“Oh. Hi. How are you?”

“Good. Uh, good … How are you?” I have not thought this through, at all.

“I’m good. Everything all right?”

“Well … Look, I’m sorry for calling you outside of office hours, but I’m a little worried about Caitlyn and I wanted to talk to you to see—”

The group of kids in the next booth erupts in laughter over something on one of their phones.

“—if she was acting strangely.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that.”

“Sorry. It’s a little loud in here.”

“Where are you?”

“That ice-cream shop on the square.”

“Murphy’s?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“I love that place. I live right around the corner.”

“Oh.” My mind quickly comes up with a plan to buy myself some more time to figure out what to say. “Care to join me?”

There’s a pause and then a light laugh.

“Sure.”

*

Minutes later, she walks through the door and spots me.

I hastily stand as she approaches.

“Thank you so much for coming to talk to me, Ms. Hancourt.”

“Of course. And please, it’s ‘Denise’. We talked about that.”

“Right, right, right.”

We sit in the booth.

“Actually, I should be thanking you,” she says, casually removing her jacket and tossing it onto the seat beside her. “I had to get out of my place. Grading, paperwork, filling out forms. The first couple weeks of the year are always a mess. I really needed a break.”

One of the high school kids working behind the counter waves to Denise.

“The usual, Ms. Hancourt?”

She nods and smiles. “You bet.” She notices my expression. “I told you; I love this place.”

“To the point that you’re a regular?”

“Guilty. So, what’s up?”

“I wanted to know how Caitlyn was doing.”

“As far as I can tell, she’s doing fine.”

“Is she … Is she making friends?”

“She keeps to herself, but that’s not surprising for a kid in a new school, and after what happened … I think she’s handling it well.”

The high school kid steps out from behind the counter with a foamy cappuccino and sets it down in front of Denise.

“Thank you,” she says, reaching for her purse.

I hastily get out my wallet. “No, no, no. I got this.”

“Daniel, you really don’t have to.”

“What’s the total?” I ask.

“Four seventy-five,” the kid replies.

I hand him a ten. “Keep it.”

“Thanks.” The kid smiles and heads back to the counter.

Denise raises an eyebrow as she brings the cup to her lips. “Are all best-selling authors such big spenders?”

“Only until their first flop.”

She snorts, sending puffs of foam in every direction. She tries to cover her mouth but it’s too late. The joke, compounded with the foam on the tip of her nose and glasses, causes us to burst into laughter.