Chapter 3 #2
Recognition flickered across her face. "Ah. Jase's cousin. That explains the whole stone wall routine. So, do you share any family traits?"
I thought about Jase and his carefully cultivated persona here in town.
The goofy, approachable veteran who'd never make anyone nervous.
It probably served him well, especially parenting the twins.
Showing who he really was, a battle-hardened SEAL who'd done things most people couldn't imagine, might put off some of the folks around town.
"Probably not."
Lisa studied me the way she'd studied the Barracuda. Looking for rust, structural damage, what could be salvaged.
"Ex-military. Special Forces?"
"No."
"You were something, though. Getting answers from you is like pulling teeth. Reminds me of my husband and Simon at Onyx. Brick walls, all of you."
I looked at the car again. "How long for the restoration?"
Her gaze turned calculating. "Depends when you need it and how much you want to pay. Rush jobs mean overtime. Overtime means money."
"Two weeks."
She laughed. "Two weeks? That's ambitious. You'd be looking at fifty percent over standard price. Maybe more."
"Two weeks."
"I haven't even quoted you a price yet."
"Two weeks." This time my lip lifted in a bit of a smile.
She shook her head in exasperation. "Yeah, you were definitely something in the military. Probably something that required a security clearance I don't want to know about."
She named a price. I didn't flinch. It was fair, especially for a rush job. I nodded.
Lisa held out her hand. "You've got yourself a deal. Two weeks, one restored Barracuda. You planning to stay in town that long?"
"Haven't decided."
"Well, you'll need to at least stay two weeks now. Unless you want to pay for shipping too."
We shook on it. Her grip was firm, callused from real work.
"Where are you headed now?" she asked as I turned to leave.
"Thought I'd check out downtown. I just drove through on my way to Jase's last time."
She pointed east. "Follow this road straight into the square. Can't miss it. If you hit the courthouse, you're there, it's literally in the middle of everything."
The walk to town took another thirty minutes. I passed neat houses with tidy lawns, American flags on porches, kids' bikes in driveways. Normal America. The kind of place people deployed to protect without ever seeing it themselves.
The town square opened up exactly as Lisa described.
The courthouse stood in the center, red brick with a clock tower that probably hadn't kept accurate time in years.
Businesses lined three sides of the square.
Java Jolt coffee shop, Draper's Hardware, Dorothy's Antiques, a few other stores that looked like they'd been there since the town's founding.
The Down Home Diner anchored one corner. Through the windows, I could see booths packed with families, the dinner rush in full swing.
My stomach growled. I'd skipped lunch, too focused on helping the twins prep for their presentation. The diner looked like every small-town restaurant I'd ever passed but never entered. Tonight felt different. Maybe because I wasn't passing through.
A cowbell clanged when I pushed open the door. The smell hit immediately. Fried chicken, biscuits, something sweet baking in the back. Real food, not the processed stuff I'd lived on for two decades.
An elderly woman, tiny enough to make Amber look tall, stood at the hostess stand. She wore a flower-print dress and had silver hair pinned in a neat bun. Her eyes were sharp, taking in everything about me in one quick sweep.
"Hungry?" she asked.
"Yes ma'am."
"Special today is chicken and dumplings. Pattie makes them better than anyone in three counties. Course, I taught her how, so I might be biased."
"Sounds good. Could I get a corner table? By the window?"
She studied me for a moment. "Military man. Always wanting to see who's coming and going."
She raised her voice. "Lettie! Got a customer who needs the corner booth!"
A woman in her fifties appeared and waved me over. "Right this way, honey."
The booth gave me exactly what I wanted. Back corner, view of the door and the street outside. Old habits.
"Special?" Lettie asked once I was settled.
"Yes ma'am."
"Cornbread or biscuits?"
"Biscuits."
"Sweet tea, soda or water?"
"Tea."
She nodded her approval and disappeared.
The food arrived faster than seemed possible. Chicken and dumplings with gravy thick enough to stand a spoon in, green beans that had seen some bacon, coleslaw that was more mayo than cabbage but somehow perfect. The biscuits came with real butter and honey.
You would have thought I hadn’t just had Bonnie’s spectacular dinner two nights ago.
Halfway through the meal, the tiny woman from the hostess stand slid into the booth across from me. Up close, I could see she had to be pushing ninety. Maybe past it.
"You're Jase's cousin."
I nodded.
"I'm Little Grandma. Everyone calls me that, so don't you go trying to be formal."
"Yes ma'am."
She flagged Lettie down. "Bring me some tea and a biscuit, honey."
"Already on it," Lettie said and headed to the kitchen.
Little Grandma settled back in the booth like she owned it. Which, I realized, she probably did. "Jase said you might be coming to visit. Though he thought it would be later in the year."
"Plans changed."
