Chapter Five
I woke up to my phone chirping.
Buenos días! Attached was a picture of baby Leo, his face covered in avocado. My stepmom was an early riser too. Although not necessarily by choice.
I miss you guys, I replied, adding a heart to the picture.
You good? she wrote.
I replied with a thumbs-up, then a sunshine. Going to find breakfast.
According to my phone’s map, there was a place very close by called the Egg. It opened at seven a.m., in fifteen minutes. Perfect.
I pulled my hair back and put on some shorts and one of Colin’s StuCo T-shirts, then went and brushed my teeth. Leaving the bathroom, I noticed the couch was covered again, no trace of the girl except for the blanket, now folded on the window seat. Not my house, not my business.
My phone had said the Egg was right across the main road, a straight shot.
I’d forgotten, however, that in the car, I’d woken up when we were already on the driveway, which turned out to be longer and bumpier than I realized.
I was sweating by the first hill, then getting dive-bombed by aggressive flies darting from the thick brush around me.
By the time I got to the end, I was dripping with sweat.
On the other side of the street were two brick buildings: a storefront with big windows and a neon sign that said COFFEE. There was an AVAILABLE FOR RENT one in the building adjacent. I had to wait for a puttering truck to pass before I crossed.
When I pushed the door open, a bell jangled overhead.
Inside, where it was slightly cooler, a counter lined with stools ran down one side.
A galley kitchen was visible through a low window dotted with order tickets.
On the opposite wall was a row of booths, old-time pictures of the lake hanging above them.
Only the last booth was taken, two men bent over their plates.
“Sit wherever you want,” a voice called out from somewhere. “Be right with you.”
I took a counter seat, sliding onto the stool. A paper place mat was in front of me, framed by a napkin and silverware and an inverted coffee cup. Nearby was a jar holding some fresh flowers: similar ones lined the counter and were on each table.
“Coffee?” a voice said. Before I could answer, a hand was flipping the mug right side up. I looked up to see the girl from the couch the night before: same blond hair and dark roots, crop top, and shorts. Her blue eyes were framed by lashes thick with mascara.
“Yes,” I said. It was clear she didn’t know my face as she poured, then slid a plastic menu in front of me. “Thanks.”
“Yo!” a male voice yelled from the kitchen. “We eighty-sixed chicken.”
The girl turned, annoyance on her face. “We just opened.”
“And yesterday the walk-in flooded and lost power for six hours.” The door jangled again, two women in scrubs and some kids coming in. “No chicken.”
The girl sighed, then turned to me. A row of piercings climbed up one ear. “You need a second?”
When I nodded, she grabbed menus, taking them over to the women, who had settled into a booth.
THE EGG, the menu said at the top, with a drawing of two smiling yolks. There were only a handful of items, mostly fried. I decided on a breakfast sandwich and picked up my phone.
I pressed the screen. Waited. Pressed again. Nothing. Then a solid-red plug appeared. The battery was dead. How? I’d charged it the night before.
The girl was coming back behind the counter now, stopping to turn up the volume on a battered stereo by the register as she passed it. I recognized Dolly Parton’s voice instantly. One of my dad’s favorites, although I didn’t know this particular song.
“Ready?” she asked, an order pad in her hand.
“Um,” I said, touching my screen again. Nothing. “I’ll have the breakfast sandwich.”
“Bacon or ham?”
“Bacon.”
“Cheese?”
“Yes.”
“American, Cheddar, or Swiss?”
“Swiss.”
She scribbled something, then turned, sticking the ticket up in the window as the door jangled again.
“What happened to my chicken?” I heard one of the men in the booth say.
“We’re out,” the girl told him. She put the other plate down with a clank. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Do you by any chance have a charger?” I asked as she returned. But then the wall phone started to ring.
She held up her finger—one sec—then turned, answering it. As she did, a head popped up in the window to the kitchen: Clark, from the day before. He tracked me before turning and saying, “Yo, Cross! Got a cord for your tin can and string?”
The guy behind him looked over one shoulder. I’d seen him yesterday as well: He was the one with the shaggy curls. I’d been too distracted then to take note of how cute he was. Apparently. His shirt was one of those school team ones, words and a logo. “Ha ha.”
A moment later, the waitress plunked a battered white charger at my elbow. The plug had a skull-and-crossbones sticker on it. When I thanked her, she nodded, then moved along to a couple that had come in and taken seats farther down the counter.
