163 - Polaroids
It’s one of the restaurants that buys from the farm. And we maintain their website and social media. Plus, we’ve been coming here since our very first hunting trip. -Priscilla
The group walked into the small cafe with the three kids in the middle of the group. As they made their way to a large table at the back, several patrons shook hands with the kids and congratulated them. Sitting at the large round table, Priscilla waved at the owner’s son who grinned and waved back.
A waitress came around with ice water and menus for everyone. She left with drink orders and a promise to be back with the camera. Camille did not have to turn to look to know where her picture was. It had been a bragging point that she had gotten her first blood three years before Chris.
“Is that you?” Vin asked, pointing to the wall opposite him.
Camille nodded, “It is. You can find all five of us on the walls.”
“I’m…” Priscilla turned to look and finally found her picture about six feet down the wall. She pointed at the wall next to the table where two old men sat. “I’m over there, about halfway up the wall.”
After the waitress returned with the drinks and to take their orders, the musketeers pointed out where their pictures were also at. Other Saints and extended family members that they would know were also found. A few stories were exchanged, including the one of Camille blowing up the camp stove.
“Hey, sorry it took so long,” Hal said as he walked over with the waitress who was bringing the trays of food. “You didn’t bring your baby?”
Priscilla rolled her eyes at the man as the waitress directed where the different plates went. “No, Hal, I’m not bringing my baby hunting.”
“You’re no fun,” he teased before looking at the three kids with blood smeared on their cheeks. “Camille, I’ll get the camera, and we’ll get some pictures of your kids.” Smiling at Darkness, he offered a hand, “You must be *that man who stole Trigg’s baby.”
The table erupted in laughter and Darkness grinned as he took the other man’s hand in his, “Darkness.”
“Hal, this is my place,” he grinned when the Saints objected. “Well, it will be. Eventually. When my dad finally decides to retire.”
“How old is your dad?” Porthos asked.
“Eighty-seven,” he sighed.
“And how old are you?” Aramis grinned.
“Sixty-two.”
“How often does your dad come in?” Darkness asked.
Hal let out a deep, dramatic sigh, “Every. Damned. Day.”
“I could be wrong,” Athos smirked, “but it might be time to find a new dream.”
“Yeah,” Hal agreed and then shrugged. Smiling broadly, he accepted the Polaroid instant camera and motioned for the kids to follow him.
“I’ll go ahead and say it,” Clay cut into his steak and glanced over at the kids, “I’m damn glad that we were able to get three deer.”
Athos and Aramis chuckled as they looked at each other. Aramis gave a nod before they turned back to the rest of the table.
“Up until the season started,” Athos admitted, “we’ve been setting out deer feed, corn and apples. And when we would put it out, we played a sound.”
Aramis played a three-note whistle on his phone that was turned down low so not to disturb the other patrons. “Every so often today, we played it. It’s been months since we put anything out and we weren’t sure if any deer would show up. We hoped that we could help the kids get a deer each.”
“Fucking brilliant,” Porthos chuckled.
“We thought that they needed a good memory after all the shit that they’ve gone through,” Athos gave a little shrug with only one shoulder. “We tracked down a warden, confirmed what we could and couldn’t do. And then changed our ring tone for the day.”
“Priss,” Clay grinned and pointed with his fork towards the table where the two old men sat.
Mitch stood at the end of the table with his freshly taken picture in his hand. It was so fresh that the picture in the little white square was still developing. He seemed to be explaining what he needed. The two older men spoke for a moment and then one of them moved away from the table and helped Mitch to stand in the other chair to hang his picture.
The other two returned to the table after placing their pictures on the wall. Each of them would also have a second picture that they were told to take home and hang up with pride. On the white rectangle beneath the picture, Hal wrote out their name, age, trophy and date that they had gotten their first kill, and therefore, their first blood mark.
Mitch walked back over to the table with one of the gray-haired men who smiled at the table of friends. “Are you back home for good?”
Camille stood up and hugged eighty-seven-year-old Harold, “No, I’ve got one more semester.”
“This one says that he’s your youngest,” he let go of Camille and placed an arm around Mitch’s shoulders.
“He is,” she smiled. “This is my husband, Darkness, and our three adopted children – Vin, Nicki and Mitch.”
“Ahhhh…” he grinned. “You’re *that man that stole Trigg’s baby.”
Darkness chuckled, “Is that what I will forever be known as?”
“As the father of three girls,” Harold smiled as he patted Darkness’ shoulder, “I can assure you that the answer to that is yes. You will forever be known as the man who stole her father’s baby girl.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“Don’t worry,” Hal smiled at the four men, “someday, way sooner than you want, you guys are going to be complaining about *that man who stole your baby. It’s a great day because you want your kids to be happy. But damn does it ever suck.”
“Not looking forward to that,” Aramis admitted. “I already hate the days that Dakota wants the other love of her life.”
“Oh?” Athos asked, trying to feign innocence. The smirk let the rest of the table know that he was aware that he was failing. Miserably. “Who’s that?”
Aramis slowly turned his head and looked at his friend, who was also his daughter’s favorite uncle and self-declared other love of Dakota’s life. “You do know that I hate you, right?”
“You love me,” Athos corrected. Before Aramis could react, Athos had grabbed his friend’s face and placed a dramatically loud smacking kiss on Aramis’ mouth. “Oh, you cute little snookems you!”
Porthos placed his elbows on either side of his plate and rested his chin on his linked fingers, batting his eyelashes at the other two men. “Something going on that I should know about?”
“No!” Aramis answered.
“Maybe,” Athos laid his head on Aramis’ shoulder and looked at him adoringly.
“Piss off, you fucking asshole,” Aramis laughed as he pushed his friend away.
“Anything that I can give you tips on?” Porthos offered.
“Just the tip,” Darkness suggested.
“Give bi a try,” Vin suggested, fist bumping Porthos.
“Listen to the boy,” Priscilla ran her hand down Porthos’ back.
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