Page 17 of The Grief We Hold

I grab her key from my pocket and hand it over. “Borrowed it so I could get you some supplies. I picked up dinner, then got you some medicine. The soup is pretty bland and should be easy enough to keep down.”

Her cheeks go pink. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have the money to pay you back just yet. I don’t get paid at the diner until?—”

“It’s fine, Raven. Call it a welcome-to-the-town gift. Just…don’t go walking around while you’re sick, yeah? It’s not fair to your kid to see that.”

Indignation etches her features. “I didn’t plan on being sick.”

“And get a bike or a car or something.”

She smacks her forehead dramatically. “Transportation. Why didn’t I think of that? You know anywhere you can pick up a car for zero dollars these days?”

Shit. I feel like a heel for that comment. “I’m going. And you’re welcome.”

She blows out a breath. “I didn’t ask for any of your help, but…thanks.”

“Don’t make a habit out of it, yeah?”

Raven nods. “You can be sure I won’t.”

“Are you going, Wraith?” Fen asks.

“Yeah.”

“Here.” He runs over and hands me the drawing. “Put it on your fridge. That’s what Mom does with my drawings.”

“Will do.” I say the words even though I intend to put it in the garbage.

I let myself out and climb into my truck. I begin to screw the drawing up between my hands, but then I pause and try to flatten it on the passenger seat.

“Fuck,” I curse, and pull away from the hardware store.

6

RAVEN

“Boys,” Margie says when a group of men, who must be friends with Wraith, enter the diner three days later.

They’re dressed similar to Wraith. Heavy denim. Leather. Big, thick-soled boots. From those leather vest things they wear, I see their names are Butcher, Grudge, and Smoke. Makes me wonder where those names come from, because I’m not sure whether Butcher is literal or metaphorical.

Oh, or a butcher of his enemies.

My thought makes me shiver.

“Morning, Margie,” Butcher says. The man has thick salt-and-pepper hair and shrewd eyes. His skin has the tan of a man who spent the whole summer outdoors.

I’m finally back on my feet after the bug I picked up knocked me on my ass. Thank God it was the weekend, so I didn’t have to get Fen to kindergarten.

The second day, Margie appeared at my door with more food supplies and the offer to take Fen out for a walk to the park. While I had a momentary freakout about letting Fen go off with someone who is still technically a stranger, I felt like myemployer, who owns a diner and has a biker son, wouldn’t kill my kid and bury him in the undergrowth.

“Raven, can you grab the boys some coffee?” Margie asks.

Instead of asking how they take it, I pour three large mugs and provide a bowl of small creamer containers.

Loud voices break my concentration, and I see the bikers drag two customers from the booth Wraith sat at the other day.

“Find some other fucking place to sit,” Smoke says. He has pale gray eyes that match his moniker, with a lean but muscular frame. He wears a denim shirt beneath his leather vest.

Margie quickly hustles the two men to another booth and tells them their drinks will be on the house.

---