Blacklake-Book4-1 Three Cousins

Chapter 26
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“Doc says I have a thirty-something grade concussion, that may give me headaches for months,” I told my mama. Funny how my mouth wasn’t quite workin’ right. She wondered aloud why I was still alive. Think the blood oozin’ out of my ears earlier worried her.

“Musta not been an ogre who hit ya, huh,” she said. “Or ya wouldn’t have a head.” She paused. “Or it was a really wimpy ogre.” She twisted her lips around her tusks oddly.

Maybe, I have a supremely superior ogre skull.

I explained, “Gonna stay here overnight.” Mama prolly already knew that. But, maybe I was lookin’ for a little sympathy. Hadn’t gotten any from anyone else, like I was the thug that caused all of this.

Mama gave me a tilt of the head, one eye leanin’ less open than the other. Did Aunt Tizir hide a smile just then? Tizir can be evil.

Kriz didn’t look up from his laptop which he had cradled in his lap. Don’t think he’d looked up from it since I first woke. Not much of a talker, but he was at my bedside. What a good ogre.

Was told I’d spent several hours in the emergency room. Slept through the whole shippin’ me upstairs to a room. Someone, don’t remember who, had asked why they’d moved me if I hadn’t even gained consciousness. Sounded like a good question. If I ever saw a doctor, might ask her. Or maybe I just don’t remember the discussion about movin’ me. I had been hit in the head pretty hard, considerin’ the lump as big as my fist at the base of my neck.

Aunt Tizir’s remark earlier stung all over again. “Maybe ya shoulda built yar new facility down on the plain like we all told ya.”

They hadn’t all told me that. Most thought breakin’ ground on anything new meant maybe ogre kind hadn’t gotten stuck in the past of two centuries ago. That bringin’ jobs to the Valley was a good thing, too.

“Glad ya aren’t gonna die,” Mama said. “Need anything before I go?”

“Ya just got here,” I maybe whined. Kriz snorted, so he wasn’t asleep or catatonic. How did he get out of that crowd in one piece, anyway? Don’t think there was a wrinkle in his polo or a spit of dust on his cargo shorts.

“I got projects out the shiny ogre’s butt to check on,” Mama mumbled. “Last call. Fresh PJs. A book. Deodorant.”

“I’m good. Thanks for comin’,” I told Mama, as Uncle Erut and Tizir pushed away from the wall like they were gonna leave with her. Prolly have projects to check on too. But it was nice they stopped by.

As they were queuing for the door, Ezra returned with a cardboard carrier holdin’ a half-dozen cups of beverage I couldn’t smell, which was weird. Oh yeah, someone told me I might have a loss of smell, ’cause of the concussion. That could be a good thing for an ogre. We can’t get away from our overly sensitive olfactory any other way. Yeah. Our scentin’ is our super power.

Erut, Tizir, and Mama snatched a cup as they drizzled out the door. Ezra doled one out to Kriz before she set the last one down, outside my reach, and leaned up against the wall with her own. Guess she figgered I didn’t want one, I guess.

She took a careful sip before sayin’, “Hasn’t been this kind of excitement in the Valley, ever.”

Kriz actually peered up at her for a moment. Returned his attention back to his laptop as he tapped away madly. Ezra’s phone pinged. She drew it out of her skirt and read, “There was the North Wildes-Hamlet playoff two years ago.”

I had never realized he’d written an app that enabled him to text from his laptop. Explained some things. We could sell that for big bucks. Why’d he keep it so quiet? Or, maybe I knew about it. Did I? A lot of things feel a little fuzzy today.

“That match was just noisy,” Ezra mumbled. “Don’t recall any folk carted to the hospital or pokey.”

~ Ezra ~

I told the bullies I’d see em later and headed out, not yet decided if I was gonna head back to the kitchen. It was past my shift. By the time I reached the parking garage and settled in my truck, I knew I was gonna go see Thomas.

I maybe shook more than a tad as I neared Daze’s place. His SUV was in the drive, so Thomas would prolly be here.

I pulled up into the short drive and sat for a spell, askin’ myself some questions. Mainly, like, why was I here? Did I really think it was wise to follow through with what jingled and rattled somewhere in the fringes of my itty bitty brain?

I jerked. Thomas was peerin’ at me, standin’ halfway between the front door and the grill of my truck. I lowered the passenger window, and he strode up. Gave me a bit of a tickle that he could barely see over the bottom edge of the truck’s window.

“What’s up?” he asked. “You wanna come in?”

I told him, “Just a sec,” and texted Mama that I was gonna be eatin’ out. Might be late. So Thomas hadn’t asked my papa permission to sorta-court me, but my text was the next closest thing—maybe not really—but I could claim it was, later, if things turned sideways. Not like Thomas is truly courtin’ me.

