The town of Pinely was barely two miles long from end to end, cradled in the valley between the mountainside and the Ohio River. There was one traffic light, at Main Street. But since there was no real traffic to speak of on Main, it was widely believed that the light existed solely for the purpose of giving directions to out-of-towners. As in, "If you reach the red light, you've gone too far."

When the town first sprung up, it was because of industry. They were drilling oil down the river in Cedarsville, mining coal further north toward Weirton, and right there in Pinely they were making glass. The river was a good, cheap route to transport materials. And once the railroad came in, there seemed to be no end to the possibilities there in the Ohio Valley. It was as though their little corner of West Virginia might just lift itself out of the poverty that had plagued the state since it first staked out on its own during the Civil War. But eventually the economic boom sounded more like a thud. West Virginia coal was deemed too dirty to burn. Cedarsville's oil fields were judged too small. Pinely glass became a mere collector's curiosity. So Pinely itself was left without a purpose. Now the jobs were all at the chemical plants just north of the Mason-Dixon, while there in Pinely, folks worked at the schools, for the city, in the stores, for the church, or in the bars. The ratio of the churches to the bars was one of particular contention to Eric's dad. "When I first came to this town, there used to be ten bars and three churches," he would say. "Now there are only three bars, and I've lost count of how many goddamn churches we have."

One of the remaining bars was the American Legion. As they drove past it, Deke glanced over at Eric, who looked like he was asleep.

"You workin' the Legion tonight?" he asked in a voice loud enough to wake him up.

Eric opened one eye, looked at Deke, and shook his head, no.

The truck made the left onto Shales Avenue and pulled up into the driveway of Eric's boyhood home. Eric opened his eyes when he felt the truck come to a stop. He put his hand to his face, as though the rest might have miraculously healed his wound. Finding that wasn't the case, he looked over to Deke.

"How do I look?" he asked, opening the door.

"Like shit," Deke answered.

"Great," he grunted as he eased himself down out of the truck. He stood there for a second with the door open as he thought it over a little more. "Fuckin' great," he finally exhaled.

He slammed the door shut and walked to his parents' front porch. The truck squeaked out of the driveway, into the street, and with a quick honk of the horn, was off. Eric pulled open the storm door to the house, causing the main door to slam from half-ajar to completely closed. The effort required to open a door that had just shut, seemingly for no other purpose than to spite him, felt like more than he could muster. But he took a deep breath and managed to work his clammy hand on the doorknob. The air in the house felt warmed over and pre-breathed, a disappointing contrast to the brisk air outside.

His mom and dad were sitting at the kitchen table having breakfast. His dad looked over the top of his glasses and watched his son amble forward. Sitting between them at the head of the table was a little girl wearing a crown made of yellow construction paper. She looked up from her waffles and gave Eric a look of equal parts fear and surprise.

"Hey Mom. Hey Dad," he said, stopping in the doorway to the kitchen. He glanced at the girl then bowed his head in mock esteem. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were entertaining royalty this morning."

The little girl smiled as her hand absently touched the crown atop her cinder hair. "Daddy, what happened to your head?"

Eric walked over to her, took the crown in his hand, and kissed her on the forehead. He rested the small crown on top of his own head as he walked over to the empty chair at the other end of the table. "See, you've been hanging out with Grandpa for too long," he said nodding in his dad's direction. "He's been asking me that for years now."

"Still valid," his dad mumbled before shoving a bit of sausage into his mouth.

Eric smiled out of resignation and looked back at his daughter. "I just had a little accident, baby. Did you have a good time last night with Grandma and Grandpa?"

"Uh huh," she answered while cutting off a piece of her waffle. "We made cookies and we made a crown out of the colored paper. And Grandma and I played your old records and danced on the bed."

His mom smiled at the girl, then looked at the wound above Eric's eye. "What about you, did you have a good time last night?" she asked.

"Not as I heard it described," he said with a weak smile.

"Well, would you like some breakfast?"

"I could try to put back a waffle if you have any left."

His mom got up and went to the freezer. "Just one?" she asked as she pulled the frozen waffles out of the box.

"That should do," he answered, watching her drop it into the toaster. He looked over at his little girl, whose mouth was full with her breakfast. She squinted a smile at him with her big brown eyes. "Pretty good?" he asked her.

