This Much is True - Tia Louise Page 0,32

in my hand, and I haven’t even looked at it.

I look at her name tag. “Heidi, is it?”

“Yes, sir!” Her eyes meet mine, and her chin pulls back. I think she sees I’ve lost it a little bit.

“I want you to bring us everything on the menu. Can you do that?”

“I don’t understand…”

“We want it all.” My voice rises a bit louder. “Bring us one of these Western frittatas… and some of these… Huevos rancheros, and what’s this? Chipped beef on toast? That sounds good. And wow, eggs Benedict. Fancy. And pancakes. Check it out, Hope. They have pancakes. We can do a comparison taste test.”

“I don’t want pancakes.” Hope’s voice is soft, her eyes round with worry.

“She doesn’t want pancakes.” I look up at Heidi again. “How about you bring her the chicken and waffles. Scout can try the blueberry pancakes.”

“So you want the Western frittata, the huevos rancheros, chipped beef on toast, eggs Benedict, blueberry pancakes, and chicken and waffles?” Heidi reads her pad back to me so fast, I’m impressed.

“And one of these mixed fruit plates. To be healthy.”

“You got it, sir. Can I get y’all anything else?” She looks at Scout and Hope, who are both staring at me with wide eyes and parted lips.

“Ah, no.” Scout quickly takes the menus and pushes them towards her. “Thanks.”

I take the cloth-wrapped silverware off the table and unroll it, putting the napkin in my lap and the flatware beside my mug.

My brother’s voice is low. “Are you okay?”

“Yep.”

“You ordered everything on the menu.”

I nod slowly, my eyes on the fake wood tabletop. “You said you were hungry. Hell, we haven’t had a decent meal in three days.”

“Eating everything in sight isn’t a decent meal. It’s more like… a binge.” He’s still watching me. Hope hasn’t said a word… other than she doesn’t want pancakes. “What are you thinking right now?”

His question makes me think, which makes me want to laugh. “What am I thinking?” I lift my chin and meet his eyes. “I’m thinking about my last day in Fireside, the morning I left for San Francisco almost two years ago…”

Jesse ran into the bedroom in his Iron Man pajamas, and Becky exhaled some complaint. She was lying on her side with her back to me. We hadn’t slept together since he was born. She was always too tired or not in the mood or she had cramps.

My jaw tightens, and I realize she wasn’t sleeping with me because she was sleeping with…

“Here you go!” Heidi’s voice cuts my train of thought. A stout Latino busboy is with her, and he starts unloading plate after plate. “That there’s the frittata… and we have the huevos rancheros, the eggs benedict… We were out of the beef tips on toast, so I substituted corned beef hash. I hope that’s okay…”

Plates fill the table, and I finally dare to look at Hope. Her eyes are still round, but the shock is gone. Now she’s looking at me in a way that makes my chest tight and my appetite disappear.

Heidi straightens, putting her hands on her hips. “Can I get you anything? Coffee refills?”

Scout holds up a hand. “I think we have enough. Thanks, Heidi.”

We all sit in front of the feast, staring at the steaming plates of poached eggs covered in bright orange hollandaise or red-brown corned beef with green peppers and bits of potato.

The scrambled eggs in the frittata are a sunny yellow, and the waffles are thick and fluffy with dark fried chicken on top. Heidi even brought us buttermilk biscuits.

The scents blend together, and I feel slightly nauseated.

Taking up my fork, I scoop up a bit of the corned beef and put it in my mouth. I quickly stab the huevos rancheros and put a forkful in my mouth. I cut the side off a blueberry pancake and shove it in as well.

My cheeks are full, but the food has no taste. My throat is tight, but I force myself to swallow. All this food. All this food and all this hate and all this anger and all these lies…

So many lies.

Pushing back on the table, I take one last look at the massive spread and slide out of the booth.

I reach into my pocket and dig out the rest of my money, hoping it’s enough to cover all this. I toss it on the table and turn, heading for the doors.

Scout calls after me, but I’m moving fast. The windows of the Impala are down, and I