When I came back out, I stopped to listen again. That was when I looked in the living room.
Before, the couch had been covered by a sheet, like the rest of the furniture. Now the sheet was folded back, a girl curled up tight on the dark fabric beneath. She was skinny, wearing shorts and a crop top, a square of her skin visible. Her back was turned to me, knees pulled up to her chest, hugging herself.
After a moment or two I realized she was dead asleep: I could see her breaths, even and slow. Moving closer, I noted her blond hair, dark at the roots. Shoes parked neatly nearby. Her phone and purse were tightly wedged between herself and the couch. As I looked back at my mom’s room, wondering again if I should do something, a breeze blew in, cold, through the open window. The girl shifted, moaning softly, and curled up even tighter.
I didn’t know her at all. But she seemed like she belonged here. So I went to my room, grabbing the blanket for the other bed, and brought it out with me. When I shook it out over her, she stirred and I thought I’d woken her. But she only rolled over, tugging it closer.
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 thefirst 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 saidCOFFEE.There was anAVAILABLE FOR RENTone 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?”
