Chapter Three
MAKAI PARKEDhis car in front of the grocery store and steeled himself. A guy leaned on a pickup nearby, and he had been eyeing Makai’s car as if he’d just seen something disgusting. Makai had felt the stare all the way from the road and knew this wouldn’t be good.
Sighing, Makai stepped out of his vehicle. The bell above the store door made a sound, and both he and the guy turned to look.
An old man who must’ve been Mr. Miller peeked out.
“If you don’t have anything to buy or mail, Frankie Matthews, you should hop into that truck of yours and go home,” Mr. Miller rasped, then waited until Matthews did just that. Once the pickup peeled out of the parking lot, he looked at Makai. “You’re Benny Elfman’s little boy, aren’t you?”
Makai blinked, then nodded slowly. “Y-yeah, Benny was my grandpa.”
“You’re the younger boy, right?” Mr. Miller asked, as he gestured for Makai to follow him into the store.
“Right. My name is Makai.”
“I remember you and your brother. You used to come here when you were little.”
“Really?” Makai looked around the store and couldn’t really remember being there back then.
Mr. Miller cackled. “Come, follow me. It’ll make sense soon.”
It felt like being the unlikely hero in a fantasy novel who followed the wizened old wizard into a secret spot somewhere. Yeah, he’d read a lot of fantasy in his teens, so sue him.
He followed the old man, feeling awkward adjusting his own steps to Mr. Miller’s short, slow ones. They went to the side of the shop, then through a door there, to what seemed to be the post-office part of the building.
Mr. Miller stopped in the middle of the space, then looked at Makai. “This look more familiar?”
He turned around in the middle of the room and suddenly it all clicked. The windows were familiar, and even though the counter was a different color, the curve of it seemed familiar too.
He found himself smiling. “You had candy there.” He pointed at a spot, then to another one by the back wall. “And ice cream was there.” He could all but feel Nakoa’s slightly bigger hand in his own as they waited for their treats.
Mr. Miller chuckled, shaking his frail form that Makai suspected was tougher than it seemed.
“Yes, we did.”
“Wow,” Makai breathed. “I think I was four or five the last time I stood here.”
“I reckon so,” Mr. Miller said. He went to the door between the post office and store, peeked his head through, and bellowed. “Momma, I’m taking a break!”
Mrs. Miller, Makai assumed, called back something he couldn’t decipher.
“Come on, coffee time,” Mr. Miller told him and gestured for him to follow.
They ended up going through to the back of the building and into what seemed like a small apartment where the Millers must’ve lived.
“Sit, sit,” Mr. Miller said in the kitchen, and Makai did.
Silence, but not really an uncomfortable one, reigned while Mr. Miller fiddled with what seemed like one of those pod coffee maker things Makai hadn’t really gotten the hang of, even though his mom had one.
“I hope you like lattes, because it seems like we’ve run out of espresso capsules,” he said in a quiet old-man tone.
“Latte’s good.” Makai still wasn’t sure why he sat there, but he wasn’t about to question the friendliness.
From how that deputy had described Mr. Miller, he had expected much, much worse.
“All right, here you go,” Mr. Miller said, and he toddled over to the table with two large cups.
“Thank you.”
