Chapter 23: Dinner

The dinner was on Saturday, at the diner on the corner two blocks from Coughlin Freight.

I picked it because the pancakes were good, the booths were big, and it was a place where nobody would ever hold up a phone.

Birdie sat on my left, in the yellow cardigan, with a laminated menu held up in both hands.

Carly sat across from her, and next to Carly, folded awkwardly into the vinyl, sat Nate in his grey sweater.

"I'll have the pancakes," Birdie said. "With whipped cream and the thing with strawberries."

"You'll have the strawberries," Carly said, "and a vegetable."

"Syrup is a vegetable," Birdie said.

"It's from a tree," Carly admitted.

"Then it counts," Birdie said.

Nate said nothing, but I saw him write "syrup, tree" in his head.

Carly set her menu down and gave him the full ER stare.

"So. Mr. Coughlin. Intentions."

"Contractual," he said.

"Elaborate," Carly said.

"I intend to honor every term," Nate said. "Three pages. All of it in plain language, including the part about dinner."

"Does it say you cook?" Carly asked.

"It says nothing about cooking. I'm told that was a mercy."

Birdie giggled so hard she hiccupped.

The waitress came and took our orders, and Nate gave his without looking at the menu.

"Whatever the table wants," he said, "I'm paying."

"First reach loses," Birdie said, and the whole booth stopped.

"Who told you that?"

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