Page 62 of The Girl and the Cobra

Penny rings him out, and while he hands over a five, I get to work, making him his black coffee. I’m getting used to the smell of coffee grounds, yes, but I still can’t wrap my head around anyone who takes their coffee black. No sugar, no milk, no anything. Talk about yuck in a cup.

Once it’s done, I set the coffee on the counter near him and give him a smile—on Penny’s instructions. If you smile at them, they’re more likely to give you a tip, even the ones who pay on a card. I don’t know why it matters; we make okay money since this is the only coffee shop in town. NoStarbuckshere.

But the smile is wasted on the customer. He stares at me for a moment, takes the coffee, and goes to sit in the far corner to nurse it.

Now that no one is in line, Penny whispers, “See? That guy doesn’t hold a candle to your dad. Sorry to say it, Mabel, but your dad is a total DILF.” The way she says it, like she’s semi-apologetic to bring me the news, doesn’t make the information land any better in my ears.

Unfortunately for me, Penny has now found a topic she just won’t let go. Basically all night I’m forced to listen to question after question about my dad. She even asks about my mom—I don’t tell her that she committed suicide, but I do tell her that she’s dead.

Which, I realize only after I tell her that, is a mistake, because that means my dad is single.

I mean, he is, technically, but at the same time he’s not. He still wears his wedding ring. He’s still mourning my mom. I don’t know that he’ll ever be ready to date, but if or when he does, I sure as heck hope it’ll be someone his age and not my new coworker friend.

The afternoon gives way to early dusk. Penny and I work our butts off during the after-work rush, and then it slows to a steady trickle. It gets dark shortly after that, and then it’s basically just completing daily duties before we close.

I like closing with Penny. She’s always so lively; helps to not only pass the time but also to keep me wide awake.

I clean, Penny counts down the register. We do everything that we need to do in record time. We walk out together, and as she locks up I realize I don’t see Dr. Wolf’s car anywhere. Odd.

Penny stuffs the keys into her coat and moves beside me, looking all around. “Your ride isn’t here? You want me to wait with you?” And then she comes up with another solution: “Or I could drive you home?”

She’s nice. She means it. She’d do it in a heartbeat if I asked her to.

Still, I haven’t told her that I’m living with Dr. Wolf and not my dad, and that’s not something I feel comfortable sharing just yet.

“No, that’s okay,” I tell her. “I’m sure my ride will be here soon. Go home. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” Penny sounds concerned, and I half expect her to stay regardless even though I told her I was okay.

I give her a nod and wander to the nearest bench on the sidewalk. “Yep. Go home. I’m a big girl. I can handle myself alone for a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Penny says. “I’ll see you tomorrow,chica.” Still so upbeat, even with a world of night around us. She bounces to her car on the side of the building, giving me a wave before disappearing out of my sight. I hear her car turn on, and then I watch as she drives away, the only car on the road nearby.

Sitting there in the dark, with only the moon’s light shining down on me, I’m struck by how different Main Street looks after everything is closed. No businesses keep their lights on; there are a few street lights, but they’re dim and far between.

The night breeze wraps around me, making me shiver, and I stick my hands into my jacket and wait for Dr. Wolf.

Only it’s not Dr. Wolf or Tristan who comes for me.

Chapter Twenty-Seven – Tristan

In all my time stuck in this forsaken house, I’ve never gone to Wolf to talk to him on purpose. Never had the need to. Everything used to be miserable, and I dreaded each and every time I’d see the man’s near-emotionless face.

But today, after we drop off Mabel at work, I do just that. I seek him out in his upstairs office, and I can tell he’s somewhat surprised by my appearance, because a muscle in his jaw tightens, and his green eyes blink twice behind his glasses.

“Tristan,” he says once he sees me, “what can I do for you? Sit.” He gestures to the leather chair facing his large, mahogany desk.

I’m slow in taking the chair. Sitting and talking with Wolf when it’s not mandatory is basically a form of torture, but I need… something. As soon as my ass hits the chair, my forearm on my left arm itches. Shay’s name.

My sister’s name.

Once it kept me going, but now something else entirely keeps me from going insane, and I don’t think it’s right to keep Shay’s name on me when someone else’s name should be in its place.

Obviously, I’m talking about Mabel.

The look on her face when she stumbled upon me and saw me clutching that knife; it’s something I’ll never forget. Pained, anxious, and yet still so gentle. Far more gentle than I deserve after what I’ve done in my life. It’s why I know I can never, ever run another sharp edge along my skin.

Alas, that leaves the dilemma of Shay’s name and me wanting Mabel’s in its stead.

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