Chapter 7: Terms

Zora's POV

I saw Anton in the road through the front window, with his hat in his hands.

I dropped a sack of oats on my foot.

Then I saw Frank Matula get out of his pickup behind him.

Frank walked up and put a hand on Anton's arm and said something low, and Anton shook his head once.

Frank patted the arm and kept talking.

Whatever he said worked, because Anton stayed where he was.

Frank came in alone with a white bakery box under his arm.

The bell rang over the door, and he took off his hat.

"Zora, honey," Frank said, with his whole kind face, and kissed me on the cheek before I could move.

He smelled of aftershave and sausage and his own cold coffee.

"Look at you. Look at you, healthy as a heifer."

"Frank," I said.

"I brought kolaches. Apricot, the way you like."

He set the box on the counter between us and opened it.

Two ranchers at the register turned around to see what the fuss was.

The owner was behind me, pretending to count nails.

"Frank, why did you let them bury a box?" I said.

His face did not change, which is how I knew.

"Because you needed time, honey," he said, "and that boy needed to hurt a little before he could stand to hear it."

He shrugged.

"I did what the Lodge does. I carried it."

"You took his ring off my dash," I said.

"I kept it safe," Frank said.

"You've been in Marathon since Wednesday."

"I've been looking after you," Frank said. "Now listen, because I'll say it once, kindly."

He held up a finger for each one.

"You come home. We say you were found downriver, hurt, and didn't know your own name for a while. Nobody asks you a thing."

He folded the last finger down.

"The Lodge raises that baby in the Chair's house with the Chair, and you're Luna, as you were always meant to be."

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