Wow. Powerful fucking stuff.
“Good,” he said. “Next time,mybruschetta can have olives.”
That elicited a quiet laugh from around the table, and Ernie spoke into the silence.
“There’s… a storm,” he said and then stopped, glancing up at the stricken expressions on the faces of Ace, Sonny, and Jai. “No, not that kind of storm,” he clarified, and Eric and Brady exchanged a puzzled glance. Were they afraid of anotherhurricane? Because Brady had worked in this area through that, and it had been pretty grim, but these guys—there was somethingpersonalabout what they’d been through.
“What kind of storm, Ernie?” Ace asked, all business. Brady realized that everybody at the table—everybody—was taking that announcement seriously.
“Blood and dust,” Ernie answered. “Everyone needs to know. Be alert for raindrops.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Brady, you’ll get the first gust of wind. You’ve probably even felt it on your face. It might even be pushing you about. You can fight it with us or let it blow you past us, but you gotta decide which or it’s going to kill you.”
There was a quiet exhalation around the table, and Brady realized it was relief. Ace cast him a hard look and Brady returned it, unnerved and surprised.
“You hearing this, boy?” Ace asked, and while Brady was maybe a couple years older than Ace, he felt young and unsure when he nodded his head.
“Charlie, it’s hard to stick to your side of the line in a storm,” Ernie mumbled. “It’s okay if you wander over.”
Brady felt the entire table tense, and his eyes flew up to meet Eric’s, to see if he knew who this person was. What he saw disturbed him more than he’d anticipated.
Everybody at the table was staring determinedly at Ernie. Eric was staring at him in something like fear.
Sonny, Jai, and Ace were staring at him in a concerted effortnotto look at Eric.
A breath of cool breeze seemed to pass through the cramped little kitchen then, and almost like metal shavings collapsing after the magnet had passed, everybody around the little table relaxed enough to take a deep breath, even Brady.
After a fewmoredeep breaths, eating resumed in quiet companionship.
“Jesus, Ernie,” Sonny muttered, taking a bite of bruschetta almost mournfully, “that witchy thing sure can ruin a good meal.”
“Sorry, everybody,” Ernie said, taking a bite of shredded chicken and risotto. “I… I hope you all remembered what I said. We’re going to need to tell the others.”
Ace blew out a breath. “Well, I cannottellyou how excited I am to be faced with another storm. I mean, the hurricane was bad enough, but this sounds like a fuckin’delight.”
Ernie let out a rusty chuckle. “Hasn’t been a lot of fun on my end,” he said, and Ace was close enough to reach out and squeeze his shoulder.
“We hear ya. You eat up and relax, Jai can do the dishes, and I’ll serve up the ice cream after I have a chat with Brady. Brady, let me know when you’re ’bout finished, okay?”
Brady regretfully shoveled in the last bite on his plate and swallowed blissfully. “Done now, Ace,” he said dutifully. “Best meal I’ve had in a long time. Sonny, Eric, thank you. It was kind of you to cook.” He had to take a deep breath after he said that—for some reason, Eric’s name—Eric Christiansen’s name—grew thick on his tongue.
Charlie, he thought.It’s probably Charlie.
“Our pleasure,” Eric said graciously.
“Well, we was cooking anyway,” Sonny said, and Brady found himself smiling.
Then Ace caught his eye and he was standing to take his plate to the sink like his mama taught him. It had been a nice—albeit strange—evening, and it was time to put on his boots.
Ace held the door open for him when they were laced and gave a short, sharp whistle for the dog, grabbing the leash hanging from a peg in the entryway as he did so. The dog—a tiny Chihuahua—pranced outside with the confidence of an animal who both knew his place in the world and what was expectedof him. Ace bent down and secured his leash and then started walking.
Just… walking.
Out into the desert in the fallen velvet dark.
Brady took a few steps, shivered, and pulled the hood of his department-issue sweatshirt up over his head.
“Chilly!” he said, jogging a little to keep up with Ace.
“Yeah. Sonny keeps trying to get me to put a little jacket on the dog, but I’m telling you, every time we do that, he takes for fuckin’ ever to crap. It’s likehe’sall toasty and warm, so why shouldheworry about how much time it takes.”
