Miles Lindgren's Arc

Chapter 5 of 13

When Miles finally dragged himself upright, there was a coffee waiting on the nightstand. Black. Already gone lukewarm. Chase must have made it a while ago, before he’d even gotten in the shower, and left it there without a word. Miles drank it without thinking about it. Three sips in, throat still thick with sleep, he registered what he was doing. By then it felt stupid to make anything of it. Chase had been making him coffee like this for five years. It was muscle memory. Same as the two beds they still somehow always chose without discussion. He didn’t say thank you. Chase didn’t mention it either. He came out of the bathroom already dressed, towel around his neck, checking his phone. “Bertie’s at eight?” Chase asked, not quite looking at him. “Fine.” They didn’t speak again until they were in the car, and even then it was only logistics. Camera angles. Who’d lead the questions. Miles watched the town slide by through the window and thought about forty thousand views, and a car parked near a tree line, and didn’t say any of it out loud. Bertie’s Diner sat on the corner with its windows fogged from the inside, warm light spilling onto packed snow. The smell of coffee and bacon grease reached them before they’d even gotten the door fully open. Chase’s hand found the small of Miles’s back the second they stepped inside, easy, automatic. Miles felt the shift happen in himself without deciding to let it, some old current pulling him back into the shape of a man who was happy to be here. A handful of regulars looked up from their booths. A few did visible double takes. Bertie herself came around the counter before they’d even found a table, wiping her hands on her apron, grey hair escaping its pins around a round, weathered face. “Well, will you look at this.” She sized them both up, grinning. “Miles Lindgren, all grown up and famous. And this must be the boyfriend everybody’s been talking about.” “Chase.” He extended a hand, warm, his other arm settled comfortably around Miles’s waist. “It’s good to finally see the place. Miles talks about your pie like it’s a religious experience.” “Does he now.” Bertie’s whole face lit up. She ushered them toward a booth near the window. “Sit, sit. Coffee’s on me, for old time’s sake. Lord, Miles, last time you sat in one of these booths you couldn’t have been more than seventeen.” She bustled off toward the counter before he could answer. Chase’s hand slid from Miles’s waist to the small of his back as they settled into the booth, staying there once they were seated. Miles let it happen. Then, without quite deciding to, he scooted closer along the vinyl seat until his shoulder pressed against Chase’s, and reached for his hand under the table, lacing their fingers together the way he’d done a thousand times before any of this had gotten complicated. Chase’s fingers closed around his automatically, no hesitation at all. Neither of them said anything about it. Bertie returned with two mugs and a plate of something sweet neither of them had ordered, setting the spread down with practiced ease, then slid into the booth across the aisle, clearly happy for the company. “We wanted to ask about back when Dani disappeared,” Miles said, once Chase had the camera angled and rolling on the table. “You’d have been running the place then.” “Thirty-eight years I’ve been running this place. Course I was here.” Bertie’s warmth folded into something more careful. Her hands went still around her own mug. “Terrible thing. This whole town felt that one. Still does, I think, even the folks who don’t talk about it out loud.” Her eyes softened on Miles, nothing to do with the camera. “You two used to come in every Friday night, you know. Burgers and milkshakes, always split a plate of fries down the middle. She’d steal half your fries and you’d never say a word about it.” Something in Miles’s chest went tight and cold. Under the table, his grip on Chase’s hand tightened, just slightly. Chase’s thumb moved once across his knuckles in answer. “I remember,” Miles said, and was proud of how steady it came out. “Sweetest thing, watching you two. Whole town thought so.” Bertie shook her head slowly, some old grief passing over her face and clearing just as fast. “Her mother still comes in sometimes. Marlene. Orders the same thing every time, sits in the same booth. I always slip her a piece of pie, on the house. Woman’s had enough taken from her. She doesn’t need to pay for pie too.” “How’s she doing?” Miles asked, quieter now. “About as well as anyone could, carrying what she’s carrying.” Bertie’s face gentled further. “She’ll be glad you’re back, I think. Might take her a minute to say so. But she will be.” Miles nodded, not trusting his voice. Chase’s hand tightened around his under the table. “Anyone who might’ve seen something that week,” Chase said gently, giving Miles half a second to breathe that wasn’t visible to anyone else at the table. “Anyone out near the old ice-cutting operation, maybe, in the days before.” Bertie considered it, turning her mug slowly. “Nobody went out there. That was always the strange part, if you think about it. Kids dared each other sometimes, but grown folks stayed clear even back then. Roof was already halfway gone. If somebody was out there that week, it wasn’t for any good reason.” “Do you remember anyone who drove out that way?” Miles kept his voice even, professional, though his hand had gone still around Chase’s. Bertie’s brow furrowed. “That road doesn’t lead anywhere but the old operation and a couple hunting trails past it. Wasn’t much traffic out there ever. I do remember, now that you ask, there being talk around that time about a truck getting stuck out that way, middle of the night. Had to get pulled out the next morning. Couldn’t tell you whose it was, though. That’s the kind of thing that gets repeated so many times around here it stops meaning anything solid.” “Anyone who might remember more clearly?” Chase asked. Bertie thought about it, tapping a finger against her mug. “You ought to talk to Lenny. Man remembers everything about everyone, always has.” “That’s not a bad idea,” Miles said, and meant it. Lenny had practically raised half this town alongside their own parents. He’d certainly helped raise him and Dani both, half their childhoods spent underfoot at whatever program he was running that week. It should’ve occurred to him sooner. “He’d probably remember better than anyone.” “He would.” Bertie smiled, the way everyone in town smiled when Lenny’s name came up, like it was simply understood. “Tell him I said hello, when you see him. He’ll be glad you’re back too.” “We will,” Chase said. They wrapped the conversation not long after, thanking Bertie for the coffee and the memories both. Chase kept his hand at Miles’s back the whole walk to the door, the whole goodbye wave through the fogged window at Bertie, who watched them go, still smiling. It wasn’t until they were both in the car, doors shut, engine not yet started, that Chase’s hand finally dropped away. Miles realized his own fingers were still loosely curled from where they’d been laced through Chase’s minutes ago, an empty shape where something had just been. He uncurled them slowly, deliberately, and didn’t say anything about it. “You okay?” Chase asked, quiet now, no performance left in it at all. “I’m fine.” “Miles.” “I said I’m fine.” Miles stared through the windshield, jaw tight. “We should go see Lenny. Today, if he’s around.” Chase watched him a moment longer, something unreadable crossing his face, before he nodded and pulled out of the lot, heading toward Tundra Hearth Hall.