"That they do." Her tea arrived. She added enough sugar to send a normal person into diabetic shock. "You made the right choice, coming here."
"I haven't made any choices yet."
She smiled. The expression transformed her face, making her look decades younger. "Oh honey, you made the choice the minute you got on that plane and flew here. Now you're just waiting to admit it to yourself."
Hmm. Now wasn't that the damn truth?
"This town has a way of healing people," she continued. "I've seen it more times than I can count. Broken soldiers, grieving widows, lost souls who didn’t know where they belonged. Jasper Creek gives them time to figure it out."
"I'm just visiting family." I answered, unsure I liked where this was going.
"Course you are." She took a tiny bite of biscuit. "That's what they all say at first. Then they realize family isn't just blood. It's the people who show up. The ones who don't ask questions you can't answer. The ones who just let you be until you're ready not to just be anymore."
Lettie appeared again. "Dessert?" she asked.
"Pattie made your favorite," Little Grandma said.
I looked up sharply. "My favorite?"
"Peach cobbler with homemade vanilla ice cream." The old lady's eyes twinkled. Exactly what I would have ordered if I had ever been handed a menu.
"How?" The word came out more harshly than I intended.
"Bring two, Lettie," she said to her granddaughter. She patted my hand. "Maybe I'm just confusing you with your cousin."
"How come I don't think you are?"
She chuckled, it came out thin and whispery. "Because you're a smart man. If it makes you feel better, just think that Jase told me."
The first bite of cobbler was perfect. Sweet peaches, flaky crust, ice cream melting into puddles of cream. It tasted like summer in Georgia, like my grandmother's kitchen, like a hundred memories I'd packed away.
"Everyone has a path," Little Grandma said, like our conversation hadn't been interrupted by her witchcraft. "Sometimes we wander off it, get lost in the woods for a while. But eventually, if we're lucky, we find our way back. Or maybe the path finds us."
"You think I'm on a path?"
"Honey, we're all on paths. Question is, whether we're walking toward something or away from it." She finished her four bites of cobbler and stood. "Your first meal in Jasper Creek is on the house. Welcome to town."
“Thank you,” I said, feeling immense gratitude. She patted my hand before she left. Her touch was paper-soft but somehow steady.
I finished my entire serving of cobbler slowly, watching the town through the window. Families walked past, probably heading home from the science fair. A couple held hands while their kids ran ahead. An old man walked his dog, stopping to let it sniff every light pole.
Normal life. The kind I'd protected but never lived.
Since the meal was free, I left a twenty-dollar tip on the table. Lettie would find it when she cleared up.
My phone buzzed. Text from Jase. "Kids want to know if Uncle Code will help them design a better robot for next year."
Uncle Code. Not Cousin Code. Uncle.
I typed back, "Tell them we'll win first place."
Then I deleted it.
Typed instead, "Tell them we'll learn from this year and do better next time."
Sent it.
Another text appeared immediately. This one from Amber, on Bonnie's phone. "Second place girl used something called loops in her code. I looked it up. Can you teach me?"
"Tomorrow," I replied.
"Promise?"
I stared at the word. Promises were dangerous things. They implied staying. They implied commitment. They implied a future beyond just passing through.
"Promise," I typed.
The decision made itself, real. Or maybe Little Grandma was right. Maybe I'd made it the moment I'd gotten on that plane.
Outside, full dark had settled over Jasper Creek. Streetlamps created pools of yellow light. The courthouse clock showed the wrong time, just as I'd predicted. Through the diner windows, I could see Little Grandma back at her hostess stand, greeting a young couple with a baby.
I started walking back toward Jase's house. Five miles through quiet streets. Past Thatcher's, where my Barracuda sat in darkness, waiting for resurrection. Past the school where those kids had built robots and mechanical hands with dreams of first place.
Little Grandma's words settled into my bones with each step.
Walking toward something instead of away from it.
Twenty years I'd been walking away. Away from connections that could be severed by an IED.
Away from roots that could be torn up by the next deployment.
Away from promises I might not live to keep.
But here I was, walking through the darkness of a small Tennessee town, toward a house where kids called me Uncle and worried about robot competitions. Toward something instead of away.
Maybe she was right. Maybe the path had already found me.
My phone buzzed again. Amber, still on Bonnie's phone. "Also, my friend Emma says there's a better robot kit we could use next year. It has more pieces and can do more things."
The kid had been researching for the past hour.
Of course she had.
"We'll look at different kits. Test them out. See which one works best for what we want to build."
"That sounds very Army."
"That's because it is."
"Cool."
Three dots appeared, showing she was typing. They disappeared. Appeared again. Then, "I'm glad you're here, Uncle Code."
Something shifted in my chest. Something that had been locked down for twenty years of mission focus and operational security.
"Me too, kid."
And for the first time in three months—maybe longer—I meant it.