Page 68 of Eldritch

Now you’ve done it, Sybil. You didn’t come clean with him, and now you’ve pissed him off.

Shame touched her. Shame for making assumptions and not being straight with him.

You can’t win. No matter what you do.

She pushed down the lump in her throat.

“You’re right,” she said.

“About which thing?”

“All of it. All cops and military people aren’t the same. And there’s a lot you don’t know about me. We should probably start from the beginning. There’s a lot to unpack.”

He threw her another smile, and she enjoyed it.

“How about we wait until we’re at Clinton’s? We’re almost there.”

“Sounds good.”

They kept their conversation light and inconsequential and in fifteen more minutes, Clinton’s came into view. Lights streamed from the many windows, and cars filled the parking lot. A big sign hung at the front declared Grand Opening.

“Wow, when did they open today? Looks like the place is rocking,” she said as they pulled into a parking space.

“I think Clinton said they opened for lunch as the Grand Opening. I texted him earlier, and he said the place was packed. Hope you’re hungry. His menu is super-sized.”

“Starving.”

Sybil slipped on her sock hat as they got out of the truck. She glanced around, noticing the fine mist falling. She hoped it didn’t turn to ice, but the temperature had dropped since they left the house. The lighted parking lot made it easy to see that although the forest crowded near the building, the trees here didn’t have the huge, hulking presence of the forest around Clarice’s mansion.

When they reached the double doors to the diner, he held the door open for her. Music greeted them, but not at an obnoxious volume. ELO switched over to Celine Dion.

Things hit her all at once, such as the steady mummer of voices. A variety of sports paraphernalia hung on the walls among stuff that screamed antique. Several televisions hung on the walls, showing football, golf, and a news channel. A large bar area with a few tables looked full, but so did most of the tables and booths.

“Any chance you’ve got a booth in a quieter area?” she heard Doug ask the host at the front.

“There’s a smaller booth way in the back. Wait...are you Douglas MacKenzie?” the host said.

Doug looked surprised. “Yeah. We should’ve made reservations.”

“No problem,” the host said. “Clinton said you might stop by, so we put a reserve card in that booth. For as long as you’d like to stay,” the host said.

“Awesome. Thanks.” Doug threw a smile at the host.

“This way.” The host led them through the diner and toward the very back, past some bigger booths to a smaller one. The host plucked a placard off the table that read Reserved for MacKenzie. “Menus are right there. Someone will be with you soon.”

The booth’s intimate space meant they could hear each other over the televisions, music and chatter better than they might have otherwise.

“That was so nice Clinton saved us a table,” she said.

Doug shrugged and gave her a crooked smile. “Well, there’s a story behind that.”

She lifted one eyebrow. “Can’t wait to hear it.”

They examined their menus for only a few moments before a waitress appeared to take their orders.

While they waited for their drink orders to appear, Sybil said, “So you said Clinton was in the Marines, too?”

“Yep. He was my CO. Commanding officer. A great man.”

---