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“That man is staring at me,” she said, looking toward the far end of the counter.
I turned. There were actually two men looking our way and talking. I recognized the older man. “That’s Mr. Hingen. He’s a plumber. He was at Whitefern two months ago to fix our hot-water heater.”
“Repair,” she said.
“What? Oh. Yes, repair. Very good.”
“Should we tell them it’s not nice to stare?”
“No, just ignore them, Sylvia. Open your napkin and put it on your lap the way we do at home, so you don’t drip anything and ruin your dress.”
She did, but every once in a while, she stole another look at Mr. Hingen and the young man with him. I tried to get her attention on other things, talking about some of the pictures in the restaurant.
The waitress brought our food, and we began to eat.
Sylvia smiled after taking two bites. “Better than your hamburgers, Audrina,” she commented.
“Well, thanks a lot.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, proud that she had remembered to follow up a thank-you and, of course, missing my sarcasm. Vera was the first to tell me that talking to Sylvia was like talking to yourself. It was true, but I never let her or anyone else see that it bothered me. Most of the time, it didn’t.
Before we were finished, Mr. Hingen stopped at our table to say hello, introducing the younger man as his son, Raymond. He was a good-looking, dark-haired man with light brown eyes, probably in his twenties. It was obvious that Raymond was quite taken with Sylvia and had asked his father to introduce him to us.
“How’s everything at the house?” Mr. Hingen asked.
“Fine, thank you.”
“My son is working with me now, so if you have any problems, just give us a call. This is your younger sister?”
“Yes.”
“You’re very pretty,” Raymond said to Sylvia. “Where have you been hiding?”
“I don’t hide,” Sylvia said, indignant. “Do I, Audrina?”
“No, of course not.”
“Do you go to college?”
“No, she doesn’t attend college. She’s at home with me.”
“There’s a lot to do here for a small town. You’d be surprised,” Raymond told Sylvia. “Do you like to dance?”
She looked to me. “We dance, don’t we, Audrina?”
I shook my head. “Not like he means, Sylvia. Thank you, Mr. Hingen, but—”
“Raymond, please.” He turned back to Sylvia. “If you’re not seeing anyone, I’d like to call you one day.”
“I see Audrina and Arden, and I’m going to see Mr. Price tomorrow,” Sylvia told him.
I wondered how long it would take him to realize whom he was talking to.
“Price?”
“He’s a retired art teacher, ain’t he?” Mr. Hingen asked me.
“Yes. He’s giving my sister lessons. Right now, that’s all she has time for. Thank you for stopping by,” I said curtly.
