Desolation. Derek Landy

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      Watching the people file into church, she figured that there was absolutely nothing about Desolation Hill that she found disagreeable, and yet something had got its hooks into her and was pulling her down.

      Deciding that breakfast might improve her mood, she stepped into Fast Danny’s, the only one of the three cafe/diner joints on Main Street open on a Sunday morning. There were a few patrons sitting at tables, all of whom examined Amber when she walked in. She ignored them, chose a table in the corner, and sat, started reading through the menu.

      The waitress came over, a woman in her forties who looked like she’d had a busy morning. Her nametag identified her as Brenda.

      “Just passing through?” Brenda asked, which struck Amber as an odd thing to greet someone with. At the Firebird, Amber had always greeted customers with a smile. There was no smile on show here.

      “Kinda,” said Amber.

      “Oh yeah?” Brenda said, but not in a conversational way.

      Amber had a soft spot for people waiting tables. She knew what a crappy job it could be. That being said, Brenda’s attitude was not going to be earning her any tips.

      “I’m staying for a few days,” Amber said. “At the motel.”

      “The Dowall Motel?”

      “Is there another one?”

      Brenda didn’t bother to answer that. “Were you told about the festival?”

      “Yeah. But we weren’t told what kind of festival it is.”

      “It’s a local one,” said Brenda. “Townsfolk only.”

      Amber decided that she didn’t like Brenda’s dismissive tone. She didn’t like being dismissed. Her skin itched. All she had to do was relax and she’d shift, and then she’d be taken seriously. Then she’d be respected.

      “That was mentioned,” she said quietly.

      Brenda nodded, apparently satisfied. “Okay then, what can I get you?”

      And, all of a sudden, Brenda was in full waitress mode and Amber was left with all that hostility and nowhere to put it. “Uh …”

      Brenda looked at her, eyebrows raised, waiting.

      Amber felt the hostility drain from her. “The Danny’s Breakfast, please.”

      “Will do,” said Brenda. “Eggs sunny side up or scrambled?”

      “Scrambled.”

      “Coffee or juice?”

      Had she really been about to jump up and rip the waitress’s face off, just because of her tone of voice? She felt amazingly stupid right now.

      “Juice,” she said. “Thank you. Oh, and …” Amber held up her hands. “I had an accident.”

      “So I see.”

      She gave Brenda a weak smile. “Would it be possible to have my breakfast, like, cut into smaller pieces?”

      “You want it all chopped up?”

      “Yes, please. Well, besides the egg. Because that’ll be scrambled.”

      “Okay,” Brenda said dubiously. “Might cost you a little more, though.”

      Amber frowned. “To cut it up?”

      “It’s an unusual requirement.”

      “But it’ll only take ten seconds.”

      The waitress shrugged. “We’ll see if the cook is comfortable doing it. Will that be all?”

      Amber hesitated. “Yes.”

      Brenda nodded, and moved away as an old man came in.

      “Hey there, Brenda,” he said.

      Brenda smiled for the first time. “Good morning, Mr Tomlinson. How are you?”

      “I’m doing good, thanks,” said Tomlinson. “And you?”

      “Doing fine,” said Brenda. “Nice weather we’re having.”

      “It is. It is nice weather.”

      “Is it the usual, Mr Tomlinson?”

      “Sorry?”

      “The usual?”

      “Oh yes, the usual. Ham on rye with mustard.”

      “With the crusts cut off.”

      “Just go ahead and cut them crusts off, you betcha.”

      “You got it.”

      The moment Brenda turned away from him to deliver the order, her smile was gone, and Amber watched as Tomlinson’s own smile slowly faded. He stood there, staring into space. Amber’s mom had once said something about friends and fake smiles, but that was Amber’s mom, so Amber banished the memory from her mind.

      A woman came in behind Tomlinson and the smile suddenly reappeared as he turned.

      “Morning, Jackie,” he said.

      “Morning, Brett,” Jackie said. “Good weather for fishing.”

      “It is.”

      “Getting your usual?”

      “Yes, I am. Ham on rye with mustard, with the crusts cut off. Hey, how’s little Everett doing?”

      “He’s doing fine,” said Jackie. “He had a bad cough that went on for a few days. I thought it might be a chest infection, but it cleared up on its own.”

      “I heard that,” Tomlinson said, nodding. “I heard he had a cough.”

      Brenda arrived back, handed Tomlinson a brown paper bag. “Here you go, Mr Tomlinson. Your usual.”

      “Much obliged, Brenda,” Tomlinson said, handing over the exact change. He tipped his hat to them both. “You have a good day now, ladies.”

      They smiled at him and he walked out, and then they turned those smiles on each other.

      “How you doing today, Jackie?” Brenda asked. “How’s that boy of yours?”

      “He’s good,” Jackie said. “He had a cough, but it cleared up. You all set for Book Club tonight?”

      “I am,” Brenda said. “What did you think of it?”

      “A little racier than what I’m used to,” Jackie said. “Did you like it?”

      “I thought it was fine. Racy, like you СКАЧАТЬ