bothering me,” Mrs. Cuthbert admitted. Her expression turned into a sulky pout. “I was up all night with it.”
Asia leaned over and whispered something into Mrs. Cuthbert’s ear—or maybe she didn’t. Gretchen didn’t see Asia’s lips move. But the old woman smiled slightly.
“Thank you, dear.” She glanced at Gretchen, but the claws had retracted from her eyes.
Wordlessly Asia took the mug and steered Gretchen—still tense from the expectation of a fight—away from the table.
When Gretchen looked back over her shoulder, she saw that Mrs. Cuthbert was gazing out the window. She was smiling faintly, her head swaying back andforth slightly, as if she were bending with a breeze that no one else could feel.
Asia headed behind the counter.
“Are you going to toss that coffee? There’s nothing wrong with it,” Gretchen told her. “I just brewed it. And it’s still hot.” Bella’s was known for its coffee—delicious and always brewed to be melt-your-lips-off strong.
Asia nodded, smiling softly. “Yes, I know.”
“Then—?”
“I’m just going to stand here, count to sixty, and then bring her the same mug all over again. She’ll be happy with it this time.” Gretchen looked doubtful, but Asia gave her a confident smile and touched her on the arm. “You’ll see.”
Gretchen watched as Asia made her way to Mrs. Cuthbert’s table. The old woman turned away from the window to pick up the mug. She took a sip, then smiled up at Asia.
“Is Asia charming the cobras again?” Lisette asked as she reached behind the counter for a yellow squeeze bottle of mustard.
“It looks like it,” Gretchen admitted.
“That girl could charm the cute right out of a Cabbage Patch Kid.” Lisette rolled her eyes as she held the mustard aloft. “All right, keep your pants on,” she called to one of the guys at table four, who had just hollered that his burger was getting cold.
The bell behind Gretchen rang. “Table seven, order up,” Angel called.
Gretchen stifled a groan. Seven was Mrs. Cuthbert’s table. Gretchen half expected her to put up a fight about the quality of the sandwich, but Mrs. Cuthbert’s mood had clearly shifted. “Thank you, dear,” she said pleasantly as Gretchen set the platter on the table.
Surprised, Gretchen mumbled an awkward “you’re welcome” and retreated. Since Bella’s was half empty—it was three forty-five—Gretchen wiped down the countertops. Then she filled the paper napkin dispensers. Then she sorted cutlery. And when all of that was done, she went back to her sketch. She wanted to capture the interlocking spiderweb of wrinkles on Ms. Cuthbert’s neck. The way they danced as she ate was fascinating.…
“Beautiful.”
Gretchen started again. “I need to get a bell to put around your neck,” she told Asia, who was peering over her shoulder at the sketch.
Asia smiled. Her fingers traced the drawing lightly, the touch too delicate to smudge the work. She reached for the sketchbook, then hesitated. “May I?” She flipped through several sketches, studying each a moment, then moving on. Most people looked through her book with limited attention, like they were flipping though a magazine. But Asia really seemed to be studying each drawing. She came to a portrait and stopped. “I know this person, I think.”
“No.”
Asia’s eyebrows lifted, and Gretchen felt like a fool. She knew her voice had come out harsher than she’dintended. “It’s just—this is a picture of someone.…” She couldn’t say it. A thousand emotions threatened to overwhelm her—rage, pain, love, fear.
“Someone …” Asia studied her face. “Gone.”
Gretchen nodded.
Asia let the words hang in the air. After a moment, Gretchen could almost feel them floating away. She inhaled.
Asia looked down at the sketch—at Tim’s grinning face. Gretchen studied the portrait of Tim, with the almost-too-long nose, the straight teeth, the shaggy hair. She’d drawn it at the
Asia leaned over and whispered something into Mrs. Cuthbert’s ear—or maybe she didn’t. Gretchen didn’t see Asia’s lips move. But the old woman smiled slightly.
“Thank you, dear.” She glanced at Gretchen, but the claws had retracted from her eyes.
Wordlessly Asia took the mug and steered Gretchen—still tense from the expectation of a fight—away from the table.
When Gretchen looked back over her shoulder, she saw that Mrs. Cuthbert was gazing out the window. She was smiling faintly, her head swaying back andforth slightly, as if she were bending with a breeze that no one else could feel.
Asia headed behind the counter.
“Are you going to toss that coffee? There’s nothing wrong with it,” Gretchen told her. “I just brewed it. And it’s still hot.” Bella’s was known for its coffee—delicious and always brewed to be melt-your-lips-off strong.
Asia nodded, smiling softly. “Yes, I know.”
“Then—?”
“I’m just going to stand here, count to sixty, and then bring her the same mug all over again. She’ll be happy with it this time.” Gretchen looked doubtful, but Asia gave her a confident smile and touched her on the arm. “You’ll see.”
Gretchen watched as Asia made her way to Mrs. Cuthbert’s table. The old woman turned away from the window to pick up the mug. She took a sip, then smiled up at Asia.
“Is Asia charming the cobras again?” Lisette asked as she reached behind the counter for a yellow squeeze bottle of mustard.
“It looks like it,” Gretchen admitted.
“That girl could charm the cute right out of a Cabbage Patch Kid.” Lisette rolled her eyes as she held the mustard aloft. “All right, keep your pants on,” she called to one of the guys at table four, who had just hollered that his burger was getting cold.
The bell behind Gretchen rang. “Table seven, order up,” Angel called.
Gretchen stifled a groan. Seven was Mrs. Cuthbert’s table. Gretchen half expected her to put up a fight about the quality of the sandwich, but Mrs. Cuthbert’s mood had clearly shifted. “Thank you, dear,” she said pleasantly as Gretchen set the platter on the table.
Surprised, Gretchen mumbled an awkward “you’re welcome” and retreated. Since Bella’s was half empty—it was three forty-five—Gretchen wiped down the countertops. Then she filled the paper napkin dispensers. Then she sorted cutlery. And when all of that was done, she went back to her sketch. She wanted to capture the interlocking spiderweb of wrinkles on Ms. Cuthbert’s neck. The way they danced as she ate was fascinating.…
“Beautiful.”
Gretchen started again. “I need to get a bell to put around your neck,” she told Asia, who was peering over her shoulder at the sketch.
Asia smiled. Her fingers traced the drawing lightly, the touch too delicate to smudge the work. She reached for the sketchbook, then hesitated. “May I?” She flipped through several sketches, studying each a moment, then moving on. Most people looked through her book with limited attention, like they were flipping though a magazine. But Asia really seemed to be studying each drawing. She came to a portrait and stopped. “I know this person, I think.”
“No.”
Asia’s eyebrows lifted, and Gretchen felt like a fool. She knew her voice had come out harsher than she’dintended. “It’s just—this is a picture of someone.…” She couldn’t say it. A thousand emotions threatened to overwhelm her—rage, pain, love, fear.
“Someone …” Asia studied her face. “Gone.”
Gretchen nodded.
Asia let the words hang in the air. After a moment, Gretchen could almost feel them floating away. She inhaled.
Asia looked down at the sketch—at Tim’s grinning face. Gretchen studied the portrait of Tim, with the almost-too-long nose, the straight teeth, the shaggy hair. She’d drawn it at the
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