Blacklake-Book4-1 Three Cousins

Chapter 53
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Kriz didn’t bring his laptop into the restaurant with him. That was weird. Left his phone in his pocket the entire time too. Had just pointed at the menu, instead of speakin’ to the server. Even he can get out, ogre platter, sweet tea, without a lot of stutterin’. His eyes had tracked across the dining room almost as though he was takin’ in the folks. Never have seen him acknowledge much of anyone before. He was definitely in a mood.

I’d never heard him say a pleasant thing about Thomas, that I could recall. Plenty of rude comments. So, why is he taken back so much, with all this? Has me a bit worried. Never seen Kriz not on his laptop, as much to avoid interactions with folk, as to stay busy.

Didn’t expect Ezra to be very wordy throughout our meal. But she’s a hen. No complaint about the hunk of beef she gnawed on. Only a few observations about Thomas’ folk as we left the hospital—not negative observations. She’s not one to nitpick, in a mean way.

Think she got irritated Mama told Thomas’ folk they were stayin’ with us—it’s high season, not a lot of open hotel rooms. Did Ezra wanta open up her home to em? Erut and Tizir aren’t exactly the folk ya’d expect to step forward like that. But if Ezra had gotten an invitation of her own out before Mama jumped in, her mama and papa woulda been okay with it. Neither is very intense. Way laid back, for ogres.

Hard to believe Erut is Papa’s sibling. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume Grandmama had found herself a beau on the side, back when. Isn’t just that Erut is a bunch of years older. They don’t look a bit like siblings. Don’t really care much for each other’s company, either, though they’d deny that. Always been a noticeable discomfort between em.

Wasn’t jealousy. Not like Grandpapa Klow bestowed clan leadership upon Papa. He was elected. Erut completely avoided any duty to the clan, politically. As long as I can remember.

Why has my stinkin’ brain been flittin’ so much? Maybe ’cause I’ve been forced away from work. What I care about. I am a bit of a focused bull. But I’m not, like, nuts. I have other interests. Like—

Well. Uh. Oh—basketball.

I pulled up outside Kriz’ place. His door was open before I came to a stop, and he was slidin’ out. Slammed it behind him without so much as a hey. So maybe he’s okay. That was more like him.

“He was weird at dinner,” Ezra mumbled.

I thought about her observation, as I headed for her place. She wasn’t exactly herself, either. I asked her if she was doin’ her shift in the morning.

I think she shook her head, but it was kinda dark on her side of the truck, without any dash lights givin’ her any highlights. Certainly no headlights flashin’ at us, this time of night, even though we’re pretty much in the high tourist season now. Have to look hard to find any ice on the Lake.

The council has considered street lights several times in my lifetime. Never passes. Think I recently cogitated about us bein’ a little slow embracin’ new things. They even have street lights in the Wildes. Remember thinkin’ how weird they were, when the three of us traipsed down there on a long weekend once.

On vacation, in the Wildes. Sounds contradictory even to me. And everyone we crossed paths with down there, thought we were nuts. The Range is the vacation destination. Meh. Not when ya’ve lived here yar entire life.

~ Ezra ~

Thomas’ papa, red in the eyes, voice scratchy like he’d been munchin’ cactus, had insisted we all go home. None of us argued. But still felt wrong, me leavin’ without bein’ able to tell Thomas I was glad he was alive. Or something. Maybe I’m not good with words.

He was expected to stay under another day, to let all the stuff they’d tried to fix, heal up a bit. My chest tightened again. If I hadn’t wanted to be a part of his life before—I always knew at the end of the summer he’d be off for the Plain—I oddly hoped, at least played with the idea of him stickin’ around, after. He could make a life for himself in the Hamlet, right?

Ike drove me up our drive. I got out, told him good night, as our eyes connected—not in a meanin’ful way. Just in that, well knowin’ way between us. Words aren’t frequently needed—between the three of us. The cab’s dome light felt a little intrusive, before I closed the door.

He backed all the way to the road. Show off. Plenty of room to do a three-point.

Don’t know why I stood there, watchin’ the lights of his old truck disappear in the trees, kinda light headed, out of body—sorta.

“Can’t believe he didn’t die.” The deep voice vibrated through my entire body. How— Why— Some ogre at our place. Didn’t freakin’ belong. Again?

I swiveled around and looked for the owner of the voice. To be honest, we ogres don’t have the best night vision. But found his scent easily enough. Amazin’ I hadn’t noted it when I first got out of the truck. Clearly, he hadn’t showered in a bit. On the lam, who knew, hard to maintain proper hygiene.

I stared into the blackness. Couldn’t see him, but I knew exactly where in the edge of the pines he stood. There was no breeze playin’ with his odor.

My fingers twitched at the end of my hands, though I felt amazin’ly relaxed, for bein’ approached in the middle of the night, again. One bull. Not too scary. So I sniffed. Turned my head left and right sniffin’ more. Pretty certain this bull was alone.

“Don’t need no help,” the voice rasped.

Should I pull out my phone? Try to shout Papa outa bed? They had surely called it a day already. Mama woulda fixed em a snack, and they woulda turned in promptly after. They’ve always been early risers, so don’t dither about in the evening.

I waited.

Finally. The owner of the harsh voice stepped forward. I really didn’t see him, only the shift in the shadows. Or the dark—wasn’t much of a moon tonight to really make shadows here under the pine canopy. I would be clear to him though. The folks had left the breezeway light on for me, and I stood in the meager glow of the sixty watt bulb.

The fool was blatherin’ something now, don’t know what. I was more payin’ ’tention to gleam his intentions via his posture. Just wasn’t much to see yet.

His voice turned a bit angrier. Maybe he was sayin’ something he expected me to respond to. Or the odious vapors escapin’ from his face agitated him a bit.

He stepped into the feeble light now, and something metallic glinted in one hand. Stink. Could only be one thing. A freakin’ knife. The other held a four-foot length of tree—call it a make-do club. That would hurt. Had this fool used something like it on Thomas?

It occurred to me, that one of us wasn’t leavin’ this double track alive, and if I didn’t keep my wits about me, I could be the one not walkin’ away.

~