Jimmy Bluefeather: A Novel by Kim Heacox Page B

waffle a minute in the waffle iron. Little Mac opened a couple rashers of bacon. Out came the butter with maple syrup tinged with spruce tips and nagoonberry jam. Best waffles in Alaska. Keb tried to remember if James had ever turned them down. Wounded and confused, James probably wanted to get away with Little Mac. That’s why Gracie recruited her, and Truman and Coach Nicks and the ballplayers, James’s best friends, hoping as hopeless people do that things could be as they once had been, back when her son had two good legs and lived in an ocean of light. Back when she made waffles after every home game victory—there had been many—and the lanky-legged boys ate and laughed and told stories with such bravado you’d have thought they’d just slain a mammoth.
    The Lakers jersey kid zoomed off on his motorcycle to follow the Gant brothers down the hog-backed road to make sure they didn’t double back. Who was this kid? Keb was beginning to like him. Coach Nicks said his name was Hugh; he lived alone in a rat-hole trailer down at the boat harbor and worked as acarpenter and heavy equipment operator. He looked about fifteen, but according to Deputy Sheriff-in-Training Stuart Ewing, he had a driver’s license that said he was twenty-three. He came from up north and never got cold and smoked cigarettes and sometimes wore wire-rim glasses that made him look like Johnny Depp, though his manner was all dispossessed Indian. Stuart had run a criminal check on him and come up clean. Beyond that, nobody knew much.
    Ten minutes later the kid motored back up the road, parked his motorcycle, and stood at the door until James waved him in. The waffle iron was hot, the bacon browning.
    “Smells good,” Kid Hugh said.
    “Did you see the Gant brothers?” Coach Nicks asked him.
    “Nope.”
    He sat down with a polite nod to Gracie and Little Mac. Everybody listened as Stuart’s Jeep rumbled up the road. He came through the door with Carmen Kelly and Daisy Robinson, Carmen with her book of horoscopes, Daisy with her cribbage board.
    “Where’d they go?” Coach Nicks asked Stuart.
    “Up the Pepper Mountain Road.”
    “You going to talk to them?”
    “I already did.”
    “What’d you say?”
    “I said they need to stay civil and calm. So do you, James.”
    James shrugged. Kid Hugh opened a small knife, cut a callus off the palm of his hand, and said to James, “You should probably get a gun.”
    “No,” Gracie snapped.
    “For protection,” Kid Hugh added.
    “No guns,” Stuart said.
    “Everybody in America has a right to bear arms,” Carmen said.
    “And arm bears,” added Daisy, a flaming environmentalist who like Carmen had a crush on Truman.
    “Charlie’s a Gemini,” Carmen announced. “That’s why he’s witty and adaptable and clever but also devious and superficial. With Jupiter in ascension the way it is right now, and with Mars totally in Virgo, he’s not the one to worry about.” Keb watched Coach Nicks roll his eyes. “Tommy’s the one to worry about. He’s an Aries. So is Pete Brickman. That’s why they’re friends. That’s why Tommy has a bad temper. He’s going to be even more unstable with Mercury in retrograde and with Venus as a morning star.”
    “I thought Venus was a planet,” Daisy said.
    “It is.”
    Keb ate his third waffle and did his best to follow Carmen, talking the way she did: like, oh my God, everything so totally like something else. Truman called it simile shock, whatever that meant. He said her horoscope was actually a horrorscope, since most of what she predicted was doom and gloom. But she did it with a fetching smile, and since Truman’s heart was as big as a pumpkin, he treated Carmen like a scholar and she loved him for it. Others thought she was a fruitcake. Carmen and Daisy were good friends, and that went a long way. In fact, as Keb looked around the table and saw so many people knitted together by friendship, it warmed him and reminded him that when he grew up