Page 45 of Protecting What Is Mine

19

Mollie

“Hey Eddie, where are we on that short stack and the side of home fries?” I ask through the passthrough into the kitchen.

In his typical grumpy fashion, Eddie snaps back, “In a minute.”

I roll my eyes. I’ve known him since almost-forever and he’s a good guy deep down. But…he isn’t the best at dealing with stress, and the breakfast rush this morning was one for the record books. If Eddie had a clone working with him, they both would have been slammed for a while there.

Things since have settled back to a normal pace. Thankfully, because I’m still playing catch up with Eddie on the last run of orders and it’s almost time for the lunch rush.

“Order up,” Eddie calls as he slides a plate onto the passthrough.

“Thanks, hon. You’re the best.” I pick up the order and start to walk it to a booth at the back of the diner when I hear the bells ring above the door.

“Welcome to Belle’s. You can sit anywhere you’d like,” I say with a half-turn toward the customers entering the restaurant. In my haste to get the food to the hungry customer who’s been waiting the better part of half an hour, I don’t actually notice who just came in and sat down. I only catch that there was more than one person, and I think they were headed for the counter.

It’s only after I apologetically drop off the breakfast, check on drinks for a few other tables, and turn back to pick up a carafe of decaf that I realize the who. And I swear, if I was holding that pot of coffee right now—as my body freezes mid-step and my jaw drops in disbelief—it would slide straight out of my hand and crash to the floor in the most clichéd way.

The two men carefully watch my every move from their seats. The younger of them, with his icy blue eyes and cold stare, sends a chill through my bones, causing goosebumps to raise across my chest and arms. The other, harshly aged by years of hard living, would be unrecognizable if not for the company he’s with.

“Uncle Roger?” I half-mumble.

If the satisfied smirk on his face is an indicator, he must find the look of terror on mine to be nothing short of hysterical. I take a breath to try and compose myself and then continue toward the front.

I paint on my best fake-smile as I slip behind the counter, stopping in front of the two men. “Can I get you started with something to drink? Coffee? Water?”

“Little Mollie-the-Dollie,” Roger says in an eerily familiar, gravelly voice. “How long’s it been since I saw you last? Ten years? Twelve?”

The paint from my fake smile begins to crack before I answer. “Yeah, something like that. The time sure flies.” I tap my pen against my order pad.

Roger appears to look over the menu in front of him, his face scrunched in dissatisfaction. “Think I’d be wise to pass on the water. Afraid there might be something in it. You know, maybe that’s what makes folks around here so weak—makes ‘em forget where they come from.”

I try my best to ignore his barbed words. To take the high road and let them roll off my back, like water off a duck.

But this is no coincidence. One day after Clint spots me walking into the sheriff's department, he and Roger—by chance—happen into the place I work for a bite to eat? I don't think so. No, it’s clear as day why they’re here. I try and steady my nerves and do my best to sound confident when I speak. “Uncle Roger, last I heard, I thought you’d be upstate for the foreseeable future.”

“Pretty shitty way of…” Clint’s snappy reply is shut down mid-sentence by the swat of his father’s arm in front of him, dismissing any weight his words may have carried and leaving him looking like the petulant child he is.

Roger takes a deep breath, stiffening his back. “Well Dollie, you know what they say—things change.” He scowls. “People too, I suppose. That’s an unfortunate truth of this world. You never really know who you can trust. Only the people who’ve proven you can’t.”

Clint takes aim again, resting his elbow on the counter and his chin in his hand. “Even family,” he says casually. “That’s the real shame, isn’t it?” he asks, eagerly looking to his father. “When your own blood betrays you.” Desperation fills his eyes as he gauges Roger’s reaction. The way he searches for approval from the old man is pathetic. This version of my cousin couldn’t be more different than the one in my head. The one who haunts my dreams.

I sense myself biting my bottom lip and fight to get control of it. The last thing I want is for these two to see me afraid. That’s the reason they’re here, after all.

Intimidation.

I focus on my order pad. “So that’s a no on the water then? What about coffee? Think the heat might be enough to kill off that weakness bacteria?”

Roger lets out a muted growl.

“Alright.” I bob my head. “That’s a no on coffee and water. What about food? Do you know what you want? Or would you gentlemen like a few more minutes to look over the menu?”

Roger sets his menu down and smiles innocently, his blue eyes a dimmer, pallid version of Clint’s, marred by lines of crow’s feet. “Can I order something off menu, Dollie? Would that be alright, you think?” he asks in a tone as phony as his smile.

“Depends what it is. Eddie’s been pretty busy today.”

Roger smiles. “Oh, this ought to be no trouble for…Eddie was it?”

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