Page 11 of Until the Storm Breaks
“Maren!” Old Eddie waves from his usual stool at the end of the bar. “Heard the prodigal sons are back. Jack and Calvin.”
“That’s right, Eddie.” I slide him his usual—Rainier and a shot of Jameson.
He shakes his head. “Shame about their mom.” Eddie was drinking here when Susan still owned the place.
I nod. “She was one helluva woman. Speaking of which, how’s Martha?”
“Still mean as a snake.” He grins, showing the gap where he lost a tooth in a bar fight forty years ago. “Just how I like ‘em.”
I laugh, already moving to the next customer.
“Maren, honey.” Dolores Henderson leans across the bar, her lipstick slightly smeared, perfume thick enough to cut through the bar smell. She’s already two wines deep, that point where she gets confessional. “Is Calvin Midnight really back?”
“Seems like it.”His name’s going to follow me all night, isn’t it?
“My book club loved his essays. We read them twice!” She clutches her purse against her chest. “Do you think he’d sign my copy?”
“Um, sorry but I wouldn’t know, Dolores,” I say with a shrug.
“But you live right there,” she pleads. “You must see him.”
I force a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. “How about a soft pretzel with beer cheese?”
At the mention of beer cheese, Dolores abandons her interrogation entirely. “Oh, that sounds perfect, honey.”
I punch the order into the system and head to the kitchen window. “One pretzel with cheese, Jay.”
The thing is, everyone knows about Calvin Midnight here. Local boy makes good. Writes a book of essays that goes viral. Gets called the voice of his generation by some blogger who probably uses “zeitgeist” in everyday conversation. Then... nothing. Radio silence. Hasn’t published anything in ten years.
But they don’t know him the way I’ve gotten to know him through Susan’s stories. How he wrote the book after his fatherHank died, barely sleeping, trying to make sense of the loss. How the sudden fame that came a few years after the book was published rattled him. All those people claiming to understand his grief, wearing it on tote bags and quoting it in their Instagram bios. How he’d call Susan, overwhelmed, saying he felt like a fraud because the words that saved everyone else couldn’t save him. No. They don’t know any of that because he stopped coming home.
My phone buzzes. Text from an unknown number, but I recognize the area code. Seattle.
Calvin:This is Calvin. Got your number from Dominic. The raccoon is currently in my cabin. Advice?
I stare at the message. He texted me. About Gerald. Like we’re... what? Neighbors who text about wildlife?
Maren:Don’t make direct eye contact. He sees it as a challenge.
Three dots appear immediately.
Calvin:You’re joking.
Maren:I’m deadly serious about raccoon etiquette.
Calvin:He’s eating my protein bars.
Maren:Those areHISprotein bars now. You need to accept that.
Calvin:Lol.He’s also judging my dinner choices. Apparently microwave burritos aren’t sophisticated enough for his palate.
Maren:
Calvin:Any other wildlife I should know about?
Maren:Just the local eagle that steals sandwiches from the porch. He’s partial to turkey. Sweet dreams.
A pause. Then:
