Imani’s stomach tightened. She tried not to share any personal information in her sessions. Therapists all had stories of clients romanticizing the shrink listening to all their problems. She struggled to recover her gray-sky expression. “I should probably go,” she said.

Mrs. Halstead leaned forward, shortening the not-quite-six-feet of space between them. “I only ask because he’s the director who was found dead this afternoon, and his wife is still missing.”

CHAPTER FOUR

TONYA

Abrupt temperature changes made people sick. Where did that knowledge nugget come from? Her mother, Tonya was sure. All mothers said it. She’d repeated it herself that morning when nagging Layla to don an extra layer beneath her coat. But had she been parroting an old wives’ tale like viruses were caught from chilly weather, or did the immune system actually struggle to adapt from hot to cold?

Tonya prayed she’d been spouting nonsense as she emerged from the restaurant’s equatorial kitchen into the barren tundra of the dining room before heading to the outdoor dining “igloos” with only an apron over her uniform. Her shivers vibrated the platter balanced atop her right palm, forcing her to steady it with her left hand like a newbie. She was still trembling as she reached the clear plastic wall shielding her guests from the wind.

“How are we this afternoon?”

Muted grunts answered her question. The diners wore sheepskin parkas with thick, fur-trimmed hoods covering their heads, as if they’d agreed on Inuit costumes for a themed dining experience. Such heavy clothing wouldn’t have been required in a real igloo, according to Layla. Her bookish kid had brought up an article the other day explaining that traditional ice houses used snow as an insulator, enabling body heat alone to toast their insides to an eminently tolerable fifty degrees.

City health regulations prevented the restaurant’s bubble tents from building up such warmth. Two sides had to be vented at all times to allow microbe-dispersing air circulation. Even with space heaters operating full blast, diners were lucky if the “indoor” temperature remained above freezing. Tonya certainly couldn’t detect any difference as she began placing plates in front of her four patrons.

The four patrons, she realized. Summer’s uptick had almost convinced her that New York City’s hospitality industry had survived the harsh spring and emerged on the other side. But the months from June to November had been the eye of the storm. Winter had barreled in like a nor’easter, dumping on new challenges that even the novelty of dining street-side in clear domes, yurt villages, or tiny greenhouses couldn’t counteract. People were scared. They were cold. They’d become resigned to hibernation.