Page 77 of Shatter

Out in the truck, I sit behind the wheel with the muffin in my lap and don't eat it.

I don't say anything to anyone.

Aren has started leaving the compound at night.

I see his black Charger pull out through the gate around ten, three or four times a week, headlights off until he hits the road.

I watch from Hakon's window with my palms flat on the sill until the taillights disappear.

He doesn't come back until after the bakery opens.

Nobody says where he goes.

I know anyway.

Apalachicola is ninety minutes down the coast, and Sawgrass Point Seafood keeps its lights on all night.

* * *

The first time Hakon laughs, I'm the one who does it.

It's a Sunday afternoon in the clubhouse kitchen, rain hammering the windows, and Ulf is trying to make pancakes.

Trying is the right word.

He's got batter on the counter and a smear of it across his forehead.

The first three pancakes have come out of the pan looking like roadkill.

Gunnar's sitting on the counter by the sink, eating dry cereal out of the box and offering commentary, and Hakon's leaning against the fridge with his arms folded.

I'm at the steel island, drinking coffee Ulf made, which is also a crime.

"The pan's too hot." I don't look up from my mug. "You're burning the outside before the middle sets."

Ulf squints at me over his shoulder.

"Are you a pancake expert now?" He waves the spatula at me. "Is this a bakery trick?"

"It's basic chemistry." I take a sip of his terrible coffee and try not to make a face. "Although I'll admit, I've never seen anybody make a pancake with a structural flaw before. Most people have to work at it."

Silence.

Then a sound I've never heard before comes from the fridge.

Hakon has his head tipped back against the freezer door and his eyes squeezed shut, and he's laughing.

Out loud, a big, rusty sound, like an engine turning over after a long winter, and he can't stop.

He presses the back of his wrist against his mouth, and it doesn't help.

His shoulders are shaking.

Ulf has gone completely still with the spatula in the air.

Gunnar's hand is frozen halfway into the cereal box.

"What." Ulf's voice comes out slow and stunned. "The fuck."