Page 48 of Chasing Creed

“I’ll have the chicken noodle.”

“Salad?”

“No. Thanks.”

“Coke?”

“Coffee. Just black.”

“Anything else?”

“No.” Maybe that sounded rude, and Sara quickly added, “Thanks.”

Satisfied, the waitress smiled, nodded, and left.

Sara knew she spent way too much time alone. The social norms were hard to pin down. Even now as she observed the other diners, finding patterns in their behavior was much more difficult than learning how to fix a leaky pipe under the sink.

Small talk? She had no idea what that included. All of it sounded artificial to her ears. Her conversations with Granny El were easy. But what made them easy? Sara wished she could figure that out. No matter what she did, sometimes she still felt like Iris’ little robot.

When Iris first allowed Sara to run errands, she strapped on a tracker to Sara’s ankle. She told Sara she’d be able to see everywhere she went and hear everything she said. By that time, Sara had already learned it was easier to do what Iris wanted than to fight her. Starvation and sleep deprivation had a way of snuffing out the fight. What it taught Sara was that she needed to be careful of every move she made and every word she spoke. Instead of learning how to have conversations, she found herself nodding, shrugging, and gesturing as if she were mute.

In no time, the waitress was back. The soup smelled wonderful. When she placed it in front of her, Sara leaned over the steaming bowl. On the plate underneath were three pads of butter, individually wrapped in foil. Real butter. She almost missed the covered basket the woman put down.

“What’s this?”

“Fresh bread.” The waitress’ smile widened. “The owner bakes every morning. It comes with the soup.”

Sara couldn’t believe her good fortune. Instead of questioning further, she remembered to just smile and say, “Thank you.”

But suddenly, the waitress turned to leave, and Sara wasn’t finished with her. She stopped her with, “Charlotte?”

The woman spun around like someone would do if and when hearing her name called, but her eyes flashed with surprise. There was something else. Fear? Maybe panic? And in that brief moment, she confirmed what Sara already knew.

“That’s not my name,” she told Sara as she glanced around, almost as if expecting a challenge to that statement. Then came another smile. Forced this time.

“Rachel. My name’s Rachel. Sorry. I should have mentioned that earlier. It’s been a really long day.”

“That’s okay. You remind me of someone I knew years ago. That’s all. Thank you for the soup. And the bread.”

She stared at Sara, and for a second, Sara worried Rachel might recognize her.

Finally, she said, “Let me know if you need anything else,” and hurried away.

Sara broke off a piece of bread. Baked fresh this morning. Golden-brown crust, soft and warm in the middle. She carefully unfolded a pad of butter. It was a luxury she wasn’t used to, so she took her time spreading it on the bread and watching it melt. It made her think of Granny El’s homemade jams. The aromas from the bread and soup brought back comforting memories. The rare few Sara had.

She glanced around at the other diners and only then remembered to unfold a napkin and place it in her lap. No one paid attention to her. They wouldn’t notice if her manners were rusty. She knew how to blend in well.

Finally, she leaned over the bowl and spooned up a bite of soup. She would eat every last bit of it. The bread, too. It was going to be cold outside tonight. She’d need the extra nutrition.

32

David City, Nebraska

Maggie was exhausted by the time she and Pakula returned to his SUV. The temperature had begun to fall. Soon the sun would slip below the wide-open horizon. Slush in the streets quickly transitioned to ice. The black-crusted piles of snow between vehicles hardened. Her boot disappeared into a drift she had to climb over to hop up into the vehicle. That’s when she noticed the flyer before Pakula did.

Stuck underneath the windshield wiper, the single piece of paper looked like an advertisement for local events. But the side that faced down, staring at Maggie, had handwriting. The block printing was subtle, with fine lines and easily mistaken as part of the flyer’s information. Pakula pulled it out, ready to crush and toss it when Maggie knocked on the glass then gestured for him to bring it inside.

As he slid into the driver’s seat, he said, “If you’re not totally starving, I already have a place in mind for us to go. Mostly pubs and fast food around here.” He held up the flyer, mistakenly thinking she wanted to check out the local cuisine.