Hell Bound

Four

I didn't know where to take the kid for food, and I had groceries in the trunk. So I decided to stick to something close by and quick. Or maybe it was a pathetic excuse to retrace my steps. But as soon as we pulled into the parking lot, my stomach twisted up in knots, and nausea replaced the nostalgia. Absence had not made the heart grow fonder. I still hated that damn diner. So I told Graham so.

"Then why'd you bring me here?" he asked as we got out and met on the sidewalk. He looked perplexed.

"It's close, cheap, and we can get out of here quickly," I explained.

He followed me in, and I groaned as the memories washed over me. In retrospect, I hadn't spent much time working there. But it was a liminal space where the minutes felt like hours, but still seemed to blur all at the same time. It came rushing back as I stood there, taking in the scent of greasy food and hearing the malt machine whir violently on the back counter. Everything looked exactly the same. From the cheap Elvis posters to the nonworking jukeboxes on every table.

The servers wore different faces though. I half expected to see Marion (if that was even her real name) bustling around the place. But after a moment, I remembered she wasn't actually a server. She'd been working for Talbot the entire time because, while he liked me, he apparently never fully trusted me. And probably for good reason. Because I did bring the Winter Soldier into my home and made him make waffles and mow my lawn.

We got the attention of a waiter and put in a to-go order. Then we took a booth against the windows to sit down and wait. The plastic seats felt permanently sticky, and my eyes immediately found the windows in the building across the street. I wondered once if he was watching me from them. Now I was wondering the same thing.

"So, can I ask you a question now?" I crossed my arms over the sticky table and faced Graham. I was the one seated with my back to the wall this time. In the spot Sam usually took. And Bucky, the one time. But I wasn't pretending to be anyone else anymore. So I was allowed to follow my natural instincts. I didn't like sitting with my back to the door.

Graham sat with his hands in his lap, like he was trying to appear smaller. Which was why it was so hard to believe he was military at first. He had impeccable posture, but he looked like he was fifteen. Of course, my idea of what a fifteen-year-old was skewed since I hadn't spent much time with teenagers since I was one. Had I looked like this at twenty-three? Baby-faced and innocent?

"Sure, I guess," he replied nervously as he picked at the bottom of a dessert menu.

"Where do you live?" He sighed heavily and poked at the container of coffee creamer packets instead.

"When I got home, I stayed with my mom for a few months," he told me. "But that didn't work out."

"So where are you staying now?" He shrugged.

"I have buddies who let me crash once in a while."

"How often?"

"Just whenever."

"Do you have a job?" He sighed again and didn't answer. "So, what do you do when you're not at meetings?"

"Read. Usually."

"The same book you've been reading since we met."

"Yeah, so? I like it."

"I have a bookshelf, you know?" He turned back at me, looking more like a petulant teenager than a grown twenty-three-year-old former soldier.

"Does it have books in it?" he asked. I nodded slowly.

"That's usually what people put on bookshelves."