“Can we have both?” he smiled slowly. “I mean, I really feel like blueberries, but what if the baby would rather have chocolate chip?” He added a few carefully rehearsed bats of his eyelashes that usually did the trick.
“Hmmm, thatisa valid argument, counselor.” His mom pretended to think carefully about the dilemma when he already knew her verdict. He’d known as soon as she’d mentioned pancakes. “Something tells me Cara is a chocolate chip kinda gal,” she chuckled.
“Cara?” He asked.
“Yes, hon. Your baby sister. We’re gonna name her Cara. Now, c’mon, honey. Those pancakes aren’t gonna make themselves, are they now?” Reaching out her hand, she pulled him from the couch and squeezed him tight against her stomach, and the same feeling as always overtook him.Safe. Home. Blessed.
“What does Cara mean?” Finn mumbled around a huge mouthful of pancake and fluffy cream.
“Sorry, hon?” His mom turned around from the stove where she was still cooking enough pancakes to feed a midsize summer camp.
“Cara. What does her name mean?” he repeated, licking at his bottom lip, attempting to catch a runaway drop of syrup.
“Oh,” she smiled, her face lighting up even more. “Beloved. Cara meansbeloved.”
“Beloved…” he repeated, tasting the word on his tongue.Beloved.Taking another bite of the sticky yumminess, a warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading out into every limb and every cell in his body, until it settled like a comforting ball in his stomach. Grounding him. Quieting down every stray thought in his head.Beloved.Looking up at his mom’s expectant face, a truth formed inside his heart. Perhaps the one thing that he knew without a doubt would always be true.
“I’m gonna love her forever,” he whispered. “Cara. I’m gonna love her forever. I’m gonna be the best big brother in the world.” He nodded, mostly to himself.
“I know you will, honey,” his mom smiled, her eyes moist from withheld tears. “I know you will.”
Chapter Three
Hank
Now
“Well, well, well…to what do I owe this honor on a fine October mornin’? Three handsome fellas all at once in my humble establishment.” Tilly’s kind face lit up like a Christmas tree as Hank trailed behind the boys and the pup inside the cozy, familiar warmth, heading straight for the counter. “Vern!” She hollered over her shoulder in the direction of the kitchen, and soon after, her husband stuck out his flushed face, a ‘what now, woman?’frown between his bushy, gray brows. Then he recognized his three regulars, and his features softened until a broad, cheeky grin spread across his face.
“Howdy there, gentlemen.” He tipped his imaginary hat before wiping his weather-beaten hands in his apron. “Just got me some fine catfish delivered this mornin’. Bullhead. Haven’t seen a bullhead this fine in ages. Just about to fry ‘em. You want ‘em with fries and collard greens? Or maybe puppies and slaw?” Eagerness intermingled with his smile while he twisted his hands in front of him.
“Hon, will ya let our guests get in the door before you attack ‘em with your catfish?” Tilly shook her head fondly, her clear blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “One oughta think they’d never had a darn catfish before. Jesus, hon.” Turning toward them, she smiled apologetically, but it didn’t take a genius to see that she was pretty excited about the catfish, too.
“But it’s bullhead,” Vernon murmured, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand, scowling offendedly at his wife.
“Bullhead, you say?” Hank raised an eyebrow, genuine interest coursing through him. It was true. He hadn’t had catfish in a while. And bullhead? Not in ages. “The puppies made of cornmeal?” His mouth watered at the thought of the deliciously golden crispy balls, the gooey dough melting on his tongue. Vernon made a mean hush puppy, that’s for sure. Some would even say the best in these parts of Nebraska. Nothing like the dry stale excuse for one Hank had tried to soften up with thick gravy not so long ago during a diner visit in Whitney. The diner’s name alone should’ve been a foreboding of what was to come, but he was so disillusioned after visiting with Dr. Sloane that he’d just felt like indulging one final time. Indulging, my ass. There hadn’t been one remotely positive thing to say about the meal he’d had atThe End of the Road.Yeah, nothing beat Vernon’s puppies, that’s for sure.
“Now, what doyouthink?” Vernon grinned stupidly. “Is my middle name Conrad?” He squinted at Hank, leaning against the door to the kitchen. Everyone in Hayley’s Peak knew thatVernon’s middle name was Conrad, named after his German granddaddy, who’d arrived in America shortly after the Great Depression.
“Jesus,” Hank shook his head, then his eyes lit up as he rubbed at his beard carefully. “A goddamn bullhead, huh?”
“Yessir. You wanna see the ugly bastard?” Vernon nodded towards the kitchen, his face beaming with pent-up excitement as if Hank had just made his day, perhaps even his week.
“Sure, Vern, why not?” Hank shrugged, turning towards Henry and Colton. “You boys go ahead, and I’ll be right with ya.”
“He means in half an hour at the very least,” Tilly chirped, while she reached for the coffeepot. “I’ll be right with ya, boys. The pup on a diet, or am I allowed to give little Louis a slice of bacon?” The black Labrador tilted his head at the combination ofpupandbacon,his front paws shifting quickly on the worn linoleum floor.
“One, and one sliceonly, Til,” Henry gave her a mock stern look while Colton held up three fingers behind his boyfriend’s back with a smirk. When people saw the couple, very few assumed that the beefy, tattooed ex-soldier would be the soft one out of the two of them. But once they got to know Colton, they discovered he had a gentle guardedness about him and a heart that beat the fastest for the two guys in his life: Henry and Louis.
“There’s hardly anything little about Louis except for that pea-sized brain of his,” Hank cackled, only just avoiding a half-assed kick from his nephew before he quickly followed Vernon into the adjacent kitchen.
“So?” Vernon shifted on his feet, a dazed look in his eyes, as he took in the catfish before him. “Am I right or am I right?”
“Shit, Vern. That’s a damn fine bullhead.” Hank tipped his chin appreciatively at the box of fish, the fresh muddy smell of river water entering his nostrils, sending all sorts of memories coursing through him. He and his older brother, Walter, used to go fishing with their daddy all the time when they were kids, their favorite pastime after stealing apples or racing around the small country roads on their bikes. As always, when his thoughts drifted to Walter, a dull pain inhabited his chest, reminding him of the absence of his older brother. It wasn’t Walter’s much too early death who’d put an end to their relationship—no, it was Hank choosing Eugene over his only family.Eugene.It hadn’t been a choice, really. He would choose Eugene again and again, even knowing that he would lose him all over again.
“Told ya,” Vernon chuckled, as he reached for a large frying pan above the industrial stove. “Three times catfish, puppies, and slaw?”
“Yeah, go ahead. Lord knows when I’ll get good bullhead again. Doubt the boys get it often either,” Hank smiled, his gaze landing on two large padlocks next to the sink. “You expectin’a crime wave in Hayley’s?” he grinned at Vern, who’d started gutting the fish skillfully, humming quietly in front of him.
