Antoine called, “Order up!” and I hurried over to fetch the plates.

Antoine had settled in at Merlotte’s, and we all hoped he’d stick with the cooking job. Tonight he was moving around the small kitchen like he had eight arms. Merlotte’s menu was the most basic—hamburgers, chicken strips, a salad with chicken strips cut up on it, chili fries, French-fried pickles—but Antoine had mastered it with amazing speed. Now in his fifties, Antoine had gotten out of New Orleans after staying in the Superdome during Katrina. I respected Antoine for his positive attitude and his determination to start over after losing everything. He was also good to D’Eriq, who helped him with food prep and bused the tables. D’Eriq was sweet but slow.

Holly was working that night, and in between hustling drinks and plates she stood by Hoyt Fortenberry, her fiancé, who was perched on a barstool. Hoyt’s mom had proven to be only too glad to keep Holly’s little boy on the evenings Hoyt wanted to spend time with Holly. It was hard to look at Holly and recognize her as the sullen Goth Wiccan she’d been in one phase of her life. Her hair was its natural dark brown and had grown to nearly shoulder length, her makeup was light, and she smiled all the time. Hoyt, my brother’s best friend again since they’d mended their differences, seemed like a stronger man now that he had Holly to brace him up.

I glanced over at Sam, who’d just answered his cell phone. Sam was spending a lot of time on that phone these days, and I suspected he was seeing someone, too. I could find out if I looked in his head long enough (though the two-natured are harder to read than simple basic humans), but I tried hard to stay out of Sam’s thoughts. It’s just rude to rummage around inside the ideas of people you care about. Sam was smiling while he talked, and it was good to see him looking—at least temporarily—carefree.