"No," she pressed lovely lips together in a tight smile, "put it away, Tim."

"Marie," he said, but saw her lush green eyes, flecked with gold, sparked. Tim lowered the book, though he had promised her mother. "Why don't we go inside? I'm sure you're hungry, after such a long drive from up north, Inky."

A sharp laugh drew up her lips in a lovely smile, "Do you still have trouble saying Enka?" She recalled it had taken a couple of years to fix his stutter, and to say her middle name. Marie helped his speech, and he took beatings on her behalf from other children, "I may let you buy a girl some food. Don't suppose they sell a decent beer?"

"No," he tucked the book under one arm, "it's still a dry county. But, they still have great fries, decent gravy, and cold pop." Tim looked in her eyes, blushed, and ran his hand through strawberry blonde hair, clover green eyes averted.

Marie had coasted into Country Cheer's parking lot. Located off Highway 80, its soft neon called to truckers and travelers in search of respite. Golden light of the sign blazed out, before it flickered. A silhouette of a buxom woman was outlined in a bloody apple-red. Once the tray in the figure's hand flashed, but had gone dark long ago. Art Deco had weathered the years, yet money for repairs had declined.

Splashes of neon light burned across the parking lot. The hues had muted, and the flow stuttered. Unsteady luminescence snaked, and crawled over gravel. Oil from busted engines thickened the dusty air. Wet heat drowned the body in sweat, and her clothes clung to creamy coffee skin. Rumble of trucks reverberated in the chest. Frogs, cicadas, and chiggers droned on in a dazed, idiot chorus in a hot torpor. A car passed to kick up dust that hung in the air. Taste of the gritty air set in Marie's guts. Although the colors burned bright, the shadows grew deeper which held County Cheer in its grip.

Degradation had crept into the diner, Marie saw. Like its exterior, the interior had suffered from age and decline of the town of Hemlock Hurst. A row of soft pink stools lined the counter, leather seats cracked like a dry mud hole. Many of the tiles at the bottom were shattered from years of hard boots. The jukebox stuttered, and speakers held a low buzz. From the kitchen, the sound of fries was constant. Besides the burgers, people knew Country Cheer served exquisite shakes, and many stopped for one after work.

Pastel blues, reds, and pinks failed to cast a happy glow. Lines in haggard faces deepened. Their eyes roamed about the food. Children stared at their parents, shuffled, but kept silent. Truckers and travelers gave Marie barely a glance. Townsfolk of Hemlock Hurst watched her; hushed questions crept under the music. Their eyes followed them, although all looked away when she looked around.

"Things never change," she pressed her lips together. "You have to love the country charm. I feel welcomed, like a member of the family."

"La Voison…Hill—" a man drew back from Marie, bloodshot eyes focused on hers.

Marie turned, blushed, but the man fell silent with a shiver. "Ignorant superstition," she glanced about the diner, which had fallen silent.

"Let us get a booth," Tim touched her elbow, smattering of freckles disappeared with his blush. "We can catch up a little."

"I never understood why you stayed," she scooted into a booth. "It smells like cow pie, inbreeding, and mutant idiocy."

Tim covered his mouth, but the laugh had leapt free, "I just want to have a…family and a dependable job."

"Yes, how is that going? Do you have the apple pie and the white picket fence?" she smiled, but watched his eyes. "Your bed was the last I had warmed, and I was fired."

"The factory closed and I'll probably lose my house," he smiled, though lips moved as if tasting something bitter.

"Oh," she blinked, and reached for his hand. Marie's mother had loved Tim, and had spoken of him often, when she had called Bethany. She picked up the spoon instead, "It must be hard on you and Eve."

He jerked at his wife's name, "I…guess your mother never told you."

"She told me you got married," Marie's green flecked with gold eyes searched the table for anything her mother had told her. "Beth was bummed. She would have married us."

"She passed," he said, but focused on the table.

Marie's time investigating stories had taught her much of human nature. "I'm sorry, Tim," she took his hand, "I didn't know. Do you want to talk?"

The waitress, who moved at a languid crawl, had finally made it to table. Black hair threaded with gray stuck to her neck. Bags under her eyes looked bruised, jowls jiggled, and she plastered a smile across her face. A name tag had "Lucy" on it, next to a smiley face pin. She placed straws on the table, but withdrew with a squeak as Marie's hand drew close.

"Sorry," Lucy said, but looked at Tim.

"It is okay," he glanced at Marie, who crossed her arms. "Bring us Cheer Burger meals," he smiled, "thank you."

"Maybe, I should have some tea, so I can read the leaves. I wonder what they'll do, if I give them the Evil Eye, and curse them."

He grinned, "At least we could have a meal without people staring. It is good to see you, and I'm glad you came back."

"Sorry, I missed Beth's funeral," she looked away from his eyes, "I had to get some money together, before I could come back."

"I was afraid you'd stay away. I know you wanted to escape…Hemlock Hurst," Tim cleared his throat.

"You loved Bethany, I know. BUT, you weren't her daughter. YOU…think it's easy for me to come back?" she shook her head, but glanced at the book on the table. It had been carried by the La Voison women through the generations. "It always ends the same," lovely eyes found his, "So, tell me, was she even lucid at the end?"