Good Day In Hell by J.D. Rhoades

mother.
    “Girls,” Barbara said, “this is Miss Jones. She works with your daddy. These are my daughters, Carmen and Jordan.”
    “I’m Carmen,” the redhead spoke up. Marie caught a silver glimpse of braces in her shy smile.
    “And I’m Jordan,” the younger one said.
    “Well, duh,” Carmen said, rolling her eyes.
    “Shut up!” Jordan said.
    “You shut up, brat!” Carmen snapped back.
    “Hush, both of you!” Barbara scolded. “We have company. Now help get this food on the table.”
    Within a few moments, the four of them had the table loaded and nearly groaning beneath the weight of platters of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, greenbeans, com on the cob, and biscuits. Keller and Shelby came in, drawn by the smell of the food. Shelby introduced Keller to his daughters as they sat down.
    Jordan regarded him openly. “Are you a rock star?” she said.
    Keller looked amused. “Not hardly,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
    She brushed her hand through her own short blonde hair. “You’ve got long hair like a rock star.”
    “Jordan!” Barbara said sternly.
    Keller just laughed. “No,” he said. “Not a rock star, sorry.” Carmen looked like she wanted to sink through the floor.
    “Since Mister Keller’s our guest,” Barbara said, “maybe he’d like to say the blessing.”
    Marie glanced at him. His face had gone blank and impassive. “Maybe one of the girls should do it,” he said.
    There was a brief uncomfortable silence, broken when Barbara turned to Carmen. “Carmen, honey, would you ask the blessing?”
    Carmen looked at Keller. Marie was amused to see a slight blush rise to her cheeks. The girl dropped her eyes. The rest of them did the same as Carmen stammered out a quick prayer of thanks. When she was done, the passing around of the food occupied everyone for the next few minutes. Then Shelby turned to Marie.
    “I expect to be hearin’ pretty soon about that overtime.”
    “Papa,” Barbara Shelby spoke up. Her voice was soft, but there was a hint of steel in it. “I thought we agreed. No shoptalk at the table.”
    Shelby looked abashed. Keller seemed fascinated by his plate. There was another silence, soon broken when Barbara turned to Marie.
    “Warren tells me you’re from Oregon?”
    “Yeah,” Marie said. “Portland.”
    “Oh, I hear it’s beautiful there.” That broke the ice and they made small talk through dinner. Marie noticed that Keller seemed to have retreated back into himself. He was civil enough, but he answered all of Barbara’s attempts to engage him with monosyllables. He kept checking his watch when he thought no one was looking. Marie felt a flash of irritation. What the hell is wrong with him?
    After dinner, Barbara refused Marie’s offer to help clean up. “You’ve been chompin’ at the bit to talk to Warren about this case,” she said. “Me and the girls’ll take care of things. Now shoo.”
    “Okay,” Marie said. She went into the living room. Keller and Shelby were looking at one of the framed pictures on the wall. It was a black-and-white, slightly yellowed around the edges. It showed a much younger Shelby, dressed in fatigues. He was in the middle of a group of a dozen other men dressed the same way. All of the men were smiling, some with their arms draped across one another’s shoulders. A scrawled inscription in pen at the bottom read simply “Hue. January 1968.”
    “You still see any of them?” Keller was asking.
    Shelby shook his head. “Lot of ‘em didn’t make it,” he said. “Those that did…well, there ain’t much to say after a while.” Keller just nodded. Shelby glanced at him. “I reckon you know what I’m talkin’ about,” he said. Keller looked at Marie, his brow furrowed in irritation.
    “She ain’t said nothin’ specific,” Shelby said hastily. “But she did tell me you were over in Saudi. An’ I can tell somethin’ in life’s left a mark on you.” He looked at Keller shrewdly. “Maybe more than one