Grant lowered his voice.
“Ruby.”
She hated when he did that.
The low voice meant the public version of Grant was disappearing.
“Don't make this worse.”
Bear said:
“She's nineteen?”
Grant turned.
“Yes.”
“Then she said no.”
Grant stared at him.
“Jack.”
Bear waited.
“I don't know what Ruby has told you.”
“She hasn't told me anything.”
True.
That seemed to bother Grant more.
He looked at Ruby.
“Then what's happening here?”
Bear shrugged.
“Breakfast.”
One of the bikers seated two stools down laughed quietly.
His name was Mack Doyle.
Sixty-one.
Long gray ponytail.
Retired electrician.
Beside him sat Theo Briggs, forty-nine, Black, broad-shouldered, wearing a dark riding jacket over a gray shirt.
Ruby had served both before.
Neither had spoken yet.
But both were watching.
Grant noticed.
His posture shifted.
“We don't want trouble.”
Bear said:
“Good.”
“We just want to take our daughter home.”
Ruby finally spoke.
“I'm not your daughter.”
The diner became quieter.
Not silent.
But nearby conversations slowed.
Grant’s face changed.
Pain.
Perfectly performed.
“Ruby.”
“You're not my father.”
“I raised you.”
“That doesn't make me your property.”
A truck driver stopped chewing.
Dale said:
“Watch your mouth.”
Theo turned his head.
Bear looked at Dale.
“No.”
Dale stared.
Bear continued:
“Don't talk to her like that.”
Grant stepped between them slightly.
“Let's keep this calm.”
Bear almost smiled.
“That's what we're doing.”
Grant looked toward Ruby.
“Your grandmother is sick.”
Ruby froze.
That was new.
“Which grandmother?”
Grant hesitated.
Her mother’s mother had died three years earlier.
Her biological father's mother lived in Nevada and had not spoken to Ruby since she was eleven.
Grant recovered.
“Your aunt Linda.”
Ruby stared.
“You just said grandmother.”
Dale looked at Grant.
Tiny mistake.
Bear noticed.
Grant sighed.
“This is exactly what I mean.”
He looked around at the diner.
“She's overwhelmed.”
Ruby felt the old confusion enter.
It was almost physical.
Grant could make reality feel negotiable.
He could say something clearly wrong, then respond to being corrected as though the correction proved Ruby unstable.
He had done it for years.
“You told me Aunt Linda was fine last week.”
Grant’s eyes sharpened.
“So you got my message.”
Ruby realized too late.
Trap.
Grant smiled faintly.
“You said you weren't receiving anything.”
“I didn't say that.”
“You told the court.”
“No.”
Ruby's thoughts scattered.
Bear turned toward her.
“Ruby.”
She looked at him.
His voice softened.
“Coffee pot.”
She looked down.
Her hand was still gripping it.
“Put it down.”
She did.
Bear pushed his untouched water glass toward her.
“Drink.”
Grant scoffed.
“She doesn't need—”
Bear looked at him.
The sentence stopped.
Ruby took the water.
One sip.
Then another.