Hemlock Veils

Was he thinking about last night, as she was? It hadn’t been until after two a.m. when she returned home, and there hadn’t even been much conversation between them. They’d simply walked, probably miles. She liked to think he was giving her a tour of sorts, showing her the forest she’d been aching to see. She’d tried asking him questions about who he was, how long he’d been that way, and what the evil presence was that showed up from time to time; but he hardly answered and when he did, the answers were short and elusive. It was okay though, that he didn’t trust her enough yet. After all, he’d kept his life a secret for a long time, probably more years than she’d been alive.

“The cookies,” he finally said when they reached the corner of Alder and Clayton. “They’re fantastic.”

“Thank you, I’m glad you like them.”

“Between Arne and me, we’ve nearly emptied the plate already.”

She chuckled. “Be careful. They have been known to cause belly aches.” After a smile on his end, she said, “So, Mr. Clayton, are you going to take me up on my other offer, about free coffee for life?”

“No.” She tried not to deflate, and he quickly corrected, “Not on the free part anyway.”

She studied him from a sidelong glance, and again they both smiled. In the begi

It came on then, a yawn—without her consent. She tilted her head away from him, covering her mouth.

“Tired?” His voice was quizzical.

“Everyone is these days, aren’t they?”

“Perhaps you’re not cut out for early mornings.”

“Early mornings and late nights.” He lifted a brow, no doubt testing her, and she quickly recovered, “I just couldn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

It seemed to have been enough to convince him; his shoulders relaxed and relief practically fell upon him in a wave. It only reaffirmed that he could never know she knew.

They neared Henry Street. “Mr. Clayton, is Arne…allowed to come in, too?” The question sounded silly, as though Arne was a child. He seemed to think so, too, since he gave a subtle harrumph.

“You think I keep him chained up at the car, do you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It’s okay. I expect people would think that, given…everything.” He seemed distant for a brief moment then looked down on her. “Arne doesn’t come in by choice, Ms. Ashton. His choice. He feels it would make his job more…difficult.”

She ached for him to elaborate, but she’d bombarded him with enough questions in the past twenty-four hours. “Maybe free coffee would entice him.”

His brow creased.

“Well, if you’re not going to take me up on the offer, maybe he will.”

She unlocked the door to Jean’s in the way he’d showed her a few days before. When she opened it, flipping the sign to an “open” position, she turned to him. A sweet doughy aroma wafted from the open door. “Are you coming?”

He hesitated, but followed her in. His eyes sca

That boyish, dimple-adorned smile in the photo was the same she saw this morning, the same that had left her chest feeling like a butterfly cage. When she looked away from the picture and back at him, she almost recoiled from the way he was already watching her—not the picture.

“I’ll get your coffee on,” she said, and walked behind the counter, placing an apron over her head and tying it behind her. First, she preheated the oven in the kitchen and removed the dough—prepared the evening before and already strategically placed on baking trays—from the industrial-sized refrigerator. When she returned to the lobby, Henry seemed to be wondering what he should do, and she began boiling water then added beans to the grinder. For a moment, he just stood there, but then he sat at the table farthest from her—the one in the corner. The sound of the grinder filled the awkward silence that she didn’t think was awkward at all, and the door opened behind her. For a second she thought he’d escaped, but when she turned she found Eustace, Taggart, Old Ray, and Doc Ortiz. Eustace and Elizabeth exchanged smiles. “Good morning,” she said to them.

“It’s already smelling good, Beth,” Old Ray said, his long white hair pi

Sheriff Taggart adjusted his belt and looked around, appearing surprised when he noticed Henry. “Mr. Clayton,” he nodded.

“Sheriff,” Henry said.

Regina entered then, and so did Sheppy, with his red backpack and lime green Chucks. They exchanged hellos as Elizabeth emptied the medium-sized grounds by rounded tablespoons into both French presses. Then two teenagers she’d never met came in, along with the Thurmans. The space was small for all the bodies, and the sensation thrilling.

“Well, look at you,” Regina said, and Elizabeth peeked from over her shoulder as she began grinding the beans for the espresso machine. Regina stood over Henry, fists on her hips, and he appeared uncomfortable. Hopefully, all the attention wouldn’t scare him away. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any handsomer, Mr. Clayton.”

He glanced up at her, rendered speechless.

“The beard’s particularly striking.”

He chuckled, only one side of his mouth lifting. “Thank you, Mrs. Washington.”

“It’s good to see you here,” Taggart added, his mustache twitching as he again adjusted his belt. Henry’s limbs appeared to stiffen. The oven beeped behind her and she went in the back, put the pastries in the oven, set the timer, and returned to the lobby. The water was boiling now—perfect timing—and she poured it into both presses before checking the espresso machine that did most the work itself. From yesterday, she knew Taggart liked his cappuccino creamy and Regina liked her lattes with vanilla.

She worked quickly as everyone conversed behind her, typical morning chat. The teenagers, she heard, were on their way out of town, to school in Government Camp; Taggart had to investigate a strange case of Gina Gray’s missing cats—a woman whom Elizabeth had never seen—and he didn’t seem thrilled about the task; Old Ray was headed to the tavern after his coffee, to open it for whomever might be down enough on their luck to drink that early.

After skimming the floating grounds from the top in both presses, Elizabeth put one on the warmer and poured some from the other into a tall mug she’d already had warming. She left the coffee black, just the way he liked it—the way she happened to like it, too. She found the folded newspaper Taggart had left the day before, and though it was old news, she thought it better than nothing.