Page 85 of The Heart We Guard
“Butcher,” a woman brewing coffee says when we walk in.
“Morning, Margie,” he says.
I notice the way a strange ripple passes through the other diners. Some sit a little straighter. Some lower their eyes to their food. There’s a muted rumble of response.
“Wraith’s in his usual spot,” she says.
“Here with Greer and don’t want to end up talking club business,” he says.
Margie looks at me appraisingly. Whatever she sees passes her test, and she grins. “You must be the doctor.”
“I am.”
She glances down at my stomach. I guess news really travels fast in this town.
She tips her head in the direction of a booth by the window. It’s much bigger than we need. “Go sit yourselves down. Raven will be over in a second.”
We situate ourselves in the booth, and I study the menu. “God, I’m so hungry for some breakfast grease.”
Butcher laughs. “As a surgeon, shouldn’t you be advocating some yogurt, fruit, and granola shit? Thought breakfast fat was bad for the arteries.”
“As with all things in life, there is such a thing as balance. And balance in all things is healthy. I haven’t had breakfast grease in, like, five weeks or something ridiculous. So, today, I’m gonna fix that problem.”
“By eating five weeks of breakfast grease in one hit?”
“I hope you’re not judging a pregnant woman, Butcher.” A pretty server appears at the side of the table. She’s tiny, with long black hair that drapes in a ponytail down her back.
“Would never do that, sweetheart,” he says.
She offers me her hand, which I shake. “Hey, I’m Raven, Wraith’s old lady. And fiancée.” She holds up her hand and wriggles her fingers to show me an expensive-looking engagement ring. “Your arrival caused quite a stir.”
“I can imagine it did. Butcher couldn’t have announced it any louder or clearer if he’d hired one of those airplanes that drag a sign behind it.”
He puts his hands up. “Hey, I wasn’t prepared, and I apologized.”
Raven laughs. “I think that’s the whole point of parenthood, right? You’re never prepared for any of it.”
“You have kids?” I ask.
“I have a son, Fen.” And then, she rubs her lower belly, just like I do, sometimes. It’s pretty flat, like mine, but when she pulls her apron flush, I can see a small bump. “I’m also ten weeks pregnant.”
“And driving me fucking insane with it,” Wraith says, stepping behind her and placing his hands over hers on her belly. It’s helpful these men wear name badges on their cuts. I notice there are a series of jagged scars along her other arm, and the kind of structured scars that look like her entire hand and wrist were pinned together.
“ORIF?” I ask, tipping my chin toward her hand.
“What?” Butcher asks.
“Open reduction and internal fixation. Percutaneous pinning,” I reply.
“Yeah,” Raven replies, and flexes her fingers. “Still get stiff some days, but my hand works, which wasn’t always a given.”
“You’re still having physiotherapy?” I ask.
Raven nods. “Next town over.”
“Perhaps give acupuncture a try too.”
Raven laughs. “I’d probably have to drive into Denver to find that.”
