“Who would have thought a good-looking thing like Hawkins Sunday would still be holding on to his purity like that?” Ellie Walcott said with her hand over her bosom. The gold from her stacked bangle bracelets caught the sunlight coming through the plate glass window and sparkled around her like golden confetti. “What a sweet boy.”
Penny Chan wrinkled her nose. “I dunno. I heard from Van at the Bugle that Hawk actually slept with Trina Higgins in high school, and that’s why she was heartbroken when her parents moved the whole family to Nebraska.”
Norma Alvarez choked on her pancakes. “Hawkins and Trina? Nonsense. The boy is gay as the day is long. All the Sunday brothers have an eye for the gentlemen. My son Tonio and his sweet boyfriend have been together nearly seventeen years, which means I have asensefor these things.” She sniffed. “I wonder if Tonio has any single friends…”
I rolled my eyes but stopped myself from commenting as I delivered their food.
Two tables down, Emma Sunday sat with a few of her friends, idly scrolling through her phone, and didn’t glance up when I approached with their hummus appetizer. “…so I told Uncle Drew I think it’s pretty freaking cool. He’s been up there three days so far, and I think he should make it an even forty. You know, like that character in that book who wandered in the wilderness for forty days and forty nights.”
Her friend blinked at her. “You meanthe Bible?”
“What?” Em looked up from her phone and scowled. “No, Gracie, the John Krakauer book about Alaska.”
“Ohhh.” Gracie thought this over. “I hope Hawk doesn’t burn his cash to stay warm like that guy did. You could use it to get some new lacrosse gear. But yeah, I agree. It’s cool what he’s doing.”
Cool?That Hawk reminded her of a book where the main characterdied?
No. No, it definitely wasnotcool that Hawk had decided to park himself on Fogg Peak, all alone, to protest the development… as I’d told Webb several times with increasing frustration.
But because I’d somehow stumbled into the alternate-universe, opposite-land version of Little Pippin Hollow where my beloved, peace-loving Hawk Sunday had become an angry protestor who lived in a tent on a mountain, Webb was treatingHawk’s decision to go full-on Henry David Thoreau as a nonevent and refused to get involved.
“He’s fine, Jack,” Webb had informed me, barely glancing up from the trees he was inspecting for insects. “He’s camping twenty minutes from home, he has plenty of batteries, and nobody knows that mountain like he does. Weren’t you the one saying it was time to stop treating him like a kid?”He’d given me a sidelong glance I didn’t know how to interpret. “If you’re worried he’s starving, maybe youuuu should be the one to go check on him.Bring him a panini.”
I wasn’t only worried about Hawk’s physical survival, though. Did anyone know if he was lonely? Or angry? Or if he’d brought enough books to read? Were my calls to him going directly to voicemail due to the lack of cell reception on the ridge or due to his lack of reception of…me?
I plunked the heavy plate down in front of the teenagers with a grunt.
As I walked away, I heard Em say, “I bet Jack’s grumpy ’cause he’s shorthanded, and summer’s a busy season. I bet he’ll be hiring soon since Hawk is—oh my heck, Gracie, look at this Instagram post!”
My stomach rolled over. No, I was definitely not hiring Hawk’s replacement. Not now, not ever. Hawk had lost his temper due to… circumstances… but eventually, things would calm down. Or he would calm down. And then he’d be back. Talking to me. Teasing me. Making every part of my life feelrightagain.
Any minute now.
Probably.
I could not contemplate a future for me that didn’t have Hawk in it.
“Katey, table twelve looks ready for their bill,” I said, making my way into the kitchen to check on an order.
Katey turned away from a conversation with Tom, the line cook, a residual frown on her face. “Yeah, okay. But hey, is it alright with you if I duck out early tomorrow afternoon if that storm is still coming through like they’re predicting? My dog doesn’t handle big storms very well.”
“Storm?” I reached for the plates Tom had lined up for me. “Who said anything about a storm?”
Katey and Tom exchanged a look.
“Boss, that’s all most folks’ve been talking about all morning,” he informed me, which was either patently false or my ears had become antennae that only tuned in to Hawk-related programming. “Big baddie with high winds and heavy rain. Remember that microburst that happened in Addison a few years ago? Weathermen say they’re way more common than tornadoes. Bring your pets inside.”
Katey nodded. “You should probably keep an eye on conditions and consider closing early so everyone can get home.”
As I walked back out to deliver the order to my customers, my brain entered a well-organized spiral serving up varied and detailed images of a lone camper in a tent on an exposed mountain ridge getting sucked up into a weather vortex and transported violently into the afterlife.
“It’s fine,” I assured myself as I brought MaryPat Fishbaugh her lunch order. “No one is dying over this.”
MaryPat looked up from her mushroom-and-swiss panini with a side of orzo summer salad. “Uh. Sure hope not, Jack. But everything looks real good.”
I made a vague gesture of apology and turned away.
Everything did not, in fact, look real good. When the lunch rush died down and I finally had enough free time to pull out my phone and search the weather, I discovered the forecast was just as perilous as Katey and Tom had suggested. There was no way Hawk could continue to live in a tent on Glassy Ridge. Someoneneeded to talk him down, and since Webb wouldn’t get involved, it had to be…
