercials.