A Granger 2nd Cup for 4/20/26: THE GRANGER EFFECT ~ Chapter 1
A Granger 2nd Cup of Coffee for 4/20/26: THE GRANGER EFFECT – Chapter 1
“Hey.”
The young sheriff’s deputy raised his eyes from the emails he’d been absentmindedly clearing off his phone.
“Hello, Glennis.”
Tone professionally neutral. He knew the reporter hadn’t just happened across him. They rarely did. He waited.
“I won’t insult you by saying I don’t mean to bother you.”
Sparks eyed her for a few long seconds. It was what the guys at the station called his “coply stare”, and it was making even the jaded newshound a little uneasy. Reporters weren’t in the only profession whose daily encounters caused distrust and made questioning motives a way of life.
A Marine veteran of the Afghanistan killing fields, Sparks didn’t allow his natural reticence toward reporters to overcome his gentlemanly upbringing. He stood, pulled out a chair from his table, and waited for her to sit.
“Would you care for a cup of coffee? I need a refill.”
Glennis hesitated, then shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m coffee’d out for awhile.” She considered herself at least liberated if not an avowed feminist, but knew Sparks was a true gentleman from a generation hardly conversant with what the term meant. She was aware he’d treat her as a lady whether she acted like one or not. Thanking him, she took the proffered chair. Fleetingly: You know, being pampered a little isn’t all that bad…
Watching him walk over to have his insulated USMC mug refilled, she thought again: “You’d never know he has an artificial leg…” She knew he’d lost his left leg below the knee to a buried IED that exploded beneath the Humvee in which he’d been riding. The other two Marines with him died in the blast, and after being shipped home with a Purple Heart and facing months of rehab, Sparks had decided he was not only going to walk again, but would be riding his BMW R 1250 RT-P patrol bike and
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resume the sheriff’s department career he’d been pursuing before he took a leave of absence and enlisted when the Middle East wars broke out.
As Sparks turned and began walking back across the near-empty serving area of Howya Bean he frequented when on break, Glennis caught the two women behind the counter staring at his back. Coloring, they busied themselves with something or other, and Glennis took a deep breath and half-grinned as---
“What’s on your mind?” The hard-edged, interrogative tone was pointed, causing her to glance up at him as he sat back down across from her, his back to the wall. She hesitated, taking another breath. She knew she was edging into sensitive territory.
“You’re friends with Granger, right?”
He’d been quiet before, but his sharpened attention and utter stillness made her pause. Her query hung between them like a limp windsock on a breezy day suddenly gone calm.
“Where is this going? If you know anything about Granger, you understand he’s a very private man, personally and professionally. He doesn’t talk, and no one counting him a friend or wanting to keep him as a friend does, either.”
“Well, I’m sure he—” Sparks never let up, his words popping like the 124-grain Lawman hollow points he carried being fired downrange for qualifications.
“His ability to actively listen while keeping his mouth shut is one of the things that makes him so unique and effective at what he does. It’s a habit I’m working to acquire; I’m learning it from him.” The brittle echoes of the deputy’s words slapped against Witherspoon’s hardened resolve, causing her to momentarily hesitate. “No one Granger’s ever helped would intentionally compromise their relationship with him. Once more: where is this going?”
Glennis hesitated. Everything she’d ever heard about Granger seemed not only to be true. She realized it had all been understated.
“I… I’ve heard things about him from snippets of conversations with those just like you’re describing – people he’s helped. I keep hearing people remark about how much better they feel, and always after being with Granger; um, maybe experiencing… what? Like – like the Granger Effect, maybe? The encounters are so varied, so—
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different. More than once I’ve felt, maybe sensed in their descriptions, a - I don’t know, an aura? A presence? If he’d be willing, I’d like to interview him and find out his perspectives about whatever it is he does and how he does it.”
The windsock hung limp again. There were more conversations happening by now inside Howya Bean’s cheery, eclectic interior. But there seemed to be a cylinder of dead air like a levitation moat around the table at which Glennis Witherspoon and Sparks sat.
It was the deputy’s turn to hesitate; his steely gaze shifted to one of thoughtfulness.
