know?”
“I know.”
“Oh, right. Of course you do. It’s a good thing I ate before I saw the dead cat.”
“It happens. I’m hoping a hungry dog will pass through and save me the trouble.”
“Gross.” She made a face. “Anyway, I figured I’d spend the day here rather than sitting at home. I mean, your home. I like libraries. I don’t know if I’ve ever been in this one.”
“Maybe when you were little.”
“Maybe.” She started chewing on her thumbnail.
“How old were you when you moved away from Ednaville?” Jason asked.
“Which time?” Sierra asked. “We lived here more than once.”
“I guess I was wondering when you last went to the Owl.”
“The Owl?” Sierra’s face brightened. “I haven’t been there in forever.”
“If you’re hungry, we could go and get something to eat.”
“Are you kidding?” She started packing up her things. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”
* * *
In the Midwest, people called a place like the Owl a creamy whip. It was a freestanding, low, concrete building that dished up soft-serve ice cream, shakes, hamburgers, and fries through a walk-up window. No one knew why it was called the Owl, except for the presence of a comical owl, one with large eyes and ruffled feathers, painted on the sign out by the road. People usually ate in their cars after ordering or else they sat at the sticky red picnic tables in the parking lot, shooing away flies and avoiding the sun. Jason and Sierra both ordered through the tiny window, the heat from the fryers and the grill brushing against their faces. They picked up their burgers and fries, then found a spot in the shade. It was just before five, and the flock of families who came by for after-dinner ice cream hadn’t arrived yet.
During the short car ride over, they engaged in small talk. What was Sierra studying? What were her favorite subjects? The girl seemed a little distracted. She stared out the window of the car, observing the passing scenery and occasionally saying, “I remember that” or “They tore that down.” Jason tried several times to bring up Hayden and hadn’t found the right entry point. But as they ate, Sierra checked her phone over and over. The fifteenth time she did it, Jason spoke.
“Anything from your mom?” he asked.
“Not since this morning.” Sierra shrugged. “She told me lastnight that she might not be responding to all of my texts. I think she just didn’t want me to worry.”
“Does she always answer right away?”
“No. She forgets sometimes. She turns the sound off on her phone at work and then she forgets to turn it back on. I’ll text her a bunch of times and be like, ‘Mom, turn your phone on.’ Of course, she can’t hear me when I say that.”
“If she told you she might be out of touch . . .”
“I know. You’re worried too.” She tilted her cup into the air, swallowing milk shake. She smacked her lips. “Whole milk. Nice. Mom started buying skim.” She wrinkled her nose. “Anyway, I’m used to things being a little adventurous with Mom. Sometimes I look at my friends, and I think, ‘What would it be like to have normal parents?’ I don’t mean two parents in the house or money or any of that stuff. I just mean parents who are . . . I don’t know.”
“Predictable?”
“Exactly.”
“But your dad’s done okay, hasn’t he?”
“Dad? Okay?”
“Lately he has.”
“I guess you’re right,” she said. “And you don’t have to sugarcoat anything for me. Mom told me all about his police record. I know he got arrested for assault once and did a little jail time for DUI and reckless driving. I get it.”
“That was mostly before you were born.”
“Mostly. But, yes, he’s doing okay. I know he loves me and all of that. He’s a nice guy when he’s around.” She picked at her fries. “Mom will call. She always does.” She smiled as though at a private joke.
“What?”
“It’s stupid. When I was a kid,
“I know.”
“Oh, right. Of course you do. It’s a good thing I ate before I saw the dead cat.”
“It happens. I’m hoping a hungry dog will pass through and save me the trouble.”
“Gross.” She made a face. “Anyway, I figured I’d spend the day here rather than sitting at home. I mean, your home. I like libraries. I don’t know if I’ve ever been in this one.”
“Maybe when you were little.”
“Maybe.” She started chewing on her thumbnail.
“How old were you when you moved away from Ednaville?” Jason asked.
“Which time?” Sierra asked. “We lived here more than once.”
“I guess I was wondering when you last went to the Owl.”
“The Owl?” Sierra’s face brightened. “I haven’t been there in forever.”
“If you’re hungry, we could go and get something to eat.”
“Are you kidding?” She started packing up her things. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”
* * *
In the Midwest, people called a place like the Owl a creamy whip. It was a freestanding, low, concrete building that dished up soft-serve ice cream, shakes, hamburgers, and fries through a walk-up window. No one knew why it was called the Owl, except for the presence of a comical owl, one with large eyes and ruffled feathers, painted on the sign out by the road. People usually ate in their cars after ordering or else they sat at the sticky red picnic tables in the parking lot, shooing away flies and avoiding the sun. Jason and Sierra both ordered through the tiny window, the heat from the fryers and the grill brushing against their faces. They picked up their burgers and fries, then found a spot in the shade. It was just before five, and the flock of families who came by for after-dinner ice cream hadn’t arrived yet.
During the short car ride over, they engaged in small talk. What was Sierra studying? What were her favorite subjects? The girl seemed a little distracted. She stared out the window of the car, observing the passing scenery and occasionally saying, “I remember that” or “They tore that down.” Jason tried several times to bring up Hayden and hadn’t found the right entry point. But as they ate, Sierra checked her phone over and over. The fifteenth time she did it, Jason spoke.
“Anything from your mom?” he asked.
“Not since this morning.” Sierra shrugged. “She told me lastnight that she might not be responding to all of my texts. I think she just didn’t want me to worry.”
“Does she always answer right away?”
“No. She forgets sometimes. She turns the sound off on her phone at work and then she forgets to turn it back on. I’ll text her a bunch of times and be like, ‘Mom, turn your phone on.’ Of course, she can’t hear me when I say that.”
“If she told you she might be out of touch . . .”
“I know. You’re worried too.” She tilted her cup into the air, swallowing milk shake. She smacked her lips. “Whole milk. Nice. Mom started buying skim.” She wrinkled her nose. “Anyway, I’m used to things being a little adventurous with Mom. Sometimes I look at my friends, and I think, ‘What would it be like to have normal parents?’ I don’t mean two parents in the house or money or any of that stuff. I just mean parents who are . . . I don’t know.”
“Predictable?”
“Exactly.”
“But your dad’s done okay, hasn’t he?”
“Dad? Okay?”
“Lately he has.”
“I guess you’re right,” she said. “And you don’t have to sugarcoat anything for me. Mom told me all about his police record. I know he got arrested for assault once and did a little jail time for DUI and reckless driving. I get it.”
“That was mostly before you were born.”
“Mostly. But, yes, he’s doing okay. I know he loves me and all of that. He’s a nice guy when he’s around.” She picked at her fries. “Mom will call. She always does.” She smiled as though at a private joke.
“What?”
“It’s stupid. When I was a kid,
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