“Terrific,” Ash muttered.
Waves of nervous nostalgia tossed inside her stomach as she squinted through the glass. Behind the register Bill Werner, who co-owned the shop with his wife Rosita, wrapped a burrito in foil and took a customer’s money. Werner was a grumpy walrus of a man, complete with a massive mustache and blubbery chest. The second Ash opened the door, he looked up, but didn’t seem to recognize her.
Inside, talk buzzed at every table. Mariachi music jingled while salsa bottles clicked and staffers shouted back and forth. The air reeked of spilled grease and cheap steak, along with the lemony scent of mopped floor tiles.
Ash took two steps before Werner stormed out from behind the counter, apron flapping against his knees.
“Get outta my shop.”
The seated customers pretended not to notice.
“Bill? What’s wrong?” said a voice from the kitchen. Rosita Werner burst through the door hugging two massive bags of lettuce to her sides. She slammed them down next to the tortilla presser and hurried to her husband’s side. “Ash? Ash Hudson? Get out, now! You’re not welcome here.”
“I’m looking for Candace,” Ash said, her cheeks burning.
“Look elsewhere.” Bill Werner spread his thick arms, blocking her path forward. “Get going.”
“But—”
“Last time you were here,” Rosita said, her voice cracking, “we had to call the fire department and remodel. Now leave!”
“Last warning,” Werner added.
“I need to see Candace.”
“That’s it!” Werner grabbed his phone. “I’m calling the cops—real cops, not half-wits like your father. I won’t have any tattooed terrorists in my shop.”
“Shut it, the both of you,” a voice snapped from the back of the restaurant.
That voice. Candace.
She rose from the back booth, her face gray and shriveled. Goddamn, did she look like hell. Wrapped in a bulky denim jacket, her upper body resembled an overstuffed beanbag as she approached. She stepped alongside Werner and whispered something in his ear. His outstretched arm drooped. He steered his wife behind the counter as Candace added, “That kitchen fire was fourteen years ago. Get over it.”
Ash couldn’t be happier to see her.
Candace gave her a hug that could crack stone. “Great having you back, girlie.”
“Missed you,” Ash said, squeezing with her good arm.
They went to the back booth and sat across from Mick, Candace’s shaved-headed giant of a son. Last time Ash saw him, he’d been a skinny fifth grader. Now he was the size of a soda machine.
“Damn, Mick,” Ash said, gawking at his wide, bulging shoulders. “You shrank.”
“Shrank?” Mick snorted, a grin spreading between his scruffy cheeks. He looked nothing like his namesake, Mick Jagger. “What, you drink yourself blind out on tour?”
“No, the booze keeps me sharp,” she said. “Which reminds me, did you grow a brain since I left? Last I saw you, you were flossing with one of my guitar strings.”
Candace laughed into her napkin. “God, you two. Ash, if you ever want your babysitting gig back, say the word. Hell, maybe you can get Mickey’s grades up.”
“Failing outta middle school, are we?” she asked him.
“Pssh. I’m forty credits from graduating.”
“He’s a starting linebacker at Penn State,” Candace said, her tone proud. “Even got a vote for All-Conference last year.”
“All-Conference?” Ash asked.
“It means he’s one of the best,” Candace said. “And not just in my eyes.”
“Ma…” Mick whined. For a huge dude, he had a nasal, nerdy voice.
“Ma, what?” Candace said. She turned to Ash. “Speaking of the best, I bought multiple copies of your albums. I want them signed.”
Ash frowned. “Listen, I need to talk to you about something.” She lifted her hand from her purse but kept it beneath the table where only Candace could see.
Candace set her jaw. She jingled her keys out of her pocket and slapped them on the table. “Mickey, since you’re not eating, head to the banquet hall and start moving those tables.” She looked to Ash. “We’re shampooing the carpets for the holidays.”
With a grunt, Mick took the keys and left the booth.
“Want his burrito bowl?” Candace asked, gesturing at it. “He didn’t even touch it. Athletes and their oddball diets.”
“I just ate.”
Candace frowned, scratching her scalp. “So, your hand. How bad?”
“If it were a mutt, you’d put it to sleep.”
“Poor puppy. Can’t do surgery?”
“It won’t save my career.”
“Neither will the creek.”
“Bullshit,” Ash said, clenching her fist. “Did my father tell you to say that?”
“Ash, the left hand was claimed years ago. And there’s only one of each part.”
A void widened in Ash’s chest. “Is that why I couldn’t see my better self in the water yesterday?”
“No, that was the cameras.” She lowered her voice as a busboy wiped down the adjacent table. “Snare only appears if you’re alone. The ghost gets stage fright if any extra eyes—including cameras—are looking.”
“Who has the left hand?”
“That’s private.”
“You can trust me.”
“I can’t trust anyone,” Candace said, poking at her rice. “Otherwise we’d have people killing each other for parts. Would you like it if some cripple shot your father to free up the knees?”
“No, but…” Her throat turned to sand. “Can I at least try to trade? Maybe Snare has extra hands.”
“That’s not how it works. Besides, I’ve got a busy day ahead. Can’t be prancing through the woods.”
“Then shut off the cameras. I’ll go alone.”
“You went alone yesterday. How’d that work out?”
Ash slammed her fist on the table. Silverware jumped.
Werner glared disapprovingly from behind the counter.
She lowered her voice. “I need that hand. If I can’t get it, at least let me have closure. Let me walk away knowing I tried everything I could to fix it.”
“You already have.”
“For fuck’s sake, I’m nothing without my hand.”
“Now you’re being childish.”
“Candace.” She bit her lip to keep from yelling. “Please.”
Scooping her rice, Candace sighed. “Tell you what. Since Mickey’s already moving those tables, I guess we can make a quick trip up there. For closure.”
Ash sighed with relief. “Thanks.”
“One condition.” Candace tapped the table. “Promise me you’ll start texting your father again.”
“Pick another condition.”
“Ash, he needs you in his life.”
“Not as much as he needed to bury that lady in the woods.”
“Cut him a break. That was forever ago. Besides, he dug that grave to protect us Traders.”
“He didn’t even tell me about the Traders till I caught him playing undertaker.”