An Iron-Body Fighter Told Single Mom "Your Punches Are Useless" — She Was Down, 6 Seconds Later He Regretted!
Chapter 10
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The rest of the afternoon passes in the ordinary rhythm of Callie's days. She finishes her shift at the front desk, drives across town toward the diner. On the way, she passes the community center: there's already a banner going up out front, half-unrolled, flapping in the wind. She can just make out a few of the words:Mill Haven Firefighters Memorial — Honoring Those Who Never Came Home.She doesn't stop; she doesn't slow down, even. But her hands tighten on the wheel for a block or two, and she doesn't loosen them again until the building's gone from her mirror. Five days, she thinks. Five days until that banner means something real again.She clocks in at the diner, refills coffee cups, takes orders, and smiles at strangers until her face aches from it. The diner's owner, a woman named Opal Jennings, has run the place for almost 20 years—white hair pulled into a bun, reading glasses on a chain around her neck. She doesn't miss much of anything that happens under her roof.The dinner crowd tonight is the usual mix: a table of retired men arguing about high school football scores from 40 years ago like the outcome still matters; a widower who orders the same meatloaf special every Tuesday, always leaving exactly the same tip folded exactly the same way. Opal knows every one of their orders by heart, the way she knows most everything about most everyone in Mill Haven.One of the regulars tonight is Harold Kepler, a retired firefighter who worked the same station as Everett for almost a decade. He's in his 60s now, broad-shouldered, slow-moving, with a laugh that still fills up a room. He stops by the counter on his way out."You doing all right, Callie?" he asks. He asks her the same question most weeks; he always means it."Getting by, Harold.""Friday's going to be a good night," he says. "Whole department's coming out. We're going to do this one right—for Everett, and for all of them." He squeezes her shoulder once, gentle, the way an old friend does. "He'd be proud of you, working this hard. Still standing.""Thanks, Harold."He nods, tips an invisible hat, and heads out into the evening. The bell above the door rings behind him—same as it did for Gordon Aldridge that morning, though it means something entirely different coming from Harold.Around 6:00, during a lull between the dinner rush, Opal leans against the counter next to Callie. She studies her for a long moment. "You're somewhere else today," Opal says."Just tired."Opal doesn't push—not right away. She refills her own coffee and looks out the window at the street. "Heard Bronson Voss was giving you a hard time at the gym this morning."Word travels fast in a town like Mill Haven; Callie isn't surprised. "He's all noise," Callie says, echoing Gus without meaning to."Some noise is just noise," Opal agrees. "Some noise is a warning." She sips her coffee. "My father used to say the loudest man in the room is usually the one most scared of being figured out."Callie almost laughs. "You've got a saying for everything, Opal."