Sparks: “There was a time I’d be rather abrupt—” Glennis snickered: “You mean like after you sat back down with your coffee?” He half-grinned, nodding, then continued: “I’m one of the thousands Granger’s helped across his career, and I’m considerate of him and his time. Maybe even slightly jealous.” He hesitated, eyes narrowed as he watched to see if she was following.
Glennis nodded, motioning with her pen in the universal rolling motion for, “Go on…” He continued. “But one of the large things I’ve been learning from Granger is to never speak for someone able to do so for themselves. It’s a fine-edged insult, and I don’t have that right. All I can tell you is this: it’s incomplete to say I’m protective of my relationship with this man. I’ve had some amazing, worthy mentors this far in my life, but Granger is easily the most complex, unforgettable person God’s ever brought across my path—” the tough deputy’s voice now sounded as if he’d tried to swallow a couple of cotton balls and he hesitated for a few seconds…
“I’ve never met anyone like him.” Sparks went still and quiet, eyes unfocused, replaying… something from his past he’d shared with Granger. Then his sharp gaze was just as suddenly back. “I’ll tell him of your request. That’s all I’ll promise. The rest is up to him.”
The powerfully-built cop stood, scooted his chair back beneath the bright yellow table and nodded almost imperceptibly at Glennis. She’d never admit it were anyone to ask; but as he strode for the door, helmet in hand, she scanned his broad back and thought again, “If I didn’t know he’s an amputee, I’d never be able to tell it unless I saw him in swimming trunks—” Her face for some reason was slightly pink and warmish as she sat glancing around from the corners of her eyes at any onlookers as she thought once again, “How I wish Sparks was a few years older.”
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She sat musing over their conversation. Pursing her lips, she frowned slightly as she began forming sentences in her mind as she pulled her pad and pen closer. She clicked it twice, then stared at it. Ungh. No wonder. It was a red, bling-quality stylus pen with Century21 stamped on it. Turning the corner of her mouth up in disgust, she twisted the offending utensil until fully open. What if I didn’t have both hands free? Oh, and the writing on the LOGO lights up! How SPECIAL. Just a pen, people. A plain-John, no-frills, no-clog clicker pen that writes! That too much to ask?
Glennis reasoned she’d do better with some fresh coffee. After all, it WAS a coffee shop. Seating herself again with a steaming, fragrant cup of mocha, she began jotting down the basics of her chat with Sparks. She then began crafting three questions she’d ask Granger which might open him up a little.
She wrote, frowned, thought, scribbled out, then rewrote and edited until each of the three sentences at least played nice. Well, at least they were cordial. She sat back, reading them and slightly wagging her head back and forth, fiddling with the offending pen while she drank her mocha and tried to think of anything she’d overlooked.
Slanting her eyes to her phone, she noticed the time. Woah! Time to get back. Gathering her purse and bag, she started to get up—and raked her shin on a table leg. Uh-hunh! Now, thaaaat hurt!
Amused at herself and limping slightly, she wryly spoke through gritted teeth in rhythm with pushing the coffee shop’s door open with a slightly smacking sound.
“GRITS!” Realizing she’d said it out loud, she glanced around her again, saw the two younger Howya Bean counter helpers grinning at her. She ruefully grinned, shook off her mooning, and got back to busin---
Her phone sang from her pocket. “I will always love you…”
“Speak of the—” Hurriedly, she silenced it before anybody else could hear the ringtone she’d found for him. After all, she did have a liberated image to uphold, right? As she clicked ‘Talk’, she thought, “Wonder why he’s getting back to me so fast?”
“Thiz Glennis.”
“Sparks. I spoke with Granger and told him what you want. He’ll call you.”
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“Wow. Okay, thank you so—” She realized she was speaking into a dead phone; he’d already clicked off. “Well, that kinda brings a girl back to Earth, huh?” Bobbing her head left and raising that shoulder, Glennis made a rueful face as she fished her keys out of her purse, heard the thunk as the door unlocked, then settled into her several-year-old Subaru Outback.
She needed to get back to her desk. She’d left her office number for Granger, and she did NOT want to miss his call.
© d. dean boone, April 2026
Chapters 2 & 3 coming soon…
