“I love you,” she said. “Now, go do the damn thing and don’t make me fly down there, Em.”
“Love you, too, B.”
I ended the call knowing it was exactly the boost I needed to get up, dust myself off—apply lots of topical antibiotic to those scratches—and try again. I was also glad that Ben didn’t ask me about Teddy since they were close, and I knew I had my best friend to thank for that little miracle.
First, I needed food and something appropriate to wear on the farm. I’d probably burn the house down if I tried to cook something, and I had thrown away what I’d thought was farm-worthy attire. So I got dressed, scrubbed my smartwatch one last time before refastening it to my wrist, snatched my queen from the clutches of deathwhile simultaneously leaving Dan with one less knight, and headed out the front door.
The only food spot I knew of in town was the diner that the pastor mentioned while he attempted to make small talk with me after the will reading. I’m sure there were other restaurants, but this was the only one that had a recommendation. I also knew it was owned by the woman who mean mugged me. However, my hunger, my inability to feed myself, and my refusal to depend on Dan for sustenance drove me into town and into Greenie’s Diner.
“Hello. Welcome to Greenie’s Diner!” I was greeted by the happy face of the pretty, young girl who’d waved to me at the will reading. She was tall and thin, with deep brown skin and two long pigtails fastened at the base of her head. “Would you like a table, a booth, or to sit at the counter?” She waved a large, laminated menu to point out my seating choices.
“Um, a booth, if that’s okay.” I smiled at my hostess.
“Of course!” She beamed. “Follow me.” She led me to a large booth along the wall. I slid in and she placed the menu in front of me. “My mom will be right over to take your order. I’ll get you a water and some silverware.”
“Thanks.” I pasted on a smile and nodded, suddenly apprehensive. I couldn’t stop thinking about her mother’s face at the will reading. She definitely recognized me, and my reputation must not be pleasant. The sudden urge to leave the diner before she saw me was overwhelming. How hard could it be to make myself some scrambled eggs and toast? Then, the memory of taking half an hour to make a terrible cup of coffee and nearly destroying the kitchen in the process kept me rooted in my seat as she approached.
“Hello, may I take your order?” The woman’s voice was dripping with forced politeness.
“Um, yes. How are the waffles?” I tried with a smile.
“The waffles are good, or I wouldn’t be serving them,” she answered in a tone that wasn’t rude or cheerful, just there. I decided to drop all pretenses.
“I’m sorry. You’re Erica, right?” She nodded curtly, not bothering to ask how I knew this. I also noticed her jaw clench slightly. “I don’t know you, but I seem to have done something to offend you.”
“No need to apologize, and you haven’t. Did you have any more questions about the menu? You ready to order, or do you need more time?” she asked in the same flat, nonchalant tone.
“I’m ready,” I said in a cool voice, matching hers.
“What can I get you?”
“I’ll have the waffles with fresh fruit, bacon, and coffee, please.”
“Okay.” She turned on her heel and walked away.
I was left alone at the table, feeling awkward and incredibly out of place. There were a few tables filled with other diners, and I got a sneaking feeling that I was being stared at. However, when I looked up to catch anyone’s eye, they were always looking at something else. Now would have been the perfect time to take out my phone to check emails, texts, or scroll through social media, but I was too afraid of what I might find. I left my phone in my pocket, deciding instead to study the diner’s décor. It had a vintage feel, though I could tell it was very modern. It was as if someone hired a high-end interior designer to make a cross between a farmhouse kitchen and a fifties-style eatery. All that was missing was a jukebox.
“So you’re Emmaline.” The voice belonged to the pint-size hostess,who was carrying a glass of ice water in one hand and a rolled-up linen napkin in the other.
“Well, I prefer Emma”—I gave her a kind smile—“but yes. That’s me. Thank you.” I took a sip of my water. “How did you know that?”
“Everybody in town is talking about you,” she said matter-of-factly. I glanced around the diner to find no one looking toward my table, but conversation had slowed.
“Oh, really?” I smiled at her and leaned forward. “What are they saying?”
“Nothing really.” She shrugged. “Just that you’ll ruin the town if you sell the farm.”
I nearly choked on my water at her calmly delivered declaration.
“Well, I certainly don’t plan on ruining the town,” I said when I regained the power of speech. “But if you don’t mind my asking, why would selling the farm be so bad for the town?”
“Oh, because of the—”
“Melissa Ann Burgess! Stop bothering the customers and come get your morning brownie.”
“Oh, she wasn’t bothering me,” I called across the dining room toward the counter where Melissa’s mother was standing, holding a square brownie wrapped in cellophane.
“Melissa,” her mother called again, ignoring my statement.
