Chapter 13: He's Asking for You

Nobody in the diner said anything for a long time.

The fishermen stood at the glass with their coffee going cold.

The nurse had her hand over her mouth.

Marigold woke up in her booth under the coats and climbed onto the counter to see.

"Did we win?" she asked.

"We didn't lose," Arlo said.

He went out first.

I followed him down the steps.

The boards were wet and covered in seaweed, but every one of them was still there.

The bait-shop sign hadn't moved. The carousel tarp was flat and tight where he'd tied it.

Down the waterfront, people were coming out of their buildings in bathrobes and rain boots.

They stood in the street and looked at the broken seawall.

Then, one by one, they looked at us.

A woman walked up the pier with a toddler on her hip. Her hair was still wet.

"Is the diner open?" she asked. "Our power's out. Everything's out."

Arlo looked at me.

"The boiler's working," I said.

"Then we're open," he said.

By nine, there were forty people in the diner.

By ten, we'd run out of eggs, and the bait-shop owner went to the cannery for more in a borrowed truck.

People charged their phones on every outlet we had.

Kids sat on the floor under the jukebox.

A man fixed the broken booth with a roll of tape out of his car.

Nobody had any money on them. I wrote their names on a pad and said they could pay next week.

Around noon, an old woman at the counter put down her fork.

"My mother rode that carousel when it was new," she said. "Is it true they're tearing this place down?"

The room got quiet.

"In seventy-eight days," I said.

"Who says?"

"Kessington Global. They own the lots on both sides."

She snorted.

"The lots on both sides are full of sand this morning."

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