Chapter 10 - The Booth by the Window
The cruiser didn't go to the station. It turned into the parking lot of the Starlite Diner off Main, where the neon OPEN sign buzzed in the window and tire tracks cut brown slush across the asphalt. My boots hit the ground and I almost slipped. The sheriff kept his hand near my elbow without grabbing me, and then he unbuckled Lily himself and lifted her out with the bunny squished under her chin.
"Just till we get a callback," he said. "It's warm in here."
Inside smelled like coffee and grease and cleaner. The heat hit my face so hard my eyes watered. A waitress in her forties with a dark ponytail looked up from behind the counter, took one look at us, and didn't ask anything stupid.
"Booth by the window," she said. "I'll turn the heat vent that way."
He slid us into the red vinyl seat. Lily went limp against me right away. Her snowsuit made a wet sound. Water pooled under her little black boots. I pulled off my gray gloves and tried to rub her hands like I'd seen Mom do when we waited for the bus. Her fingers were so cold they felt waxy inside her gray mittens.
"Lily," I whispered. "Hey. Stay with me."
The waitress came back with two thick brown blankets that smelled like laundry. She tucked one around Lily without touching her face, and laid the other across my shoulders. She didn't stare at the snow melting off our coats. She just nodded at the sheriff.
"Cocoa for the little ones?" she said quietly. "On me."
He nodded. "And water too. Small cups."
When the mugs came, the steam fogged Lily's glasses — no, she didn't wear glasses. It fogged my vision for a second. I blew on it and held it to Lily's mouth. "Small sips," I said. "Like this." She drank and coughed and bunny's ear dipped into the cocoa. I wiped it quick with my sleeve. I kept rubbing her hands between sips, counting in my head to keep myself awake.
I realized how hungry I was when my stomach made a noise. Lily hadn't eaten since the toast Mom left that morning. I hadn't either. The waitress must have heard because she set down a plate of plain toast cut in triangles, no questions.
"Eat slow," she told me, not Lily. Adult to adult almost.
The sheriff's radio crackled at his shoulder. He stepped two tables away but I could still hear. Dispatch, flat and tired. A plate run. A gray sedan, Mom's car, last seen on the camera near Mercy General, turning toward the emergency lot about an hour ago.
He walked back and crouched so his eyes were level with mine. "Your mom made it to the hospital area," he said. "That's good. That means she's probably with your dad."
I nodded because I didn't want Lily to hear my voice shake. My hands were finally warming up under the blanket and they tingled and hurt. Lily's head dropped heavier onto my chest, bunny up under her chin like a pillow.
"She's warmer, but she needs real sleep," the waitress murmured, refilling my water. She glanced at the sheriff. "You taking them over there?"
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"Yeah," he said, pulling out his keys. "We'll head that way once the lot's confirmed."
I tucked the blanket tighter around Lily and picked up the last triangle of toast for the ride. We weren't claimed yet. But we were warm, and now we knew where to look.
