Page 9

The cafe is cozy, and the smell of bacon frying makes my stomach rumble. I haven’t eaten since that ill-fated brunch, and I’m ravenous. I stash my suitcase out of the way and take a seat at the long counter beside a younger man in glasses reading the newspaper and a guy in a trucker hat. A few more people occupy the booths in the back.

“What can I get for you, honey?” The plastic name tag pinned to her shirt says Marthe.

“Coffee.” I study the menu and calculate how much I can spend on this meal. “And eggs and toast, please. Thank you, Mar-thee.”

“Mar-tuh.” She writes my order down on a pad and pins it above the grill. “It’s Norwegian. Everybody gets one free go at it.”

“Noted.”

She returns to fill a cup with coffee.

“Could I trouble you for a power socket?” I hold out my phone in both palms, like it’s a dead bird, and she’s a witch with the magic to bring it back to life.

“Of course, honey. Charging station is over there.” She points to the other end of the counter where it meets the wall.

“You’re a goddess. Thank you.”

With my phone being resurrected, I return to my seat to find my eggs and toast waiting, and devour them inside of five minutes.

“What brings you to Alaska?” she asks, hip pushed against the register.

“I kind of blew up my life.” I’m not sure why I tell her the truth. I could’ve said “vacation.” I’m sure she doesn’t really want to know. It’s idle chitchat to make customers feel welcome.

“Most of us do at some point when things aren’t working.” She pours herself a cup of coffee. “What happened?”

I hesitate, then the words spill right out of me. “I had a fight with my parents. They control everything.” I shred a napkin. “I don’t know who I am without them telling me. This time, they went too far, and I…well…I finally stood up to them.”

Marthe waits, letting the cafe move around her.

“I needed space, and Alaska looked like it had some to spare. Clearly, I have no clue what I’m doing.”

I stare at the countertop, tracing the grain with my fingertip. The silence goes on. She’s probably walked away.

A wedge of pumpkin pie slides under my nose.

“Oh, thank you, but I can’t⁠—”

“On the house, honey.” She smiles and tops up my coffee.

In my world, nothing is free, and I wait for the catch, already calculating what this kindness will cost me. Except none comes, and I don’t know what to do with that.

“I’m clearing tables for it.”

She laughs, but doesn’t say no.

I scoop pumpkin and whipped cream into my mouth, biting down a groan. It’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten, and I’ve had dessert plated with tweezers by a man with two Michelin stars.

“Maybe you know exactly what you’re doing, and right here is where you need to be,” she says before greeting a family of five that pushes through the door.

Trucker hat is trying to flag her down for a refill while she seats the family, then rushes to the grill. An older couple by the window have been staring at their empty cups for a while. I’m off my stool, coffee pot in hand, topping up mugs and clearing the couple’s plates because standing still while things need doing is a compulsion I can’t kick. It’s the same itch that has me reorganizing the supply closet at the shelter when the phones go quiet.

“You don’t have to do that, honey. You’re a customer,” Marthe calls, watching me for longer than she needs to.

“Force of habit.”

The guy grunts a thanks when I refill his cup.

“I’m bad at sitting still.”