Page 13 of Shine: Sins of the Father
We dismount, stash our helmets, and Shine holds the door for me. A little bell rings over it as we walk in. I pretend it’s all new to me, glancing around.
Shine grabs a green plastic shopping basket from a stack near the door and passes it to me.
The place has a gift and knickknack section up front, but farther back is mainly grocery items. I fill the basket with eggs, bacon, bread, butter, a small container of milk, coffee and some lunch meat and cheese for later. Shine goes to a cooler in the back and meets me at the counter with a six-pack of beer. At the last minute, he tosses in a package of marshmallows, graham crackers, and a couple of chocolate bars from a display at the counter.
My eyes lift to his, and he grins.
“Come on. Who doesn’t love s’mores?”
I giggle, and the clerk rings us up, making chit-chat about the weather and fishing. I’m surprised when Shine actually sounds like he’s been before, talking about lures and bait until I roll my eyes at him.
“You two hear about the fire?” the clerk asks, bagging up our items.
“Nope. What fire?” Shine replies.
“It started in Oakhurst last night.”
“How far away is Oakhurst?” Shine asks with a concerned frown.
“These mountainous roads—it would take you three hours to drive there, but as the crow flies, it’s only about fifty miles.”
“That’s pretty far. We’re safe, right?” I ask.
The clerk’s eyes shift to me. “Depends which way the wind blows and how fast it moves. A wildfire can travel as fast as fourteen miles an hour.”
“So, it could be on us in less than four hours?” Shine glances toward the door.
“I’m not saying it’s headed this way. Right now, the wind is keeping it moving south, but that can change. I’m just saying it’d be smart to keep the news on.”
“Hell, I don’t even know if the cabin’s got a TV that works,” Shine murmurs.
“It does. I had it on before you came,” I quickly add.
The clerk nods. “I’d keep the news station on all night. And watch the sky. You smell smoke, then the wind’s shifted this way.”
“Thanks,” Shine says, then pays and grabs the beer and the paper bag of supplies, and we return to the bike.
Glancing back, I lift a brow. “You worried?”
“Nah. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
I nod, knowing the odds are we will be. “So, you fish, huh?”
He squats to load the saddlebags. “My dad used to take me when I was little.”
“Are you and your father close?”
“We were until I joined the club. That pissed him off. We didn’t talk for years.”
“And now? Did you work it out?”
“Nope. Now he’s dead.”
My smile falters. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was he sick?”
“Yeah. Heart failure.”
He doesn’t seem like he wants to talk about it, so I don’t pry. When he latches the saddlebags closed, he stands and hands me the helmet that obviously belonged to someone he cared about—someone he cared about enough to keep the helmet, perhaps in the chance they’d come back. The sudden thought occurs to me that maybe that girl is dead, too. Maybe they had a wreck, and she was hurt. My mind always seems to run away with me, and I put the brakes on. I need to stop making up scenarios that probably aren’t true. Still, as I stare at the cute little pink heart sticker, I can’t help but wonder about her.
