Five
Helena pulled into the gravel lot of the Pine Needle Diner, the clinking sound of loose pebbles against her wheel wells a familiar welcome.
The restaurant sat on the edge of town, nestled against a backdrop of towering pines and jagged mountain peaks, its neon sign flickering between bright red and warm yellow, casting a nostalgic glow over the weathered clapboard exterior.
The place was known for its massive breakfast plates and bottomless coffee, a staple for locals, truckers and park rangers alike.
It was just busy enough for a hint of background noise but not so crowded that they wouldn’t have some privacy.
She surveyed the parking lot for anything or anyone suspicious and spotted Uncle Rick’s dark gray truck parked near the entrance, its Colorado plates speckled with dried mud and pine needles clinging to the bumper.
Her stomach tightened at the sight. This was a man who had drifted in and out of her life like smoke—present, but impossible to pin down.
She took a deep breath, bracing herself as she stepped into the diner.
Rick was already seated in a corner booth, a faded trucker cap on his head and his rough, callused hands wrapped around a chipped ceramic mug.
As she approached, her breath caught in her throat.
He looked so much like her father. The same broad shoulders, the weathered creases around his eyes, the deep, gravelly voice she missed so much.
For a brief, aching moment, it felt like Dad was still there, waiting for her with that same half smile he used to wear when he caught her sneaking in late as a teenager.
“Hey, kid,” Rick said, standing awkwardly before settling back into the booth as she slid into the opposite seat.
The vinyl cushion creaked beneath her, the faint scent of frying bacon and fresh coffee mingling in the air.
A server in a green apron, her silver hair piled high in a loose bun, brought over a pair of menus without a word, setting them down with the brisk efficiency of someone who’d been doing this for decades.
“Thanks,” Helena mumbled, casting a quick glance at the laminated pages before leaning back, her eyes locking onto Rick’s. There was a tightness around his mouth, a strain in the lines of his face that set her on edge.
“You settling in all right?” she asked, her voice steady but cautious. Helena didn’t know this man. Not really. Dad had kept him at bay. He must have had a good reason.
Rick gave a slight nod, his gaze dropping to the swirling patterns in his coffee. “Yeah, the Airbnb’s fine. Quiet. It’ll just be me and the birds in the morning.” He cracked a small, tight-lipped smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Better than waking up to the rat race.”
She forced a smile in return, though it felt stiff, unnatural.
They fell into an uneasy silence, the low hum of the diner filling the gaps in their conversation.
The server returned to take their orders.
Rick ordered the chicken-fried steak, extra gravy, and Helena went with a club sandwich and fries, hoping the comfort food might help settle her nerves.
“So,” she said, once the server had moved off, “I’ve been meaning to ask… You and Dad.” No point making polite small talk. “You weren’t close, were you? I mean I rarely saw you. Was that his doing or yours?”
Rick’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck flexing as he reached for his coffee.
He took a long, deliberate sip, eyes fixed somewhere over her shoulder.
“We had a complicated relationship, Helena,” he said finally, setting the mug down with a dull clink.
“Things weren’t…easy between us. But I kept up with you through your mom and your Mimi and Pops. ”
Her mom? Mom spoke with Uncle Rick behind Dad’s back? She lowered her voice. “Why? I mean I know families have their issues, but you and Dad never talked. Rarely visited other than a few holidays.”
Rick’s eyes flicked back to hers, the lines in his forehead deepening. “I’d rather talk about how you’re faring, kiddo. Do you need anything?”
She’d switch the subject…for now. “No, I have the trust and Dad had some savings and policies, but I haven’t had time to really go through all of it. I’ll be fine.”
He added more cream to his coffee. “Well, that’s good. Good to know. What about the house? What will you do with it now?”
“I don’t know. I moved in after he passed, but I didn’t plan to stay.
It’s so big and I’m one person.” Could she continue to live there knowing Alicia had been buried in the crawl space all these years?
“Dad would want me to keep it. He had planned to make some updates and renovations several months ago.”
“Yeah, he mentioned that.” Rick smiled. “Just because we didn’t always agree or see one another doesn’t mean we didn’t sometimes talk, especially in the more recent years.”
