Page 45 of Deacon

I lean back and scan the gravel, looking for Aiden’s truck, but it’s nowhere to be seen. Inside, I creep upstairs and offload my bag and boots and get changed. While I’m upstairs, I put the moth in my display case. It’s so beautiful, and it makes me smile. Deacon saw that moth and he thought of me.

I go downstairs and tie an apron over my dress. Yesterday, I put a chicken into the fridge to thaw, and it’s ready to go into the oven. I take it out and start cleaning it in the sink.

The back door slams open. Ryland appears, cigarette in his lip.

I look up. “Hey,” I say nervously.

He jerks his head. “Where were you?”

“I got caught in the storm,” I say. “I stayed at Tracy’s house.”

His eyes narrow, like he’s trying to figure out what I did that’s got him pissed. But there’s nothing wrong with me staying with my boss to keep out of the storm.

“What’s for dinner?” he asks, opening the fridge.

“Chicken,” I say. “Greens and potatoes.”

He shuts the fridge. “What time?”

“Same time as usual,” I say.

I don’t say it mean. I say it nice and soft, the way I taught myself to speak to my brothers. But he gives me a dark glare and shoves open the kitchen window so he can have a cigarette. It irks me to no end that he smokes inside. Aiden built this nice house, and they don’t care for it the way they should.

Deacon would never smoke inside.

“There’s a couple guys from over the hill coming for dinner,” he says. “And a man from the city government.”

I glance at the chicken. “I don’t know if I have enough.”

He looks coolly over my shoulder. “Well, if you’d been here last night, you’d have known about it. Better go come up with something else.”

I hear the rumble of Aiden’s truck coming up the drive. Ryland shuts the window and takes a beer out of the fridge. He pops the cap in a sharp movement on the edge of the counter and leaves.

I get up and throw the cap in the trash. There’s a little mark on the countertop where they use it as a bottle opener. It irks me to no end.

Through the window, I see Aiden and Ryland standing at the bottom of the steps. Aiden waves his arm, and Ryland sits on the open tailgate of his truck. They both laugh. Then, Aiden moves up the steps and the door opens. I dip my head and start picking the remaining feathers from the chicken. Bittern culled it for me; he doesn’t do a very good job at the plucking part.

Boots sound. I feel my stepfather glance at me before he opens the fridge.

Pop.

Hiss.

He’s got a beer out. I look up, and he’s leaning against the counter, one arm crossed over his chest. Why is he staring at me?

“You stayed at Tracy’s, huh?” he says.

I nod. “Yes, sir, I did.”

He lifts the beer to his mouth. He’s acting like he’s not trying to pinpoint what I did wrong. Finally, he shrugs and pushes off the counter.

“We’ve got some men from town for dinner,” he says. “Make sure there’s enough for everybody.”

He goes upstairs. My stomach is a cold knot.

In the daylight, I can’t deny a horrible fact. He and Deacon are the same type, tatted up and rough-hewn. Aiden is only eight years his senior. They even walk the same, all big and casual, like they own the world.

Disturbed, I start cutting the chicken into pieces. There’s one thing I know, and that’s how to turn a little food into a lot. I pour oil and batter the chicken twice and fry it. The bag of potatoes under the sink are boiled and whipped with heavy cream.

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