The Devil Inside

5: Happy Death Day, Dad

"Thanks." She bumped her hip against his. He nudged her back, relieved to see her smile.

Despite that smile, dinner was a silent affair. Cooper knew better than to ask how her day had been. She would be better after a glass of wine—and better still once she woke up in the morning.

Cooper stared down at his pasta, despondent.

Happy death day, Dad.

His mom didn't speak of his father often. There were no pictures of the man in their apartment. No sentimental keepsakes. Even today, on the anniversary of his death, Amelia Daniels did not utter his name. But every so often, Cooper watched her fingers drift to the delicate chain at her neck—and the diamond ring that hung there.

He didn't deserve you. We're better off without him, Cooper thought, but did not say. He couldn't bear to see the pain in her eyes.

"I've got a shift tonight," he offered finally, once they'd both cleared their plates.

His mom glanced up, surprised. "You do?"

"Maria can't come in. I offered."

After a moment's hesitation, his mom nodded. "Alright. I'll see you home at eleven?"

"Eleven," he agreed, pushing away from the table. He grabbed her plate and went to the sink.

She sighed. "You're a good boy, Cooper."

He glanced at her. His mom was still at the table, hunched over her napkin. Worrying at the seams in the cloth.

Cooper dried his hands. Checking his pockets—phone, wallet, keys—he went over to her, bent down, and wrapped her in a hug from behind. "Love you," he said quietly.

She reached up and wrapped her hands around his forearms. "Love you too, baby," she whispered.

Calla was right, he thought darkly, shooting her one last, pained look.

Everyone has their breaking point.

# # #

"Daniels!"

A year ago, that voice might have triggered Cooper's fight-or-flight response. But now, walking through the front doors of the Greenwitch Diner, he smiled.

"Walker," he greeted, slipping quickly behind the back counter. The local hot spot rang with the din of scraping forks and clattering dishes. A typical Friday night.

Loretta beamed at him from the register, her gray hair pulled back in a low bun. She'd been working at the Diner for most of her life; it had been her first job at sixteen, and she'd never been able to give it up, not for any stretch of time. Cooper couldn't imagine that life—couldn't imagine any life in this town. But he knew for many, that was the reality.

Oh, no one in high school would admit it. Everyone talked about getting out. Going to college. Moving into the city. But not everyone would actually make it. Cooper had seen it time and again: the college drop-outs, the unexpected pregnancies, the job at the Diner that turned into a career at the Diner.

The thought terrified him.

He gave Loretta a little wave before ducking into the kitchen. Gareth Walker joined him a second later, wearing the Diner's trademark green apron. He held an identical apron in his hand, which he tossed at Cooper's chest.

"You've got table seven." He had a smile on his face that Cooper didn't trust.

"Who's at table seven?"