Taylor or anyone from his crew, including the now mysterious Trex, hadn’t been to The Bucksaw Café in six days. I had gone over what I’d said until my thoughts were sick of themselves.

I tapped on the counter with what little nails I had while chewing on a cuticle on my other hand. Most of the time, not having a phone was liberating, but now that I wanted to Google something, I felt an impulsive need to go out and buy one.

“I thought you were going to quit that,” Phaedra said, walking by with a tubful of dirty dishes.

I pulled my finger out of my mouth, the skin around my nail white and torn. “Damn it.”

Kirby stood by the drink station, picking up clean cloths for wiping down tables even though she hadn’t seated anyone in twenty minutes. Only the loyal regulars were in their seats, ignoring the pouring rain outside.

“Do you have your phone?” I asked Kirby.

She pulled it from her apron. “Yeah. Why?”

“I want to look something up. Can I use it?”

Kirby granted my request. The hot-pink case meant to protect her phone felt bulky in my hand. The days when I’d had a cell phone were so far behind me that it felt like a former life, but the screen looked the same. The icon for the Internet was easy to find.

I clicked on it and proceeded to type in the words, Fire in Eakins, Illinois.

The first page was full of links to articles about the local college. I clicked on the first one, reading about dozens of college kids who had been killed while trapped in a basement of one of the campus buildings. I shuddered at images of sooty faces, looking just like Taylor’s the first day I’d met him. The name Travis Maddox came up more than a dozen times. He was being investigated for being present at the fight. I wondered why, out of all the students present, Travis and one other man were the only two mentioned to be facing charges.

“What is it?” Kirby asked, sensing my unease.

“I don’t know yet,” I said, looking up to scan my tables.

“Falyn! Order up!” Chuck called.

I set down the phone and breezed by the food window. I had perfected fitting plates onto a tray years ago. Only a few seconds were spent loading entrees before continuing to the dining area.

“Ta-da,” I said, standing over my favorite regular, Don.

Don sat up tall, setting his tea down and giving me plenty of room to situate his meal.

“Do me a favor, and cut into that steak, handsome.”

He nodded, his shaking hands carving into the thick meat. He hummed a, “Yes,” and then brought the fork to his mouth.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “How is it?”

He hummed again, chewing. “You’re my favorite, Falyn.”