The sewers along side streets couldn’t drain fast enough, clogged with autumn leaves that no one had removed. They overflowed, pooled in the road. We hydroplaned twice before Diem slowed down.
The Jeep’s wipers worked overtime, unable to keep up. The sweet latte Diem had bought me at a drive-through wasn’t helping. Rain had a soporific effect on me, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep until May.
At Evergreen, Diem parked a distance from the main doors, despite several available visitor spots much closer. Before I could kick up a stink or protest the indignity of his making me walk a mile in the nasty rain when I had clearly not dressed properly, I followed his wrinkled-nose glare and bit my tongue.
Diem’s father’s rusted work truck occupied one of the visitor spots, and there was no way in hell he was going to chance an encounter with his old man if he could help it. Tuesday mornings were not Diem’s usual visiting days at Evergreen, and now I understood why.
Tipping his fedora lower, casting a shadow over his face, Diem scowled at the truck. Tension pulled at his muscles.
Echo, likely sensing something was off, poked her head between the seats and whimpered, snuffling Diem’s cheek and knocking the hat askew.
Diem grumbled and fixed it before scratching her ear. “In a minute, girl.” To me, he said, “Might as well drink your latte. He works at nine and won’t stay long, but we might have to wait fifteen minutes or so.”
I had never met Leroy Krause, but after several detailed accounts of Diem’s horrific childhood, I wasn’t eager to make his acquaintance. I couldn’t promise to keep my mouth shut, and the last thing Diem needed was for me to make things worse.
So, I drank my latte.
Diem wasn’t a coffee person—Dr Pepper remained his most reliable source of caffeine—but he knew my affinity for sweet drinks and cookies and treated me often, particularly on rainy days when I didn’t want to get out of bed and needed an incentive.
I sipped the overly sweet beverage before setting it aside and opening the grease-stained paper bag containing my treat. I broke a chunk off the soft peanut butter cookie nestled inside and offered it to Diem. It pained me to do so, but I was a grateful boyfriend who could share… sometimes.
I succeeded in diverting his attention from his father’s vehicle.
A curl of a smile touched the corner of Diem’s mouth, and he shook his head. “Eat your cookie, Tallus.”
“I owe you for stealing a bite… ish of your cake. Take it. I insist.”
“You stole a bite of my cake?”
“I said ish. This offer expires in fourteen milliseconds.” I slowly moved the hunk of cookie toward my mouth, brow arched.
Diem must not have been in an arguing mood and accepted the piece with mumbled thanks. He never bought one for himself, something I couldn’t understand. We ate in silence, watching the world drown as the rain thundered deafeningly on the hardtop.
A short time later, Leroy Krause—or so I assumed based on Diem’s reaction—exited the building and hustled toward the truck. I didn’t get a good look at him since he was huddled against the rain. He drove off without noticing his son camped a dozen spots away.
The instant he was gone, the stranglehold of stress loosened its grip on Diem, and he fully exhaled properly for the first time since we showed up at the home. He started the Jeep and relocated us to a closer parking space so we wouldn’t haveas far to go.
“Wear this.” Diem placed his fedora on my head—it was far too big, caught on my glasses, and fell into my eyes. He chuckled as I nudged it back in place.
Without asking, he reached across the console and zipped my coat to my chin like I was a toddler before motioning for me to get out. I’d long ago stopped arguing with his overprotective nature. It was that or listen to him lecture me about my habit of underdressing. Besides, it was sweet in a neurotic sort of way, even when he snarled and bitched under his breath. The remarks were nothing more than hot air. Diem didn’t mean any of it. He loved me.
We ran to the portico, and I somehow managed to avoid puddles and keep my feet dry. The brim of the hat shed most of the rain away from my glasses, but I still needed to stop and wipe them clean before we went inside.
Diem fared worse. Chunks of his thick hair hung sodden and dripped in his face. He pushed it back with a swipe of his hand, making it stand up in an adorable mess. I kept that to myself.
We signed in at the front desk and collected visitor badges from one of the reception ladies whom Diem greeted by name.
“You don’t usually visit Hazel this early in the week. Is everything all right? I noticed Leroy was in.” She quirked a brow, and it silently asked if that was going to be a problem.
“Everything is fine. Dad’s gone already. We watched him drive away.”
“Ah.” The woman nodded, clearly relieved.
“Is Benaiah Scarrow here yet?”
“Ben?” The woman—Diem had called her Sandra—frowned and shuffled the clipboard around, scanning the sign-in sheet. “No. He’s not. Are you expecting him?”
“We’re here to talk to Elwood Scarrow. Ben is supposed to meet us.”
