Blacklake-Book4-1 Three Cousins

Chapter 24
~

Kriz and I had been sittin’ on the bench enjoyin’ the view of the ice-free Lake for ten minutes, enjoyin’ the quiet—Kriz is really good about sittin’ quietly—when my phone first pinged. I ignored it. It pings a lot. I need to get a new number. Keep it private, to just Kriz, Mama, and Ezra. Well, maybe Papa too.

I sighed deeply. Kriz actually spoke. Said, “Love this view.” Came out without a pause between the words, so he was definitely outside his own skin in love with the view. Always has been a favorite place of his.

My phone continued to ping. Four. Five. Six. Maybe I should just turn it off.

“Maybe,” Kriz said, “ya should—check.”

Another three pings. Then Crita’s ring tone began. We both sighed. I answered.

“Ya need to get back here,” she said without a hello. “There’s a riot startin’ at the site.”

“A riot?” I echoed.

“Tar torches and clubs and everything,” she said.

“Ya call the constables?” I asked.

“Do I look like an idjit?” she growled. Maybe I neared irritatin’ an ogre hen. “The crews have walked off, for the sake of safety.”

If the constables were there, wasn’t much more I could do. I considered ignorin’ the situation.

Kriz mumbled, “Every hour—lost production—costs us—about ten—thousand—Continentals.”

“Ya there!” Crita growled.

Kriz said, “Have her call—Daze.”

I didn’t have to repeat his message. She gave me a quick okay and hung up. Maybe she should have just texted Kriz. No one really pays that much attention to me anyway. Unless they want a signature on a PO.

“Ya know he’s not an OW employee anymore,” I said, slidin’ my phone into a pocket of my cargo shorts.

Kriz stood and gave me a wave to follow him, as he headed for the trail exitin’ Little Gladdie Park, at a run. Kriz isn’t one I’d describe as athletic. Seein’ the swing of his stride amused me—or would have amused me, if it weren’t for— We passed a couple human hikers who we maybe almost gave heart attacks. Guess they never imagined passin’ a couple deranged ogre bulls seemin’ly on the war path.

~ Ezra ~

His mama is a clerk for a small business. Papa drives a city bus. I certainly didn’t look down on their jobs as maybe I think he expected. I mean, afterall, I’m a cook. But what did surprise me, again, was how he managed the tuition at that fancy school he and Ike attend. Livin’ on the plains is a lot, tons cheaper than the Range, but I remember Uncle Bliar complainin’ his college cost more than TIT—Troll Institute of Technology—and TIT isn’t a cheap school to attend.

Thomas admitted to suckin’ up to Ike for the chance of maybe gettin’ a trip south with him. He was bein’ awful honest this afternoon. Also admitted he loved playin’ basketball with Ike, ’cause ogres take the game to another level—his words. Though he didn’t care for the number of bloody noses he’d had since he started playin’ mixed intramural. Guess it hurts em to run into the chest of an ogre.

Then he got quiet for a while. I assumed he was gatherin’ the courage to ask me some personal questions. Prolly surprised I hadn’t been sittin’ here disgorgin’ my entire past, the way bulls claim we never shut our mouths.

He finally gathered himself. “What would it take for me to ask you out on a date?”

That took my air away from me for a second. Would it insult him to ask why he wanted to go on a date with me? It was prolly a pretty good question to ask.

I opened my mouth, my stomach twitchin’ a bit, and explained that among ogres, a bull would have to ask permission from a hen’s papa. I was just gonna explain permission for what, when Daze jogged out to us.

“I’ve been asked,” he gushed, “to go try to stop the rioters at OW’s new site.”

“Rioters?” both Thomas and I asked together.

“Go with?” Daze asked as he veered toward his SUV.

As I joined Daze, I was askin’ myself why in the world was I gettin’ involved with an endeavor that had interfered with my sleep, thinkin’ about all the lives of trees and spring flowers cut short, the little critters who’d lost their homes. I blinked to find Thomas crawlin’ into the back of the SUV.

Thomas almost whispered to me, “You ogres are really into trees and stuff, huh?”

“All the giants,” Daze answered for me, “are into the sanctity of all life, from the lowly creatures, soarin’ eagle, or scrub brush.” Wasn’t sure if echoin’ Thomas’ use of the word into was intended to be deprecatin’, or just ended up soundin’ that way.

“Those who visit the shrines, to their favorite gods—” I got stuck for a moment. Was pretty sure Thomas didn’t have a clue about our multi-deity beliefs. I plowed ahead. “Always includes prayers for the creatures we harvest and displace.” My chest tightened a nudge. More than a nudge.

Though I didn’t check out Thomas in the back seat, I sensed him noddin’, as he considered what I said. We drove the ten minutes in quiet. I was surprised Thomas didn’t have any more questions, or opinions to share. Had he been—experienced some comeuppance—for his, into trees and stuff comment?

I tried to remember when I last visited a shrine or temple. Prolly years ago, durin’ a hike with Ike and Kriz. Have I gotten out of the custom we’re all raised to follow, thankin’ the gods for their gifts, before a meal?

Mama’s not one to share a lot of words, but long before I started joinin’ the cousins at school, she’d given me a long explanation of what “their gifts” means. I recalled thinkin’ how much emotion she shared. Mama’s not much for unnecessary display.

~