Chapter Nine
That night, I slept only in what felt like half-hour increments, broken up by sudden, agonizing jolts. Each one had an accompanying image: Colin’s face on that video call. My phone arcing over the water. Words on the printer page.
At five thirty a.m., exhausted, I was coming out of the bathroom when I saw Lana on the couch. She was curled up in the same way, tight, her face turned away from me. Shoes on the floor, bag beside them. The blanket was over her.
My stomach rumbled, suddenly. I couldn’t even remember eating anything since Ben’s sympathy grapes. I went to the kitchen, opening the fridge, wincing when I saw the beers. Then I took out a piece of bread from one of the unopened loaves and ate it standing there.
Back in my room, I got out my laptop, then went to my contacts. I had to find an old fast-food receipt in the outside pocket of my bag to write down Marisol’s number and my dad’s so I could carry it to the landline.
I moved into the living room to the small table that held that old, clunky phone, lifting the receiver.
The dial tone was so loud that I was sure it would wake Lana immediately.
But when I turned to check, she was still breathing steadily.
Just in case, I pulled it with the cord around the corner and down the hallway.
My dad sounded worried the minute he answered.
“It’s me.” I swallowed. “Hi.”
“Finley.” My name was more an exhalation. “Are you okay? Your mom told me what happened with Colin.”
“Is she okay?” I heard Marisol ask, muffled behind him.
“I’m fine,” I said. I wasn’t. “I just—it was a shock.”
“Oh, mi amor,” Marisol said. “I wish we could hug you!”
Hearing this, my eyes filled with tears. “I threw my phone in the lake.”
“What?” my dad asked. “Why?”
Good question. “I was just upset. And stupid,” I said. “So I don’t have one now.”
“What’s this number you’re calling from?”
“A landline in the Woods.”
“Ah… okay.” He sighed. “Well, things are a little tight at the moment. But we’ll get you one. At some point.”
I took in a breath. “And there’s something else.”
Weird how you can literally feel a person brace themselves, even over the phone. When he spoke next, his voice was low, steady. “Okay. What is it?”
I pulled the phone a little farther. The cord was insanely long, enough that I actually could step outside onto the front porch. “Mom,” I said, realizing only afterward how scared I’d been to say it out loud. “I think she’s sick.”
“Sick?”
As I heard him moving around, getting to a place he could talk, I sat down on the steps. It was just starting to get light now, the sky pink over the water.
“Okay,” he said a moment later. “Now, what’s this?”
I told him what I knew: the medical forms, the treatment protocol, how I hadn’t known how to even react. He listened, not interrupting even as I heard Leo start babbling nearby. I kept my voice low, worried my mom might overhear. It felt good to get it out. A secret like that was so heavy.
When I finished, he was quiet for a moment. “Okay, so the thing about your mom… she’s very private.”
An understatement. “I know.”
“So I don’t think you should mention this yet,” he told me. “If she wants to tell you, she will. Otherwise you only have a few more days. We can figure out a better plan once you’re home. Sound good?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Love you, Fin.”
“Love you, too.”
The latch on the door sounded: Lana was coming out the door behind me, moving fast. She barely gave me a glance as she hurried down the stairs, where she dropped her flip-flops on the grass, stepping into them before heading down the driveway.
Before long she was out of sight. When I got back to the living room, the couch was once again covered, the blanket folded neatly nearby.
I tried to go back to sleep. But after a while, my stomach’s growling made it impossible.
I needed more than bread. Finally, I gathered my shoes, washed my face, and pulled my hair back in a topknot.
Then I found a piece of gum in my purse, grateful for any sustenance, and popped it into my mouth before starting toward the Egg.
I was trying to catch my breath after a particularly steep hill when I heard the truck coming up behind me.
Kasey was behind the wheel, a huge bucket of cut flowers in the seat beside her. “Hey,” she said, peering at me through the open window. “Where you headed?”
“The Egg,” I told her.
“Me too. Hop in.”
I went around the truck as she pulled the bucket closer, making space for me on the seat. Still, as I slid in, a hydrangea bloom poked me right in the face. “Sorry,” she said as I pulled my door shut.
“It’s fine.” I told her. “I was in your garden yesterday. It’s amazing.”
“Thank you. It’s a labor of love.” She smiled, bumping over another tree root. “Emphasis on the labor.”
A white flower brushed my arm, releasing a heavy fragrance. “You making more bouquets?”
“It’s my side hustle,” she explained. “Cardoon was low on florists and I needed money. Rich tourists love an arrangement in a jam jar. Everyone wins.”
I looked over at her. She had on a white tank and rolled-up jeans, short black work boots on her feet. “You do that and run the restaurant?”
