The-Hummingbird-s-Cage(29)

And there at the summit I saw it, shining from the crags.

A fixed, flawless white light.

I’d never noticed this before—in fact, I’d never seen the top of the Mountain except in daylight. The light seemed set at such an altitude, and so inaccessible, I couldn’t imagine what it might be. Or how someone had managed to put it there. Or why.

It didn’t move or blink or strobe. A beacon of some kind? A warning?

A cool breeze swept in from the east and I pulled my sweater close.

The sun was cresting now, inching higher with each passing second. As it rose, the light on the Mountain faded in kind, shrinking to a pinpoint, then to extinction, even as the Mountain itself seemed to rouse to life.

It took an effort to disengage and turn back to the path. The air held a new snap and static, as if a thunderstorm had just passed through.


*

Across the footbridge, I rounded the café to the front. Through the windows I could see the place was compact and retro, with little red tables and a curving Formica counter. In a corner was a large, silent jukebox with art deco chrome and blinking colored lights.

I opened the door and a bell jangled overhead; I could hear soft music coming from the back. There was movement near the jukebox, where Pal was rising stiffly from a rag rug. He pushed his nose into my hand till I scratched his ears.

“It’s me!” I called out. “Joanna!”

Simon’s head appeared above the half wall that separated the dining area from the kitchen. He broke into a smile.

“You’ve come to rescue me.”

“I’m hardly the cavalry,” I said.

“Can you tell time?”

“I . . . Of course.”

“Then in ten minutes, open this oven and pull out the biscuits.” He handed me a pair of oven mitts. “I got a feeling we’ll be busy today. Relatively. Jessie on the way?”

“I left a note,” I said. “But this morning I wanted to . . .”

“Fly solo?”

“I guess. Can I help with anything while I wait on the biscuits?”

The next half hour flew. I wiped down tables and counters, wrapped sets of silverware in paper napkins, refilled napkin holders, straw dispensers and condiment bottles.

When Jessie arrived, she walked me through the menu, showed me how to take orders and leave the slips for Simon. To serve and clear and work the cash register. She was direct and encouraging.

Soon customers began filing through the door. My heart skipped with every jangle of the bell, but every face was that of a stranger. The first time I screwed up an order, I froze and braced for the fallout. But the customer waved off my apologies, insisting the blueberry pancakes I brought him were better than the buttermilk he’d ordered.

A dozen people must have come through that morning—farmers, ranchers, store owners, laborers. None of them asked prying questions. At lunchtime came a second round.

“To get a look at the new waitress,” said Jessie.

“They didn’t know there’d be a new waitress,” I said. “Even I didn’t know till I woke up this morning.”

Jessie smiled but didn’t answer. By two o’clock, she untied her apron and left for the day. Only four customers remained. I refilled their coffee mugs as Simon beckoned me to the counter.

“How about lunch?” he asked.

I’d been so busy, I hadn’t thought to break for a meal.

“How does it work?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Just tell me what you’d like.”

I hesitated. It had been a long time since I’d ordered in a restaurant.

“Well,” I said, “I haven’t had a cheeseburger and shake in ages.”

I took a seat by a window on the western end of the valley. The sun through the glass was warm on my face and arms. Only two trucks remained in the parking lot, belonging to the last customers.

Simon set two plates on the table—one in front of me with a cheeseburger and fries, and an identical plate on the other side. He left and returned with a chocolate shake for me, a vanilla one for himself. He sat down and thumped a ketchup bottle over his fries.

“So tell me,” he said. “How was your day?”

I shook my head. “I’m surprised I survived.”

“You did great.”

“How would you know? You were back at the grill.”

“I see and hear plenty back there,” he said. “And careful—you have a limited quota of discouraging words before you violate the menu.”