Page 75 of Pieces of Heaven

“Or maybe they were just watching us to ruin our days,” I say before he goes and locks down the town. “Just to make us wonder.”

“Well, I am wondering now.”

“Me, too. That’s why I called, but I refuse to spend my day hiding. If they want to hit us, they’ve got tomorrow or next week. We can’t hide forever on a maybe.”

“No, I guess not. I’ll still let Armor know. He can warn the others. We should be aware of those Halvorson workers. They’re always in the Valley. I rarely even notice them. If they want to start shit, they’ll know our patterns.”

Ruin and I are on the same page until he tosses in this bullshit at the end, “Do you think you can pick up the assholes’ scent and watch them today?”

“Unless you cloned me, the answer is no. I’m taking Xenia out for the afternoon.”

“Isn’t her shop open in the afternoon?”

“She’s closing so she can hang out with me.”

Now, I swear I hear Selene go “aw” in the background. If Ruin wasn’t so smitten with her, he’d be grumbling about how she’s undercutting his asshole moves with all her lovesick-chick noises.

“Are your afternoon plans a priority?” he asks, and I can’t tell if it’s a real question or if he’s flat-out saying my shit isn’t important.

“I’ll keep my eyes out during my time with Xenia today.”

“Uh-huh,” Ruin says, now pissed that he might need to change his plans to keep Selene out of the crosshairs.

After we hang up, I return to the shop to find Glenn packing up to go. He takes the bag Xenia hands him full of snacks for later. She also fills up his thermos.

“Where are you headed today?” he asks me.

“Old Thelma’s BBQ.”

Glenn gives me a knowing grin. It was the first restaurant I ever went to, and he was the guy paying the bill. Kourtney and I were hiding out in his basement when he strolled downstairs. Tomcat froze at the sight of his father. I’d assumed Kourtney and I would need to leave. With the sun already down by then, there was no way we could pretend we weren’t planning to stay the night.

Rather than send us packing, Glenn told us to put on our shoes so we could get dinner. Kourtney and I were nervous the entire time. I kept thinking we’d get outed as too poor to remain at the restaurant. That or someone might recognize us as the kids of those wackos in the woods. Either way, I didn’t enjoy the meal, even though I did like how Kourtney couldn’t stop smiling.

During those youthful years, Glenn took us back to the restaurant many times. Eventually, I settled down enough to enjoy those meals. I’ve tried everything on the menu. I still go there when I want to feel hopeful.

Old Thelma’s BBQ was the place where my sister first got to wear the dangly earrings stolen from a store a year earlier. At school, she was afraid to wear her prizes in fear of someone calling her out. People knew we didn’t have shit.

In high school, some girls accused Kourtney of whoring out her body to pay for the new clothes she suddenly started wearing. I’d been working for the Jordan family by then, allowing my sister some style. When I heard about those girls hassling her, I’d torched their cars. Just like I did Kendra’s the other night when I was restless. And the shady realtor’s vehicle the week before. It’s my go-to move, even after all these years.

Though I might not have changed, Old Thelma’s BBQ has since the owner died more than a decade ago. When her regulars got old, they struggled with the spice in her rubs and sauces. Her son didn’t know shit about cooking but still decided to dick around with her recipes to make the food blander for the old folks. That just scared off the younger customers. The place limps along now. I still hit it up from time to time, for nostalgia’s sake.

“The food isn’t what it used to be,” I explain to Xenia when we walk through the doors to the dive with a barely working air conditioner and tinny-sounding speakers. “But this place was special to me when I was a kid, so I wanted you to come here.”

Xenia knows food. She might spend her days making sandwiches and cupcakes, but her brain is filled with knowledge about food from French to Asian fusion. I don’t even know what that last one is, but she mentioned it in passing during our picnic.

The food at Old Thelma’s BBQ won’t impress her, but she still glows as I tell her about the first time I bought dinner here for Kourtney with my own money.

“We ate a whole rack of ribs each. I nearly threw up afterward.”

Xenia watches me with such affection that I get a little squirrely. A woman of her quality shouldn’t be wasting her time with a man like me. Yet, I never want her to stop looking at me like she is right now.

“I know a few good sauces,” Xenia says when I mention how there’s no longer any kick to the barbecue at Old Thelma’s BBQ. “I could make a few and have you try them. We’ll tweak them until you get what you want.”

“Seems like a lot of work.”

“You’d just be eating barbecued ribs and chicken. I think you can handle the workload.”

Chuckling, I shake my head and take her hand resting on the table. “I meant for you.”

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