JUNE 30
I leave the souvenir shop and go out into the lobby of the restaurant and sit on a bench with other waiting diners.
A few minutes later, Bea comes out of the shop. She leans against the wall by the bench.
Annabelle comes in and tosses her cup into the trash. She gives us each a look. “Uh, what did I miss?”
“Nothing,” Bea and I say at the same time.
Finally, the hostess calls our name. We follow her to a booth, and she drops three menus on the table.
Annabelle picks up a coffee mug. “Oh my god, hurry up, people. I need fuel here, stat.” She waves the cup in the air, looking around the room for a waitress.
“You just had coffee, like, two seconds ago,” Bea says. “You must like it a lot.”
Annabelle sighs and looks lovingly at her coffee cup. “So much.”
“Did you drink tea in England?”
“I tried to, but it didn’t take. I went straight back to my first love.” Annabelle points at a woman all alone, dressed in denim shorteralls and a plaid shirt. She looks like she could out-bench-press most of the guys in the restaurant. “See her over there? What do you think her story is?”
Bea looks. “Oh, that’s Marge. She drives a truck.”
Annabelle nods. “Like a boss.” She gestures with her head. “That dude at the counter with the clip-on tie and short sleeves.”
“You mean Fred?”
“Fred’s your man if you’re looking to buy…,” I say.
“Baby dolls,” Annabelle says, perfectly deadpan.
Bea and I look at each other and burst out laughing. She reaches out to take my hand, but I pull it away.
A waitress comes by and fills Annabelle’s coffee cup. She looks at my mug, still upside down on its frilled paper doily.
“Can I have a Sprite, please?” I ask.
“Sure, honey,” she says. “Girls, our special today is waffles with bacon and a side of home fries.”
“I’ll have that,” I say.
“Same,” Annabelle says.
“Make it three,” Bea says.
The waitress picks up our menus, taps them square on the table. She winks at us and goes off.
Bea sighs happily and sits back in her seat. “I love her.”
“The only person I let call me honey are Waffle Factory waitresses,” Annabelle says. “Especially if they are named Flo.”
“Or Alice,” I chime in. “Alice can even call me sweetie.”
“Betty can call me toots, but only if I’m ordering pie,” Annabelle says.
“And only if she has a pencil behind her ear and those really comfortable white shoes,” Bea says.
Annabelle smiles. “Gotta love those sensible white shoes.”
I realize that I have no idea what story Bea told her parents to be able to come on this road trip. “Bea, where do your mom and dad think you are?”
“I told them I was going to look at some colleges with the two of you. So if we could maybe, like, drive by a college, I’ll feel better about lying to them.”
My best friend never lies, especially to her parents. But she did so to be with me. I’m not sure what to do with that.
“What about you?” Bea asks me.
“Oh, uh, they think I’m at Willow.”
A quiet falls over the table.
A van pulls into a parking space by the window, and two adults and six kids get out.
Annabelle nods toward the family. “See that family?”
“The Funkweiler family?” Bea asks.
“Those guys are hard-core Christians.”
“Nah, they are in one of those German accordion bands—” Bea says.
“No, I mean, seriously. They are as Christian as you can get. You can tell from the way they’re dressed—those awful calf-length denim skirts and sneakers. The girls always have French braids and the boys always have crew cuts.” She dumps two cups of creamers into her coffee and three packs of sugar. “It’s their jam.”
Bea’s smile fades. She falls quiet.
“The lady at the crisis center dressed like that,” I say.
Bea shoots a look at me. “What’s a crisis center? When did you go to a crisis center?”
I don’t answer her.
“Crisis centers are Christian organizations that trick women into thinking the clinic is a real clinic, but in reality they are sham clinics that pressure women out of having abortions and treat them like shit to boot,” Annabelle says. “They lecture them on the Bible and spout all kinds of bullshit about pregnancy and birth control. It’s a trap, it’s meant to be a trap, and Camille fell into it.”