“Nonsense.”

She threw him a stern glance. “As soon as we’re done here, we’re—”

“Actually,” Brian interjected, moving his arm to the back of the bench and right over Ms. Ashton’s shoulders, “as soon as we’re done here, we’re picking up your car.”

“He’s right,” Eustace said. “I’ll have Doc take a look.”

She studied him as though she could determine a man’s honesty with a simple look. “You promise?”

“Sure.”

“I mean it, Eustace. It might be just a scratch, but if you don’t keep on top of that, you’re looking at infection…”

Eustace chuckled. “I promise, I promise.”

“All right.” She smiled, taking her first delicate sip of coffee. The cringe was subtle and quick, but a cringe nonetheless. If Henry ever smiled in front of his fellow residents, that would have been a good time.

“I know,” Regina said, hand on her hip. “It’s terrible.”

“No,” Ms. Ashton argued. “It’s fine, it’s just…hot.”

“It’s all right, Beth. It’s what this place is known for: coffee so horrible no one speaks of it.” Laughter. Even Ms. Ashton chuckled.

“I’m just not usually keen on all the extras.”

“You like it black?” Regina threw a quick glance at Henry before looking back to Ms. Ashton, as though the way they took their coffee placed some common ground between them.

“Usually, but it really depends on—”

“I can make you another cup, honey. I just assumed…”

“No, please. It’ll do just the way it is.” She began sipping more before Regina could argue, her expression far too pleasant for the way it probably tasted going down.

“So, Beth,” Brian said, lowering his arm another inch and fitting it more snuggly around her shoulders. She cowered ever so slightly. “Where are you driving from, and where to?”

“Los Angeles, and…I’m not sure yet.”

“Adventurous.” He smiled.

She rested her elbows on the table, relieving her shoulders of his arm, and scratched her hairline. “You can call it that, I guess.” She hid something, Henry could tell, and suddenly he was more opposed to her being here than before.

“Are you…a movie star?” It came from Sheppy. Everyone turned to the unbalanced boy with the red backpack and lime green Chucks, who had excitement all over his face. In age, he was as much a man as Brian (if you could call Brian that), but in mind he was just a boy. Sheppy had lived on his own in Hemlock Veils for five years now, in the old shack-like house at the edge of Center Street. Most didn’t know his real name, only that he had always gone by Sheppy, but Henry made it a point to know vital information about the residents of his town. Legally, he was Maxwell Sheppy, born in Seattle and left an orphan by his suicidal parents at age eight. For all Henry knew, that red backpack was all he had of his childhood. No one had ever seen him without it, and what it contained was a mystery. However, if it wasn’t for that red backpack, nothing would seem odd at first glance. His fiery orange hair was combed and his clothes well-maintained. But the backpack didn’t fit. Something about it labeled him unbalanced.

Half the diner’s occupants snickered—even Nicole, who usually treated him with uncharacteristic kindness. But Ms. Ashton gave Sheppy a pleasant smile, again as though she understood him with one glance. “No,” she said, still smiling. “Nothing like that.”

He walked to her, chuckling nervously. A school boy’s titter. “You sure? ’Cause you look like one, like a pretty Hollywood star.”

Brian threw Sheppy a cold stare. “Sheppy—”

“It’s okay,” Ms. Ashton said, not glancing at Brian. “That’s very sweet of you. Sheppy, is it?”

He nodded through another nervous laugh.

She extended her hand. “I’m Elizabeth. But you can call me Beth.”

He took it, shaking vigorously. “I like you, Beth. Even if you’re not a movie star.”

She chuckled. “I like you, too, Sheppy.”

***

Regina wiped down the counter, hypnotizing Henry with the swift, circular motion of her hands. They went about their work as though they had a mind of their own, and Henry realized he hadn’t glanced at a word on his newspaper in too many minutes, his mind occupied with thoughts of their visitor. He contemplated whether he should finish his coffee when the clang of dishes brought him to attention.

“You know, Beth,” Nicole said, not bothering to hide her irritation. The stack of plates she once held was now on the empty table next to Ms. Ashton, Brian, Eustace, and Taggart. Her hands found her hips. “I got taken once, too, you know.”

Ms. Ashton seemed caught off guard. “Taken?”

“By the monster.” One could hear a pin drop in the silence, and Ms. Ashton’s eyes softened. Henry began feeling sick.

“I’m really sorry to hear that.”

Nicole shrugged while producing the same fake tears she’d been producing the past two years. At first, during the week after her attack, her tears had been real ones, engendered by the trauma. Even he had felt sympathetic. But not now. She’d learned during that week what those tears could get her, and when she did use them, no one questioned them. Because who had the right to question the woman who’d been attacked by a monster?

“I got a little too close to the forest, that’s all,” she finally said. “Before I knew it I was over its back while it ran through the trees. I couldn’t see anything, and it didn’t matter how much I screamed, ’cause no one would find me. It kept me in a tree and every time I thought it was about to eat me, or rip me to shreds, it would leave me alone. I could hear its teeth grinding and hear its breath, but it never followed through. Instead it tormented me.” Tears streamed, and she wiped at them like a pro.

Brian gave in and touched her hand; she didn’t pull it away. “The next morning,” she added, “Sheriff Taggart found me alone in the forest, too scared to move.”

“Nicole,” Ms. Ashton said, even as some sort of suspicious thought brewed behind her eyes. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. That’s just…awful.”

“It was. And I’m not calling Bathgate a liar or anything, but…”

“What are you saying, Nicole?” Eustace said, leaning forward.

“If he really had you pinned like you said, how can you act so…normal? You come in here, knowing nothing about this place and what we go through—what I’ve gone through—and it’s nothing to you.” If it wasn’t Nicole who’d said it, and if he wasn’t Henry Clayton, he would have yelled an amen.

“Look,” Ms. Ashton said, her polite tone faltering ever so slightly. “I’m sorry for whatever impression I’ve given. And I mean it when I say I’m very sorry for what you, as a town, have had to endure. Sincerely. I’m not here to stir things up, and I’ll be gone as soon as I can move on.”

“What do you say we be a little more polite to our guest?” Eustace said, eyeing Nicole until she grabbed the dishes, huffed, and walked away. “After all,” he said at everyone else, “she did save my life.”

“Yeah,” Taggart said. “It’s like you’ve told us already.”

Henry tired of the hype and small talk. Ready to rid his morning of it, he reached for his billfold.

Then Eustace said, “I think all of us would like to know what you think on the matter, Mr. Clayton.”

Henry glanced up to find all eyes on him—Ms. Ashton’s the only ones not wary. He lowered his hand and clenched his jaw, locking eyes with Eustace. “What exactly would you like my opinion on, Mr. Bathgate?”

“All of it. Not that you ever say much, but you’ve been awfully quiet. You’re my biggest advocate when it comes to killing the monster. So what do you think?” The red on his palm stared Henry painfully in the face. Reasons like that wound made Henry hate the monster in the forest, made him detest it far more than anything else in his life. It was the reason he both supported and opposed Eustace’s decision to go against Taggart and track down the beast that left Hemlock Veils living in fear. The disappearance of the beast was something he wanted more than anything, yet injury to Eustace hardly seemed worth it. Eustace may not know it, but Henry had always been fond of him, even before he knew him as Mr. Clayton.