Free The Hum and the Shiver by Alex Bledsoe

music.”
    They were both quiet for a long moment. “You tell your mama?” he asked finally, no accusation or judgment, just a question.
    She shook her head. “You gonna tell her?”
    “One of us is.”
    “Okay, okay. I will.” She sipped her coffee and watched the porch chimes wave in the breeze without quite sounding. “Did I hear the phone ring before I got up?”
    “It was that Major Maitland. He’s a slippery fella, isn’t he?”
    “He may be president someday. What’d he want?”
    “See how you were. See if them reporters was still around. I don’t think he believed me when I told him they wasn’t. I reckon he suspects they’re hanging out in the trees like squirrels.”
    “That’s what he’s used to,” she said. “He’ll never understand this place.”
    “Not many from the outside would. He said people from Hollywood are calling. I got the idea lots of money was involved.”
    “What did you tell him?”
    “That I’d tell you he called.”
    Chloe entered through the back door, stepped out of her sandals, and went to the sink. As she washed a pair of fresh tomatoes she said, “Bliss Overbay’ll be stopping by to see you.”
    “Good, I ain’t seen her in weeks,” Deacon deadpanned.
    “Not you, ” Chloe scolded. “Girl like Bliss ain’t got time for an old man like you.”
    “That’s ’cause I’d flat wear her out,” Deacon said with a grin.
    Bronwyn recalled the bird, the bells, and the haint she’d put off last night. “Bliss is coming to talk to me?”
    “Course. You saw her yesterday, so you knew she would.”
    “Didn’t know it’d be right away. Thought she might give me some time to settle in.”
    “It’s your home,” Chloe said as she dried her fingers. “How settled do you need to be?”
    Bronwyn sighed. “Reckon you’re right.” But she knew Bliss would not be making a simple social call. In the hidden, complex world of Tufa authority, Bliss Overbay wielded a mighty stick, and when she swung it, all the Tufa ducked. There was etiquette to a meeting like this, and Bronwyn would have to at least try to fulfill her part of things.
    Chloe poured herself a cup of coffee. She kissed Deacon on the cheek as she passed him, then sat in the only other open chair. “You’ll have to talk to that haint tonight, too.”
    “I will. Damn, Mom, I just got out of the hospital.”
    Her mother slapped her hand on the table so loud and hard, it was like a pistol shot; in fact, Bronwyn might’ve reflexively jumped aside if she hadn’t been trapped by the pin frame. Her chest constricted and her eyes went wide.
    Even Deacon looked surprised. “Honey?” he said to his wife.
    Chloe’s voice shook with suppressed anger. “Yes, I know, I’ve heard all about your sacrifices, your injuries, all about what a hero you are. And you know what? I don’t care. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve spent the last two years playacting, and now that you’re home where the real work is, you’re trying to avoid it. You will see Bliss when she comes, and you will listen to your haint tonight. I don’t want to hear any more about it.”
    Bronwyn could barely breathe. A new image, one she’d never recalled before, came unbidden through her fog of memory, shaken loose by her mother’s slap. It was the same flash of orange light, but then it turned white, and she realized it was a flashlight. Beyond it was a swarthy face with a jet-black mustache and dark, panicky eyes. He said something she couldn’t catch—her Arabic was terrible—and then reached for her.
    She shivered, and realized she was sweating. When she looked up, Chloe and Deacon both stared at her. “One of them flashbacks?” her father asked softly.
    She nodded. She could still smell both the gasoline from the wrecked truck and the burning flesh of the man trapped behind her. “One of the Iraqis was trying to get me out of the truck.”
    Deacon’s voice changed very slightly, but it was enough to express his sincere, extreme