“I’m sure Sway is pleased.”
“As much as they can be with their internet darling on lockdown.” She makes an interested sound under her breath, another couple of clicks. “I meant to tell you, I’m sorting through some of your inboxes while you’re out. It looks like Sway has been screening some messages. Do you plan on posting at all while you’re there, or is it a full blackout?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” This is supposed to be a step back from work. I’m not sure scrolling through my accounts and posting random content is going to help with the perspective I want to find. I don’t want to do anything until it feels good again.
But I have found myself itching to swipe open my camera. It’s a reflex, a habit formed over close to a decade of sharing my life with millions of strangers. I wanted to snap a picture when I opened the bedroom door this morning, all four cats sitting in a line, staring up at me with their tiny heads tilted in quiet consideration. When I stepped off the front porch, the sun a brilliant, beautiful orange in the sky, everything glowing at the edges. When I wandered down the narrow alley on my way here, floral vines criss-crossed back and forth between the buildings, a canopy of blossoming flowers and drifting petals. The scent of honeysuckle tickling my nose.
“You don’t have to do anything at all,” Josie tells me over the phone. “You’re on a break for a reason. I don’t even remember the last time you took a true vacation.”
“I know,” I smooth my thumb over the edge of the cup. “But maybe it would help if I tried just telling stories again. That’s how we started all of this, isn’t it?”
No pressure. No expectations. Just me, talking to people. Listening again.
“I don’t think it would hurt,” she offers. “But please give yourself a break. Drink a latte.” She pauses for a second. “Find out if the man owns gray sweatpants.”
A laugh bursts out of me and half of the people in the cafe turn to look. This feels normal, the attention from strangers. When I was younger, it was exciting. I remember the first time someone recognized me in public. I was at the grocery store examining oranges and a young woman with bright blue hair came up to me and asked if I was Evelyn St. James. She saw my video about the Bagby Hot Springs and took a trip with her friends. I remember being overwhelmed. Flattered. Exceedingly delighted.
Now though, the attention feels a bit like sun-warmed skin, just shy of a burn. A hot prickle of awareness and an itch that doesn’t feel right to scratch. My eyes snag on my waitress in the corner, huddled together with a table full of teenagers. Their gazes scatter as soon I make eye contact and I bite my bottom lip against a smile. I give them a little wave and they collapse into furious whispers. One brave girl with thick black glasses and her hair in braids waves back.
The bell above the door jingles and Jenny slips in, one of the flower petals from outside caught in her hair. I raise my hand to get her attention and start to shift my collection of plates around. I couldn’t decide what to order, so I got one of everything in the case. I might have to get up for another sausage and cream cheese biscuit.
I wedge the phone between my shoulder and ear and move a bear claw to the corner of the table. I consider it briefly, and then take a bite. I’ve never met a pastry I didn’t love. “Gotta go, Jo.”
“I expect a picture in my inbox later.”
I snort a laugh. If I sent her a picture of Beckett, she’d be on the next flight to Maryland. “Sure, sure. Love you.”
“You too.”
Jenny raises both eyebrows as she slides into the seat across from me. I hand her a plate with a cranberry scone and she gives a happy little wiggle in her chair. “Boyfriend missing you?”
My lips twitch at the thinly-veiled fish for gossip. At least two heads tilt in our direction that I can see. I need to remember that there’s always someone listening in this town.
“Life partner,” I explain and Jenny eyeballs me as she breaks her scone in half. I don’t bother explaining. “Did you call around?”
She nods. “Haven’t been able to find anything, but it’s early. I’m sure something will turn up today.” She drags the tip of her finger along the edge of her plate, blonde hair half covering her face. She reminds me of my mom. Same lines by her eyes, same gentle smile.
Same inability to hide her duplicitous intentions.
“Did you happen to find a place to stay last night? I feel so terrible about what happened.”
I grin and tear off some cinnamon roll. The icing clings to my thumb. It tastes like sugar and small town gossip. “I’m sure you saw the whole thing from behind your desk, Jennifer Davis. Did you really call the phone tree this morning or are you scheming?”
She blinks twice, slow and steady. She then proceeds to stuff the rest of the scone into her mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I drop my chin in my hand. “Mmhmm.”
“I told you—”
“—the kite festival, yeah.” I haven’t seen a single person in this town with a kite.
“I’ll keep checking,” she mumbles around a mouthful of dense pastry and dried cranberry. I offer her the glass of water at my elbow, concerned about the compulsive way she keeps swallowing. She takes it with a shaky hand and downs the whole thing in two gulps. “You never know what might turn up.”
“Sure.”
“Betsey might have a lead on a studio apartment, but I think it’s above the mechanic station. Probably smells like oil.”
“Probably.”
“And I know the McGivens sometimes rent out their spare bedroom, but I think they’re hosting an … exchange student.”
“Makes sense.” It doesn’t make any sense.
“I’ll keep you updated though!” She slips from her seat and takes a step backwards, closer to the door. If I thought everyone was looking before, it’s nothing compared to the intense, avid attention we are attracting now. Two of the employees peer out from the back kitchen, watching the exchange. I think Gus, one of the firefighters, is recording the whole thing on his phone. Jenny laughs—a bright, unnatural thing. “Okay, bye!”
Her ponytail has hardly disappeared from view when a small but sturdy shadow appears over my shoulder.
“That woman is full of shit,” says Ms. Beatrice, her voice always softer and sweeter than I expect it to be. I heard rumors of her around town before I met her the first time. Things like:
Remember not to look her directly in the eye, and:
Do you think she’ll make anyone cry today?
So when I walked into the cafe and saw a small woman in a floral apron with her long hair pulled up in a loose gray bun, I was surprised.