10. The Diner

Blueberry pie isn't her favourite but she eats it anyway, alternating mouthfuls with sips of strong black coffee. It's good coffee. She flicks through the magazine she borrowed from the salon, stops at the pages telling how to get the look of various celebrities of dubious alphabetical ranking. There's a dress of berry-red she admires: lace detail, a matching cardigan, a simple style, something she could easily copy; she studies it, taking in the pattern, the lines, making it up in her head. It would look wonderful with her favourite shoes.

Someone eases themselves up onto the stool next to hers and she stiffens, recoils, still with the instinct of self-preservation, relaxes when she recognises Helen Givens.

The older woman smiles pleasantly, nods her head. 'Ava.'

'Helen.' She closes the magazine, slips it into her bag. 'Haven't seen you around these parts much lately.'

'I have had my hands full,' Helen says, grim, spoons sugar into the coffee that arrives for her, wordlessly, from the waitress. They exchange smiles, Helen and the working woman. A faded face, stringy hair pulled back severely and a yellow uniform that doesn't quite fit. Helen watches her thoughtfully as she slops away down the counter, takes some of her coffee. 'I hear you've got Boyd Crowder staying at your place.'

Ava blows out a breath, lips tightening. 'Raylan tell you that?'

'Raylan...' There's a flash across her face too swift for Ava to name. 'We haven't seen much of Raylan since he shot Arlo.'

She frowns. 'He shot- But Boyd said-'

A wry smile: 'Boyd doesn't know the half of it.' Her eyes on Ava's face are speculative and she smiles slightly. 'I daresay Boyd told you what he thought had happened.'

'Oh.'

'And I don't need Raylan telling me what all of Harlan County and probably most of Corbin is talking about.'

Ava's chin lifts. 'Folks around here must be mighty hard up for subjects of conversation if my living arrangements is the best they can come up with.' She pushes away the remains of pie that she hasn't eaten and isn't going to. And waits. 'Well,' she says after a while, 'ain't you going to give me a speech, too?'

Helen's eyebrows go up. 'About what?'

'About how me taking in Boyd is a big mistake, about how much I'll regret it, about how there's a shit tornado on its way and all the rest of it.'

Silence for a moment and Helen's lips twitch. 'Oh, Ava, honey, you're a big girl now. And after all you've been through, and the things you've done, I figure you can handle this one all on your own.' She drinks more of her coffee, stirs in a little more sugar. 'Besides, I always liked Boyd Crowder.'

There's the sharp rattle of crockery taken out of the dishwasher, mugs and plates crashing together.

'I thought there was some kind Harlan law against that - a Givens liking a Crowder.'

Helen laughs, husky in the back of her throat. 'Just because I was damn fool enough to marry Arlo doesn't mean I have to take on all of his bullshit.' She rearranges herself on the stool, leather creaking. 'Boyd's always been his own man, no matter what else - not easy with a daddy like Bo Crowder.'

Even in his worst moments, Bowman had never scared her the way Bo had - and he didn't even need to do anything at all. A flicker from eyes that always glittered, cold, rather than twinkled; a movement of one of those large, heavy hands like a sledgehammer in the air. Of all of them, Bo had always frightened her the most.

She'd never really been afraid of Boyd. Unnerved by him, certainly; made to feel uncomfortable, repeatedly. But she'd never been afraid, only after Bowman died and even then only towards the end when she'd been afraid of everything.

When she thinks about it now, she realises the strangeness of this.

Beside her, Helen slides off the stool, grunting slightly. 'I am getting too old,' she remarks and Ava smiles. She thinks of Helen in lots of different ways but old is never one of them. 'Your pie's getting cold.'

'I'm done with it.' Ava stands, picks her bag from where she'd tucked it under her stool. They face each other and Helen rests a hand lightly on Ava's shoulder. 'You take care of yourself, child.'

Her lips curve, assuming the air of resolution and resignation she's worn for so long. 'Well, no-one else ever has.'

Helen's eyes crinkle. 'Life is long.'