Page 81 of Salvation
The Diner—which is actually its name—has the best food in town, but it’s also infamous for how long it takes to get your food. Gail Hannings could give two flips less about time management. She says it puts a damper on her cooking. She has a new menu every day, cooking whatever her heart desires, instead of what the customer wants, but in all honesty, it’s always what the customer wants because Gail’s food is just that good. It doesn’t matter what it is; it will make your mouth water.
Hayes gets out of the car, and I follow. He reaches the diner door first and is about to reach for the door handle when it fliesopen, forcing him a few steps back so it doesn’t hit him in the face.
A teenage boy walks out, a sneer curling his nose when he sees us standing in front of him. “Yo, the donut shop is down the street.” He snorts, slapping his knee and finding himself funny.
The kid isn’t from Benton Falls. That much I know. The town is small enough that I would notice him because he makes himself stick out like a sore thumb. His jeans hang below his butt, and they are torn to pieces in the intentional kind of way. He’s tall and lanky, like he hasn’t quite grown into it yet, and his long hair has been bleached, hanging into his eyes. Dark smudges of eyeliner circle his narrow eyes, and one of his thin brows is cocked, as if waiting for us to laugh at his joke. The splotches of paint on his clothes hold my attention, though.
Hayes and I glance at one another, years of practice and friendship allowing us to have a conversation without speaking. His eyes are telling me to take the lead on this one, having obviously noticed the same thing I did, and I nod my confirmation, turning my attention back to the suspect.
“What’s your name, kid?” I ask, shoving my hands beneath my vest and taking a pose that makes it seem like I’m just striking up a conversation.
“Don’t got one,” he says, holding the front waistband of his pants, which is probably a good idea because I’m afraid if he lets them go, they’ll fall around his ankles.
It will make it easier to catch him if he runs, though.
“Fine. Let me ask you another question. How did you get all that paint on you?”
I don’t expect him to answer with the truth, but it’s at least worth a try because it seems suspicious that a new kid would show up in town with paint splatters all over him at the same time vandalism starts popping up.
“My girl likes to paint. It gets on me when we hang out—if you know what I mean.” He says it with a wink, and I have to grit my teeth to prevent myself from knocking some manners into the kid.
“And who’s this girl?” I ask, but the question is answered for me when the door to the diner opens again—and Willow walks out.
Her eyes widen when she sees me, bouncing between me and the kid, still sneering in my direction. If I were to guess, I’d bet anything that she had no intention of running into me today.
So why is she in Benton Falls?
“Willow, what are you doing here?” I ask, ignoring the kid I now know is the boyfriend Willow isn’t supposed to have.
“Ah, crap,” Hayes says, putting two and two together with Willow’s name, but I ignore him, too, keeping my attention on my daughter, who looks guilty as sin.
“Oh—you know—I just wanted to show Cameron around town.”
“Babe,” Cameron says, interrupting her, “do you know these clowns?”
Willow winces, and my glare turns icy. “Uh—yeah. He’s my—uh—he’s my—”
“Her dad.” I try not to let the fact that she can’t say it pierce my skin—we’re still getting to know each other. I get it, but it still makes the tiniest of knicks anyway—and the problem with that is that no matter how small a cut is, sometimes it festers.
“Yo, no way, dude. You don’t look like Mr. B. You aren’t tricking me, Willow.”
Willow grits her teeth, her jaw set in an angry twist, and I stare at him blankly, wondering if he’s really that dumb or just likes to play that way. My bet is the second one because there’s a cunning intelligence in his eyes that’s only recognizable whenyou’ve spent years studying narcissists and the tactics they use to manipulate people.
John and Jackie were right. Willow needs to get far away from this kid.
Hayes, who has always been good about sensing tension in the air, steps forward and sticks his hand out toward Willow. “Hi, I’m Hayes, your dad’s—” I cut him off with a sharp look, not wanting to press Willow on the matter, and he recovers, “I mean, Campbell’s partner in the force. Outside of it, I’m hisonlyfriend.”
I roll my eyes at his dramatics, but freeze when Willow laughs. It’s one of the best sounds I’ve ever heard, and I’d pay a million dollars to hear it again.
“I was kind of betting on him having no friends. Is he like your community service project or something?” She gives me a side eye, and Hayes chuckles. I roll my eyes, secretly soaking this up.
“I like her already, Campbell,” Hayes admits.
“I’m sure you do. Anyway,” I say, steering the conversation back on topic. “Cameron, here, says you have been painting? Were you working on the mural again?”
Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes.
I hold my breath and wait for her answer, hoping with everything in me that she didn’t have anything to do with the vandalism down the street.