"Mmm-hmm," she answered. "Very good."

"Yeah?" he laughed. "Well, no one toasts a waffle quite like Grandma."

The little girl kept her eyes on her plate as she worked the fork to cut off another piece. "I know," she said with sincerity.

Eric watched her intently as he settled back into his chair. He'd been doing this for the past five years, watching this little girl as she walked, talked, learned, and took on a life of her own. Like no other mistake he'd ever made. He watched until she finally managed, using a combination of the fork and her fingers, to get a piece of waffle free from the rest and into her mouth. Pulling the crown down off his head, he turned to look at his father. "How are you this morning, Dad?"

His dad nodded his head indifferently and took a sip of coffee. "Better than you, I imagine." His weathered eyes shifted in their crow's-feet settings, from his coffee to his boy. "Where'd you sleep last night?"

"Dan fixed me up a bed at County."

The old man put his fork down and looked at his son. "Jesus Christ, Eric—" he started before his wife shot him a look and nodded toward the girl.

"It's fine, Dad," Eric said flatly. "Deke said I didn't even really do anything this time."

"Oh Deke said so, huh?" he laughed. "Well I was just hanging out here last night not doing anything either. How come they didn't come bursting in and drag me off to County?"

Eric's head was beginning to throb. It wasn't even 9:00 A.M. and he'd been sprung from jail straight into an argument with his dad. His mom walked over and put a gentle hand on his shoulder as she set a plate with one dry waffle in front of him. "Leave him be, Dave," she whispered to her husband. "Do you want anything to drink, Eric?"

"Some milk?" he said, pouring syrup on top of his breakfast and cutting into it with his fork. He crammed a huge bite of waffle into his mouth, then looked back over at his father. "It's fine, Dad," he mumbled through the food. "It really is."

He listened to himself chew for a while, trying to pretend he wasn't upset with his dad for nagging, or upset with himself for giving him a reason to. The waffle scratched its way down his throat, half-chewed, and he packed another chunk into his mouth. He stared at his plate, gauging how much more waffle stood between him and any more unpleasantness in his parents' house.

"Gina called last night," his mom said from the kitchen.

Eric tried to swallow, but found he'd either severely misjudged the size of the last bite, or his mouth had gone dry.

"Did you hear me?" his mom asked from just ten feet away.

"Yes," Eric managed to reply through the choking hazard in his mouth. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "What did she want?"

His mom shrugged. "Just checking in."

Eric looked across the table at his daughter, hoping for more information. She just smiled. But there was something in her eyes that made it seem like she knew more. A trait she got from her mother.

His mom put the milk on the table in front of Eric, then put her hands on her hips as though she were about to announce she'd found the cure for cancer. "Well, I'm going to go get ready for church! Would anyone like to come with me?"

Eric winked at his daughter. "You're a big girl now, Grandma. You should be able to get ready for church all by yourself."

She smacked him on the shoulder with her dishtowel and leaned down to him. "You could use some time in church, young man."

"Maybe," he answered, "but I'm still gonna pass. My little girl and I have plans. Ain't that right, Tess?"

"What're we gonna do, Daddy?"

Eric stuffed the last of his waffle into his mouth and stood to go to the other side of the table. "I don't know," he said as he put the paper crown back on her head. "But we'd better get started." He lifted her up out of her chair into his arms and then down on her own feet. "So go get your jacket."

She ran around the table, then scurried off to a bedroom around the corner.

"Thanks for watching her last night," Eric said to his mother as he gave her a hug. "Deke was starting to feel neglected."

"You know it's our pleasure to have her around, Eric." She crossed her arms across her body and brought her thumbnail to her teeth. "To have both of you around."

He turned to his dad and gave him a slight wave. "I'm on at the Legion tomorrow night. You think you'll come by?"

"Probably so," he answered.

"Probably so," Eric mocked. "Aren't you coy?"

"What?"

"Free hotdogs, that's what," Eric smiled. "If you aren't there I'll know to fill out a missing persons report."

Tess came around the corner wearing a patchwork jacket with gloves buttoned to the sleeves. "I'm ready, Daddy."

"Well that makes two of us." He held his hand out for her to hold and they made their way to the front door. Eric glanced back at his parents—his mom waving too enthusiastically, his dad sitting, arms crossed, shaking his head—and walked out into the brisk morning air.

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