“Yep.” She slowed, maneuvering around a root. “Pays the bills. Mostly. Oh boy. He’s already here.”
She was looking ahead, at the Egg. A van was parked in front. THE TIDES, it said on the side. UPSCALE AND DOWN HOME. The doors flipped open and people began to get off.
“The Tides?” I asked, as we bumped over a final root and out onto the road. Which we shot across so fast, I had to grab the handle over my window.
“Another idea to goose the business. Subcontracting breakfast.” We pulled into the lot. A few people, mostly older, had gone in so far, while a guy with jet-black hair wearing a bright white uniform stood by the van, waving more off. Kasey pulled up right beside him.
“Good morning, good morning,” he was saying. “Right inside, take any open table you want.”
“How many?” Kasey said.
“Eighteen people, four parties. Another bus will be here in a half hour.” He looked at me. “You hired someone else? That’s great!”
“I wish,” she told him. “This is my niece, Finley. She’s down for the week.”
He stuck out a hand, giving me a firm, businesslike shake. “Cardoon Biswas. Seasonal assistant manager at the Tides.”
The door opened. A disembodied arm emerged, gripping a stack of menus. Kasey grabbed them, handing some to Cardoon, and they both began distributing them down the now-forming line.
“Their kitchen is under renovation,” Kasey explained to me. “So we made a deal. Bacon for business.”
The door swung open again, just as another older couple was entering. It was Lana. “How many?”
“Four parties,” Kasey reported. “Another bus in thirty.”
Lana sighed. “This is a far from perfect system, just FYI.”
“It’s early days!” Cardoon told her. “We’ll work out the kinks.”
She went back inside, Kasey ducking in behind her. At the same time, two more cars pulled into spaces. I sat there for a moment. Then I climbed out of the truck, taking the flowers with me.
“How pretty!” said one woman waiting by the counter as I slipped in. I smiled at her, shifting the bucket to my other side. All around me, the Egg was bustling.
Crash! went something as it hit the floor, then shattered. I winced, reflexively.
Lana popped up from behind the counter. As she dumped some shards into the trash can, she said to Kasey, “Three tables are about to turn. Four, if number seven will stop asking for coffee refills.”
“I’ll get the counter seats.” Kasey grabbed a handful of silverware just as the phone started ringing.
“Order up!” I heard Clark yell from the window as he plunked down a plate. Paper tickets were fluttering above him in a row. “How’s that bacon?”
“Almost there,” Ben replied from where he faced the grill: All I could see were the words on the back of his shirt, blurring past.
The phone sounded again. Kasey came back behind the counter, grabbing it. “Egg, can I help you? Right. Anything else? Okay. Fifteen minutes.”
She hung up, then scribbled something on a pad, ripped off the top page, and stuck it on a rickety spindle in the window. “To-go, in!”
“They’ll have to chill. I’m still doing this seven-top,” Clark replied.
A man in a blue golf shirt at the counter waved a hand at Kasey as she blurred past. “Can we get some coffee, maybe?”
“One sec, be right there,” she replied, slapping napkins down for him and the other waiting patrons. Silverware—a plunk for each fork, knife, and spoon—rapidly followed.
“Order up!” Clark said again. “Hello? Someone, get these eggs.”
Instead, Kasey grabbed an order pad, darting to the row of booths. At the door, I could see Cardoon’s head bobbing as he scanned for open seats. Meanwhile, Lana had procured a coffeepot, filling cups quickly down the counter. The phone started ringing again.
“This food needs to be run NOW!” Clark barked above the overlapping plates in the window. A tall stack of orders pierced the spindle. “Come on!”
Kasey darted back across my sight line, grabbing a tray. Lighting fast, she loaded it up—some dishes hanging over the edge—then hoisted it to her shoulder.
Lana grabbed the ringing phone, tucking it between her ear and shoulder as she moved to the window. “Egg, how can I help you? Right. No cheese. Fifteen minutes.”
“There aren’t any seats left!” said a woman in large sunglasses by the door, who was fanning herself with a menu. “How are we supposed to eat? Standing?”
“I’ve got three to-go orders just sitting here,” Clark grumbled. “Anybody?”
The phone was already ringing again as Kasey came toward me with the tray and our eyes met. She looked so stressed: I could literally see her chest rising and falling, not unlike that hummingbird the day before.
“Can someone please get that?” Clark yelled.
No one did. I glanced around. I was hardly experienced. But answer a phone? That, I could do.
I went around the counter, dodging Lana as she plunked more tickets on the spindle. There was a pad to my right with a pen on top of it. I picked up the phone, clearing my throat.
“Egg,” I said. “Can I help you?”