I told Thomas to get in. He nodded, climbed up. Made me smile, as he scrambled like a little youngling. Would he be able to see over my dash? Prolly not much. Poor little thing.

I started my truck and put it in reverse. Thomas asked where we were going. I told him, “We’re gonna see a bit more of the Valley.”

“No rough biker bars I hope.”

That made me laugh. “No. I’m takin’ ya over to West Hamlet. Nice steakhouse there I think ya’ll like. Nestled high in the peaks. Doesn’t have the view of the Lake we have here, but ya’ll see some beautiful landscape along the windin’ road there. Really beautiful.”

“Uh. You remember I got sick on the way up here?”

I smiled. “Not thirty miles, and the speed limit never exceeds thirty-five.” Prolly really forty-five.

He didn’t look placated.

“Ya’ll do fine,” I promised. He asked how Ike was. I told him, “Near dead.” He gasped, which gave me a new smile. I asked him about Daze.

He said he got a couple bruises. “The old goat is pretty tough.”

I warned him he better never call Daze an old goat to his face. He grinned, as though I was teasin’. Fool. My experience is, old goats don’t like to be reminded their best days have past em by.

After that, I tried to get back to the conversation we were havin’ before Daze interrupted us this afternoon. But this time I made an effort to do more talkin’. To share the conversational burden, so to speak. So told him all about how close we three cousins are. That is the shiniest part of my life. Talked about how introverted and scared I’d always been of folk. How Ike and Kriz had always been there to keep me goin’.

He suggested I was the most confident person he’d ever met. I gave him an eye, but didn’t correct him on the “person” remark. Wasn’t very polite comparin’ me to a human woman. Or man, for that matter.

Told him about what it was like growin’ up in the Hamlet. Even, a little, what it was like being raised a Birs. That drew a bunch of questions from Thomas. Guess a lot of stuff the last few days had been buildin’ up in his reservoir of questions. Guess our infamous heritage is less known and blabbed about on the plains.

Think all the conversation kept his mind completely off the road, thus his stomach calm, though he did remark a few times how beautiful the fallin’ sun was between the peaks.

I pulled up to the restaurant maybe just ahead of the evening rush, because we managed to walk straight up to the hostess, as groups out the shiny ogre’s butt stacked up behind us.

Took a few minutes to organize a table that would handle both a human and an ogre. I thoroughly enjoyed watchin’ Thomas’ eyes travel over the gaggle of races arranged across the larger dining area. Don’t think there were any missin’ except for elves and dwarves, which are never seen outside of the deeper Range, for longer than I could remember. Had I heard of any elves bein’ about, in my life?

I think I calmed. Though we were prolly the only mixed-race duo, there were plenty of tables with parties of mixed races, primarily ogres, goblins, and trolls. So no one gave us more than a half-interested glance. Maybe a few humans talked behind their raised hands, as they peered our way. But I didn’t worry about them. They were vacationers—or as some folk call em, summer vultures—not my neighbors.

Thomas opted to let me order for him, which I thought odd, until I realized our server had given both of us menus in Ogrish. Doubt the visitin’ humans got the same menus. Was it a devilish prank? Our orc server better make up for it with good service, or he’d get a lousy tip.

I ordered Thomas the t-bone and a pint. A mug and the Ogre Tray for me, which claimed at least three pounds of meat for every critter ya’d find skulkin’ about the Range. That’s a lot of critters. Doubted it would include moose. Huntin’ em had been tightly regulated by the council for over a hundred years. Same for beavers. Those critters are too cute to eat anyway. Critically important to contain the flash floods that cascade down the Range’s ravines.

After our server got us our beers—never carded us—I told Thomas to tell me about his siblings. He didn’t have much to say about em, which surprised me. “Ya aren’t close?” I asked.

He looked at me blankly for a moment. “Well. We’re all a good three years apart. Each went our own way. Being the youngest, my sisters were pretty much married and living away by the time I might have started showing interest—you know, mature enough to care about them.”

Struck me odd. But I could understand, maybe. “Since my bull sibling moved out on the South Slope, I rarely see him any more. Didn’t ever get along much with his mate. So even less to bring us together.

“But.” I dragged the word out. Did I want to share this kind of bad laundry? “My papa was never much of a—” I struggled for the right word. “Cohesive factor in our lives. To make us really feel much like a family. Besides, I always had Kriz and Ike. My real family.”

Of course, I had to explain what I meant about Papa. He’s not the most dynamic ogre ya’re gonna meet. If ya can find plain yogurt with no flavor, ya’d met Papa. That thought sounded cruel. I do love Papa, but—

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