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Drive YouWild
Her top hasthe Revved logo — a car with flame detailing — on one side, and her name on the other. Caitlin. “Hi,” she says, smiling at me, but her eyes go to theman.
“Car’s overheating,” he says. “Make sure they’re taken careof.”
“You got it.” She grabs a regular menu and a kids’ menu. “Follow me, please.”
“But—” She’s already on her way, as if there weren’t a bunch of people in line ahead of us. Unless I want to make a scene, I’m stuck.
The man hasn’t left. He jerks his head in the direction Caitlin went, as if to say Go on, now. I shoot him a dirty look and then hurry after the hostess.
She’s waiting for us by what seems to be the only empty booth in the place. “Look,” I start, but I don’t get the chance to finish.
“I’ll be right back with a booster chair,” she says, and hurries off. With a sigh, I slide into the booth. She’s back as quickly as she promised.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” I say in a low voice before she can take off again. “But why did you seat us in front of all those people?”
Caitlin’s smile is warm. She’s cute, and petite, with long brown hair and brown eyes. “You’re traveling, you have a baby, and it’s a hot day. None of them will begrudge you going ahead ofthem.”
“Really?” I squint at her. “Is everyone in this town unnaturallynice?”
She throws back her head and laughs. “It is a pretty nice town, now that you mention it. Gina will be with you in a minute.”
With that, she’s gone, but I’m still getting Sophie buckled into the booster chair when a curvy redhead comes over. “Hi. I’mGina.”
Restaurant guests don’t normally introduce themselves to their waitresses, in my experience, but maybe in this town they do. “I’m Heather, and this is Sophie. Nice to meetyou.”
“Hi, Sophie.” She smiles and wiggles her fingers at my baby, who ducks herhead.
“Don’t take it personally; she’s shy with strangers.” Except for the cranky, overbearing man who brought ushere.
“No worries. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Just water, please.” When she’s gone, I ignore the regular menu and look at the kids’ menu. The prices aren’t too bad, and Sophie won’t eat an entire pancake. I can have a bite or two of hers. Relieved, I set the menu aside and take Sophie’s sun bonnetoff.
Gina comes back with a huge glass of water for me, and a small one for Sophie (“In case you want to put some in her sippycup”).
“Thanks.” I appreciate her thoughtfulness.
“Are you ready to order?”
“Yes, the children’s pancake breakfast.”
She scribbles it on her pad. “And foryou?”
“I’m just here for the air conditioning.”
There’s a pause, and then Gina slides into the booth opposite me. I’m too startled to say anything, and when she leans forward, I automatically do the same. In a low voice, she says, “Dante won’t be happy if you don’teat.”
This is such an extraordinary statement, on multiple levels, that it takes me a moment to respond. In that time, my brain seizes on the least relevant but most tantalizing bit of data. “Dante? Is that hisname?”
“He didn’t tellyou?”
“No.”
She rolls her eyes. “Men. Yes, his name is Dante.”
“Tell me his last name isn’t Alighieri.”
