Page 23 of Soft Flannel Hank

“Yes. Yes. I want it. Yes. How much?”

Magda smiled that bright, wide smile of hers again. “I don’t want your money, birdie. You just fix it up, okay? And we’ll figure it out from there.”

Esther laughed brightly and threw two twenty-dollar bills on the table, more than enough to cover breakfast and a tip, and launched out of the seat. Magda rolled her eyes. “I guess I didn’t want to finish my coffee. Fine. Let’s go.”

The clock read 9:38 when they pulled out of the restaurant parking lot. Magda directed her to take a right off the main road, turning onto a gravel road that disappeared into a thick stand of cedars. At the end of the road sat a little A-frame cabin, just as Magda described it.

It was perfect. Snug. The wooden deck out front led to a green door. The first level was one main room, a living room and kitchen combined. An ancient-looking plaid couch sat on a braided rug looking out the front window. Dust motes floated thick and sparking in the sunlight streaming through the tall windows that took up nearly the whole side of the house. A ladder led up to the loft where Esther could see the tall posts of a bed rising towards the ceiling.

Magda followed her in, waving her hand in front of her face and coughing. “Needs a lot of work. I hope you’re up for it.”

Esther turned around, beaming.

“The furniture is old and definitely needs a cleaning, but it’s good stuff. The guy who sold it to me moved to Florida to be closer to his kids and didn’t want to take it with him. I think there’s a vacuum cleaner in that coat closet.”

Magda had given her a gift. Esther felt the tears welling in her eyes as she turned to look at the older woman. Weak daylight streamed through the curtain of dust behind Magda, the dust motes glittering in the air. The High Priestess, standing in the ruins of Esther’s life, ready to renew it.

“You don’t even know me,” Esther said, tears threatening.

“No,” Magda said, “I don’t. But birds of a feather recognize one another, and I like the thought of a bird like myself living so close.”

Esther opened her mouth to say that she would pay Magda for it, but Magda waved her hand before the words came out, “Bah. You’ll make it up to me. But first, take a shower. I don’t know what you’re hiding under that damn hood, but you’re not seventeen anymore. Burn it.”

* * *

Hank and Buckpassed out all the chopped wood to the elders, during which time they ate three pieces of pie, drank two cups of coffee, and changed the batteries in several smoke detectors. It was dark when Hank pulled away from Buck’s house.

As he drove home, Hank thought about his homework from Nadja.What went well today?Seeing Buck. Driving out to his house instead of Buck using his spare key to let himself into Hank’s house. Delivering wood to the elders. Being fed. Laughing, as foreign and odd it felt after so long without it.

It had felt good.

Hank liked to help people. He always had. Just as he’d always liked to protect people. Hank had been the kid on the playground that stepped up to the bullies, even if it got him a bloody nose or a black eye, even if he got detention. Hank had wanted to become a police officer when he grew up because he figured that it would just be the best job in the whole world to be a professional helper. A superhero.

That’s not what the job had been, though. Not really. Hehadhelped people, sure. But it took that terrible tragedy to make him realize that the ideals he held close, the ideals that governed his actions and behavior as an officer of the law, didn’t necessarily match up with the ideals of the institution at large, or with the institution’s history and legacy.

He didn’t want to hurt people. He never had.

And so when he left the force, Hank had locked himself away. In part because he was depressed over ripping his life apart at the seams and watching it flutter to the floor in pieces. But the bigger part was that Hank had lost all faith in his ability to help peoplewithouthurting them.

But today? Hehadhelped people. And they had helped him. More than they knew. Because while it might have been just a slice of cherry pie to them, it was so much more to him.

He pulled into the driveway, his headlights revealing an old Ford Ranger truck and Nat Jasper’s rangy body sitting on the tailgate.

Hank got out of his truck and started up the steps without a word. Nat followed him inside like a puppy. They went to the kitchen.

“Coffee?”

Nat smirked. “You know I don’t drink that stuff, buddy.”

Hank did know.

The men were quiet. Nat sat at the kitchen table while Hank made a pot of decaf for himself. When it was done and poured into an old stoneware mug, Hank took a seat across the table from Nat.

He hadn’t seen him in a long time. Not since Nat’s cousin, Edwin, and Hank’s daughter, Anna, had broken up so spectacularly that the aftershocks still rattled around in Hank’s brain. Not just aftershocks from the breakup, but from what he learned from it.

He’d learned a lot. Like what Natdiddrink.

Nat’s brown hair was buzzed short, close to his skull, and his eyes were a bright green. But dark circles framed his eyes, and his mouth looked drawn and tight. In the soft glow of the kitchen light, Nat looked tired. Hank didn’t know if people like Nat got tired, but he supposed everyone had their limits.