“Yes, please.” My body wanted caffeine badly. “Oh, I should introduce my friend Andre.”
Sarabeth nodded with her blonde ponytail swinging. “Nice to meet you, Andre. I’m Sarabeth—as you’ve already figured out. Coffee for you as well?”
He nodded.
“And we’re ready to order.” I shut my menu. “Two orders of waffles and blueberries—with whipped cream. Oh, and I’ll take a side order of bacon.”
Andre grinned. “Me too, if that’s okay.”
“Of course.” Sarabeth grabbed the menus. “I’ll be right back with the coffee.” Then she was off again.
“She seems…happy.” Andre cocked his head.
“I would say she is. But then everyone has concerns, right? She just can’t show it while she’s working.” I had heard Sarabeth had a rough home life—sick mom and disabled brother. One would never know it by the way she bounced through the day and handled everything brilliantly here. “Now, what do you think?”
Andre gazed around the diner—with the posters from the fifties, the bopping music, and the charm the place always held. At least that’s how I saw it.
“It’s a classic. My mom sometimes took me to a place like this on Davenport Road. Very much like this. If the food is half as good, I’ll be in Seventh Heaven.”
“And if it’s better?”
“Then I’ll have you to thank and I’ll be grateful.” He offered what I thought of as his shy smile. “Tell me more about Mission City.”
And so I did.
Chapter Eight
Andre
When I’d asked Zahir to tell me about Mission City, I’d sort of hoped he might tell me more about himself. More about Marty. More about their relationship as handler and puppy.
Nope. He dove into a great explanation of Mission City—the origin, the culture, the geography, as well as many of the residents.
A couple Zahir knew—Dean and Adam—popped by our table to say hi. Dean was a jovial Aussie who did something with forests while Adam had some kind of job in business. I hadn’t been able to keep up. The men had a dog named Chip who they’d left at home for the day, and apparently some diffident cat named Maurice. I knew better than to stare at the scar on the left side of Adam’s face. A burn? Faded to white, so obviously old.
Both men smiled and ribbed Zahir about how Daphne had fared while he’d been away. Then they sat in an empty booth, and my dining companion returned his attention to me. This time, instead of talking about himself, he tried to coax more information out of me.
Now, as we sat in his living room, awaiting Demetrius, I tried to replay in my mind what I’d actually said.
Blank.
Probably stupid, meaningless shit. Because, frankly, I wasn’t a very interesting person. My little contained life. Nothing to write home about. Or whatever that expression was.
“Are you okay?” Zahir asked the question quietly.
I sat on his living room couch with Daphne sprawled on my lap.
She’d given her owner the cold shoulder when we returned—apparently she really didn’t like being left alone—and she’d decided my lap was the place to be.
For my part, I had no complaints. Petting her brought a sense of calm to me that I desperately needed.
Well, maybe just the illusion of calm—because inside, my gut roiled and anxiety tightened my chest. I wasn’t generally an anxious person—things were going to spin out however they were meant to. What I said or did rarely impacted events around me. So I just kept my head down and did the very best I could. Yesterday’s flight had been survived, thanks to Zahir. Today’s meeting with my half-brother would be endurable. I didn’t venture into the hope that things would go smoothly and I’d be embraced.
A knock sounded at the door.
Daphne straightened from her lazy-dog pose.
“You both stay where you are—I can get the door.” Zahir rose and made his way over to it.