Quickly, I stuck the cord in my phone, the other end in the plug at my feet, and it came on. No new messages. Leigh Frisbee must have really been enforcing that no-tech rule.
“Breakfast sandwich,” the waitress announced, placing a plate in front of me. “You need anything else?”
“No, thanks,” I replied, not looking up. Then I got a whiff of the bacon and cheese and my stomach reacted, more loudly this time. I took a bite: It was delicious.
Ding! Nalini was sending me a beach picture.
“Everything okay?” I heard the waitress say.
“Yes,” I told her, eyes on my screen. “Thanks.”
I ate my sandwich while checking various news sites. Budget talks. Gas prices. Another celebrity breakup with a request for privacy at this time.
When I finally finished and looked for the waitress, she’d disappeared.
Back in the kitchen, though, the curly-headed cook, who was definitely cute, was studying me.
Not unkindly as much as curiously. I wanted to be that person who stared right back, forceful if not indignant. But I just ducked my head again.
The walk back was as torturous as earlier, but with more hills.
When the driveway finally flattened out, I heard that now-familiar buzzing sound and looked up.
Two little red-throated birds had flown over me and were circling, chattering at each other in the air.
I watched until they disappeared into the trees.
At the house, my mom’s door was still shut, although a full pot of coffee had been brewed in the kitchen, a box of donuts left beside it. I suspected Liz even before I spotted the note she’d left, saying she’d be back later.
A closer examination of the plug beside my bed revealed the outlet was dead, which explained how my phone had ended up the same. Ditto for the one in the hallway. Finally, I got lucky in the living room, where I found an outlet behind the couch that worked.
Suddenly, a phone rang. Not mine, though. It was the old-fashioned one on a nearby table, with a coiled cord, and man, it was loud. I literally jumped.
I went over, lifting the receiver. It was super heavy and felt awkward in my hand. “Hello?”
There was a crackling noise. “Elizabeth?”
“No,” I said. “This is Finley.”
“Who?” a woman demanded.
“Finley,” I repeated. More crackling, so I had to wait before I added, “Catherine’s daughter.”
“Catherine? Good Lord! What are you doing there?”
“No,” I said. “I—”
My mom appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “Who is that?” she asked. When I made it clear I had no idea, she came over, taking it from me. “Hello? This is Catherine Hope.”
I could hear the woman talking. Also the static. She went on for a while, long enough for me to feel weird about us standing so close together. I moved back to the couch.
“Aunt Betsy,” my mom said finally, clearly cutting the woman off, “I will definitely let Liz know you called.”
Aunt Betsy replied, again at length.
“Right,” my mom said, in that same I’m-going-now tone. “Okay. Bye, then.”
She replaced the receiver, noisily. Even hanging up was loud in the old times. I said, “Who’s Aunt Betsy?”
“Have you eaten?” she said. She really didn’t want to answer questions.
“I went to a place across the street,” I told her.
“The Egg?”
“Yeah,” I said. She was still looking at me, as if expecting more details. “I had a breakfast sandwich.”
She nodded. “Did you see there’s coffee?”
“And a note,” I said as she turned, spotting it. “From Liz.”
She moved to the coffeepot and pulled the paper closer. As she studied it, she reached up to open a nearby cabinet, take out a mug, and fill it. I’d never seen her so at-home anywhere. Even her own home.
I heard the door. A moment later, Liz came through the kitchen.
She was in cropped khakis again, plus a sleeveless top, the same gold slides on her feet.
A hot-pink scarf was tied around her neck in that “casual” way that you could tell took time and effort.
“You’re up early,” she said to my mom before going to the same cabinet to get a mug and filling it.
She waved at me. “I thought you always slept till noon.”
“Not since high school,” my mom replied. She had moved to the head of the table and was studying her phone, the box of donuts beside her.
Liz took the seat to her right, facing the water. Then she picked up her mug, taking a sip. My mom gestured at the donuts, but she shook her head. “Can’t. I have a dress to fit into in less than a month.”
I observed all this like an anthropologist. I’d never seen my mother act so casual with anyone.
“When’s the wedding?” my mom asked now.
Liz looked at her. “Cat. Did you even look at the invitation before you declined?”
“Of course I did. But it was months ago. Are you still upset about that?”
Liz picked at the side of the donut box. Judging by the big emotions moving across her face, the answer was yes.
“A wedding,” I said. I have always been bad with awkwardness, especially the silent kind. “That’s a lot of work, I bet.”