“Yeah. But we weren’t told what kind of festival it is.”

“It’s a local one,” said Brenda. “Townsfolk only.”

Amber decided that she didn’t like Brenda’s dismissive tone. She didn’t like being dismissed. Her skin itched. All she had to do was relax and she’d shift, and then she’d be taken seriously. Then she’d be respected.

“That was mentioned,” she said quietly.

Brenda nodded, apparently satisfied. “Okay then, what can I get you?”

And, all of a sudden, Brenda was in full waitress mode and Amber was left with all that hostility and nowhere to put it. “Uh …”

Brenda looked at her, eyebrows raised, waiting.

Amber felt the hostility drain from her. “The Danny’s Breakfast, please.”

“Will do,” said Brenda. “Eggs sunny side up or scrambled?”

“Scrambled.”

“Coffee or juice?”

Had she really been about to jump up and rip the waitress’s face off, just because of her tone of voice? She felt amazingly stupid right now.

“Juice,” she said. “Thank you. Oh, and …” Amber held up her hands. “I had an accident.”

“So I see.”

She gave Brenda a weak smile. “Would it be possible to have my breakfast, like, cut into smaller pieces?”

“You want it all chopped up?”

“Yes, please. Well, besides the egg. Because that’ll be scrambled.”

“Okay,” Brenda said dubiously. “Might cost you a little more, though.”

Amber frowned. “To cut it up?”

“It’s an unusual requirement.”

“But it’ll only take ten seconds.”

The waitress shrugged. “We’ll see if the cook is comfortable doing it. Will that be all?”

Amber hesitated. “Yes.”

Brenda nodded, and moved away as an old man came in.

“Hey there, Brenda,” he said.

Brenda smiled for the first time. “Good morning, Mr Tomlinson. How are you?”

“I’m doing good, thanks,” said Tomlinson. “And you?”

“Doing fine,” said Brenda. “Nice weather we’re having.”

“It is. It is nice weather.”

“Is it the usual, Mr Tomlinson?”

“Sorry?”

“The usual?”

“Oh yes, the usual. Ham on rye with mustard.”

“With the crusts cut off.”

“Just go ahead and cut them crusts off, you betcha.”

“You got it.”

The moment Brenda turned away from him to deliver the order, her smile was gone, and Amber watched as Tomlinson’s own smile slowly faded. He stood there, staring into space. Amber’s mom had once said something about friends and fake smiles, but that was Amber’s mom, so Amber banished the memory from her mind.

A woman came in behind Tomlinson and the smile suddenly reappeared as he turned.

“Morning, Jackie,” he said.

“Morning, Brett,” Jackie said. “Good weather for fishing.”

“It is.”

“Getting your usual?”

“Yes, I am. Ham on rye with mustard, with the crusts cut off. Hey, how’s little Everett doing?”

“He’s doing fine,” said Jackie. “He had a bad cough that went on for a few days. I thought it might be a chest infection, but it cleared up on its own.”