Chapter 10
AT A COST OF THREE dollars, the Saturday print edition of the Seaside Chronicle is a bit overpriced for a newspaper so thin. There have been many discussions about eliminating it altogether, but so far, Greg—whose family founded the Chronicle some sixty years ago—has stubbornly held out.
“We’re barely breaking even,” Barb’s editor-in-chief said at the staff meeting a few months back. “But the older Seaside folks still like the tactile feel of paper, and they’re the ones who subscribe. I just can’t bring myself to kill it.”
The rack of Chronicle newspapers at the front entrance of Lucky’s is nearly empty, which is a testament to the diner’s breakfast demographic.
As she waits for a table to free up, Barb counts more than two dozen customers reading her profile of Wonderland, which spans the whole front page under the cheerful headline seaside’s next adventure.
It’s cheesy, but that was the vibe Greg was going for.
Wholesome. Optimistic. Sweet. Much like the face of the teenage employee whose photo Barb captured at the park, whose sunny smile is now folded over the front page crease.
Normally Barb grabs whatever table is free, but today she’s forced to check in with the hostess. “Hey, Rabia, how much longer, do you think?”
The creases in the hostess’s forehead make it clear she’s overwhelmed. “Maybe twenty minutes?”
“I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen the place this busy,” a voice near Barb says, and she turns to find Megan Lyle standing in the corner with her parents. There’s a copy of the Chronicle folded under her father’s arm.
Megan had been a year behind her in high school.
Just like Barb, she’s spent her whole life living and working in their hometown.
Unlike Barb, she seems completely fine with it.
With her slightly dated haircut, penchant for gossip, and general mistrust for city folk, Megan is the epitome of a proud Seaside girl.
While the two women weren’t close back in high school, they’re friends now, and they’ll sometimes hit the Tango Tavern together on Saturday nights.
But they haven’t done that in about a month.
“You’re both too young to remember the true glory days.” Megan’s father smiles at Barb. “Back in the eighties, when Seaside was the number one tourist destination in the Pacific Northwest, every restaurant was packed from May to September.”
“And will be again, now that the park is open,” Megan’s mother says with a scowl. Now well into their seventies, the Lyles have owned and operated the Pet Barn ever since Barb can remember. “Might be time for us to move to Florida. We’re too old to wait this long for a table.”
“We’re too old to wait this long for anything,” Mr. Lyle says. As if on cue, the hostess signals them that their table is ready. “Finally. I’m starving.”
“I’ll catch up,” Megan tells her parents, remaining in the waiting area with Barb. “I’ve been meaning to check in with you. How are you doing with everything? Wonderland, the documentary, Samuel Figg . . . I’m sure it’s a lot.”
Barb’s grateful that Megan doesn’t use the nickname “Carnival Killer,” which always makes Figg sound more much interesting than he actually was. “I’m all right, other than the producer hounding me for an interview I don’t want to do. She call you, too?”
“No, thank god.” Megan’s eyes narrow. “But I heard Nicolette agreed to sit down with her. Ridiculous. You just know she’s going to shit on Seaside.”
Megan never did like Nicolette, and while Barb doesn’t blame her, it’s too heavy a conversation to have before she’s had her coffee. “Hey, I could use a distraction,” she says to Megan. “You doing anything later? That band we like is playing at the Tango tonight.”
“Actually, I have plans.” Her friend’s cheeks redden. “With that guy I’ve been seeing. I was actually going to talk to you about it . . .”
“Talk to me?” Barb says. “Why?”
Megan clears her throat. “It’s . . . it’s Cameron Wallace.”
Barb waits for the punch line. Surely she’s kidding. Megan is her friend—of course she wouldn’t be dating someone Barb’s already been with, at least not without telling her first, and certainly not this soon. That would be a violation of girl code.
But there is no punch line. And based on Megan’s body language—if she were a dog, her tail would be tucked all the way between her legs—it’s been going on for a little while now.
“Well, that’s great,” Barb says, because she has to say something to fill the awkward hole of silence they’d just fallen into. “Cam and I were . . . Obviously it was super casual.”
“That’s what he said, too.” Megan exhales, her voice filled with relief. “Barb, I . . . I really like him. I actually think he could be . . . the one.”
“That’s so great,” Barb says again, forcing a smile to hide the sting. “I’m happy for you two, really.”
Except it’s not great. She’s not happy. Lies. Lies lies lies.
Megan touches her arm. “Listen, why don’t you meet up with us tonight? We’ll probably end up at the Tango for drinks anyway—”
Barb can’t think of anything she’d rather do less than sit across a table from Megan and Cameron, who are no doubt still in the honeymoon stage and would be canoodling all night long. The thought of it makes her want to hurl. ”Next time,” she says, keeping her smile plastered on her face.
“Hey, I saw Ray the other day,” Megan says suddenly, and it’s a welcome—if obvious—change of subject. “He told me you’re taking care of Dexter.”
“Don’t get too excited,” Barb says, giving her friend a look. “Thanks for telling him I’m the cat whisperer, by the way. He already thinks of me as a sister.”
“He doesn’t think of you as a sister, trust me,” Megan says coyly. “Besides, his sister is an asshole.”
Barb snorts a laugh.
“Oh, come on.” Megan turns toward the dining room where her father is beckoning her over to their table.
One sec, she mouths, holding up a finger before glancing back at Barb.
“Didn’t you ever see her in that horror movie, the one where she plays the dead best friend who comes back as a ghost? My god, she was awful.”
On that, Barb can’t disagree. Because only Nicolette, who’d always wanted to be an actress, would take on a role in which she could essentially pretend to be Lorelei.
“Self-awareness was never her strong suit,” Barb says with a sigh. “If it was, things might have turned out differently.”
* * *
“What’s going on?” Barb asks Rabia as the hostess leads her to a vacated seat at the counter.
It’s not her favorite spot. While she has a full view of the dining room, it means people can see her, too, and it feels like everyone is staring at her.
And it’s not in the usual “Hey I know you” kind of way. “Why does it feel weird in here?”
Daniel Hawksfield, for instance, is watching her from his table, where he’s once again seated with his wife and kids. The expression on his face when they make eye contact is jarring, because she knows exactly what he’s thinking. Hawk is worried about her.
Barb looks away first.
“You didn’t hear?” Rabia hands Barb a menu. “The first trailer for that serial killer show just came out this morning.”
“It’s got everyone in a tizzy,” Noni says from behind the counter, which must be the section she’s working today. “Don’t you watch it, honey. You already lived through it, and once is enough.”
Of course Barb’s going to watch; there’s no option not to.
The waitress fills her mug with coffee. “Know what you want, or do you need a minute?”
Barb takes a cursory look down at the laminated sheet in her hand and is shocked to see that it’s a different menu from the one she’s been ordering from for the past ten years. It’s been completely redesigned, and there’s even a new section called “Healthy Options.”
“When did this happen?” she asks Noni, gawking at it. “Gluten-free vegan pancakes at Lucky’s? Are pigs flying? Are we in the Upside Down?”
After the disappointing fake fudgesicle from the night before, the last thing Barb wants is anything healthy. She hands the menu to Noni. “I’ll do my usual. I don’t like change.”
“Doesn’t matter.” The waitress fills her coffee mug, then glances around the busy restaurant with a heavy sigh. “Change is here.”