Helena had noticed after Dad retired, he reminisced more about the past and talked of holding close the ones you love.
Maybe he’d breached the gap between them to some degree.
“Good. I’m glad. As far as the house, I guess I have to have it fixed and updated, whether I stay or sell. With the fire wrecking so much.”
“If you need me to help you, I can. I have contacts in the construction business.”
She appreciated the sentiment. “Why was your relationship with Dad complicated? I want to get to know you, but I can’t if there are secrets.”
“Direct. Like your mom.” He grinned and she again saw her father. “I’m not going to speak ill of the dead, Helena. Can’t you be okay with the fact that his ideas about how the world should work and mine didn’t complement each other? Again, we didn’t always agree on things.”
“Like?”
He shifted, the vinyl seat groaning beneath him, and looked down at his hands.
“Like stealing girlfriends. Pretending to be heroic for popularity points. How to get ahead and…and sometimes your dad had a dark side, but to be fair, most everyone has a darkness in them. It’s our choice if we let it out or contain it with light.
” He hesitated, eyes narrowing as if weighing his next words carefully.
“Sometimes, the people we put on pedestals don’t really belong there.
Sometimes they’re just as flawed as the rest of us. ”
What did he mean by that? A cold, small knot formed in her gut. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but a hint of something—defensiveness, maybe even fear—crept into her tone. “Spell it out.”
Rick leaned back, the aged vinyl of the booth creaking as he crossed his arms, his gaze steady but unreadable. “I’m just saying, don’t assume you know the whole story. Not about him. Not about anyone.”
Before she could press him further, the server returned with their plates, the heavy clatter of dishes breaking the tension.
Rick dug into his food with the focused intensity of someone eager to dodge a difficult conversation, and Helena took a slow, measured breath, forcing herself to focus on the warm, greasy aroma of fresh fries and the clink of silverware on ceramic.
They ate in near silence, the rattle of dishes filling the void.
Helena’s mind raced, the implications of Uncle Rick’s words turning over and over like a loose gear grinding against a rusted cog.
She wanted to press him, to demand answers, but the wary, almost haunted, look in his eyes held her back.
Did Dad have a darkness in him? She did agree that everyone had it, but to what degree was Uncle Rick implying?
Sometimes Dad had gone off for long weekends to fish and hike, and usually after a bout of melancholy after Mom died.
Helena had been in junior high when she passed.
But he always returned sunshiny. There were times her parents argued in hushed tones and Mom would seem sad.
Helena had chalked it up to married couples arguing and that was normal.
When their plates were cleared and the server poured fresh coffee into their mugs, Uncle Rick leaned forward, tenting his fingers together on the table. “Alicia,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter, more introspective. “That girl they found in the crawl space of the house… She was your friend?”
Helena’s heart skipped a beat. She forced herself to nod, her fingers tightening around the handle of her mug. Why was he bringing up Alicia after talking about Dad? “Yeah. My best friend.”
“I’m real sorry to hear about her. Any idea how she ended up in the crawl space?”
“No. I’ll be looking into it with one of the officers at the Lavender PD. Cold cases aren’t easy solves.”
“No, they aren’t.” Rick’s gaze darkened again, his jaw working as if he were biting back words. He shook his head, staring into the black swirl of his coffee. “Just remember what I said, Helena. Things aren’t always what they seem.”
A chill swept through her, a cold, creeping unease that wrapped around her spine. She opened her mouth to press him further, to demand he explain, but he was already sliding out of the booth, dropping a handful of crumpled bills onto the table.
“Take care of yourself, kid,” he said, his rough hand clapping her shoulder for a brief, awkward moment.
“I worked construction all my life like your pops. So, if you need help in any way, I’m here for you.
If you’ll let me be.” He turned and strode toward the exit, his boots thudding against the scuffed linoleum.
Helena watched him go, her pulse pounding in her ears, his words echoing in her mind, casting long, uncertain shadows over everything she thought she knew about her father. She stared down into the depths of her coffee cup and wondered just what kind of man her father had really been.
She thought of the house, barely standing, waiting for her to decide its fate. It felt like another ghost in her life, one she wasn’t ready to confront.