Page 59 of Half Truths (Secret Society 1)
“Pretty,” he said.
“This is my friend, Mae,” Hailey said, her voice loud and clear. “Friend.”
“Pretty friend.” Deacon grinned.
There was something obviously wrong with him, but I didn’t know what. My automatic assumption of him and thinking he was mean was way off though. Deacon obviously had an impediment. I took Hailey’s lead and spoke in a raised, clear voice, and hoped it sounded less like a shout and more teacher-like authority.
“Hi, Deacon.” I smiled.
He walked over to me, boots stomping loudly, stared at me for a moment longer. It was enough to get me frazzled. His clear blue eyes were zoned in on me as if trying to uncover the thoughts inside my head. I tore my gaze away and looked at Hailey, who was on her phone, then Becca, who was busy making my coffee.
“Your latte, Mae,” Becca said after a beat.
I turned and bolted in that direction, grateful for the interruption. When I looked back, Deacon was still standing in the same spot, staring at me. A shiver rolled through me as I picked up the latte, which thankfully was in a to-go cup. Normally, I got it in a ceramic mug because I sat here for hours. Today, I wanted nothing more than to get out. Deacon walked toward me, but instead of stopping, he went behind the counter. I moved away from it, toward the couch I usually sat on. Hailey walked over, gnawing her bottom lip as she approached. She looked like she had a million things on her mind today and I wasn’t sure I wanted to stick around long enough for her to tell me what they were. Not with Deacon here.
“I like your hair.” I set down my latte. “The brown looks good on you.”
“Thanks. I did it myself.” She smiled, sitting across from me. She looked over at where Deacon was. Even Becca was keeping a distance, I noticed, but it could have been my imagination.
“Is he okay?” I asked. Her attention snapped back to me.
“He had a motorcycle accident when he was seventeen. Suffered major damage to his brain, so he’s in and out. Sometimes he has completely normal conversations, sometimes he doesn’t speak for days, and other times he does this thing where he only says words here and there.”
“God, that must be so hard,” I whispered.
I instantly thought of Lincoln and felt my eyes fill with tears. What if he woke up and was like that? We’d help him, of course. We’d love him, no doubt. How would he cope though? After having such a huge personality. How could he cope like that? My eyes followed Deacon as he got something out of the glass case that held the croissants and loaves.
“You’re thinking about your brother.”
“How could I not? Who knows how his brain is right now and whether or not he’ll react like this when he wakes up?” I wiped my face quickly.
“Maybe.” She stood and walked behind the bar and started fiddling with the coffee machine. “So, what’s new with you? How are classes? How’s the newspaper stuff going?”
I was still stuck on the maybe and the nonchalant way in which she’d said it. She didn’t know Lincoln, not really anyway, but she’d had a crush on him, possibly even slept with him if he was the hockey player she’d told me about.
“Classes are fine. Newspaper is fine,” I said, responding to her question in hopes that it would distract me from reading into things too much.
I looked over at Deacon and Becca. He was scarfing down a croissant, while she was texting someone on her phone. The front door opened and people walked in—two police officers and one blonde pregnant lady behind them. Hailey walked back over to me and sat down in the same seat. She picked up the remote and unmuted the television, where once again, there was a picture of Lana.
“The anonymous caller claims to have seen Lana Ly, a student at Ellis University, who disappeared earlier this year. When questioned, the caller said she’d been in the woods drinking illegally with friends and didn’t think anything of it until the following day,” the news reporter said. They displayed a different picture of Lana, wearing a floral spring dress and smiling at the camera. “If you have any information, please reach out to the police.”
“Pretty doll,” Deacon said from behind the counter, pointing at the screen. “Pretty doll.”
“She’s not a doll, Deacon. She’s a girl who’s gone missing,” Becca said, clearly irritated. She gave me an apologetic look, shaking her head.
“Hey, Becca. Hailey.” One of the police officers took his hat off and greeted them. “How are the cows, Deacon?”
“They’re good,” he said slowly. “A lot of milk.”
“That’s great. So you’re still using them for dairy?” the other officer asked.
“Yes, until I can’t no more. They’re my babies.” He shrugged.
