The Wizard's Herbarium: The Wolf Child

Part 13

The restaurant was small. Colt hadn't even noted it's name, but as he sat there, he tried to remember whether there was a sign outside. All he seemed to remember was the building, and even the building's exterior wasn't all that memorable. There was no brand or story. Nothing made him want to know more about the space, or the people who ran it. It was a sleepy place. They had either already experienced their dinner rush, or had yet to, Colt wasn't sure which. It had to have been around seven o'clock, and in such a small town, he wouldn't have been surprised that the dinner rush was over.

The air in the place was so warm that it was stifling. Huge windows gave a view of the small town around them, but also allowed the sunlight in. There wasn't many places to let in fresh air other than the front door that was propped open, and a minuscule window by the bar. The lone waitress moved slowly around the tables, bringing food from the kitchen to the dining area and depositing plates at tables before heading back to the kitchen. Colt assumed she was the owner, partly because that's how things seemed to work: the owners also ran the businesses around there, and partly because the slightly run-down look. Her hair was a bit frazzled, strands sticking out from her ponytail, and dark circles under her eyes. Colt had seen that look many times before on his own face. She approached Colt and placed a glass of water in front of him without asking.

"The WiFi password is there," she said, pointing to a worn-looking sign on the bar. "Are you staying to eat?"

Colt nodded, his stomach rumbling from an entire day spent walking.

A menu was placed beside his elbow, going ignored for the moment. The WiFi seemed to be the main draw of the place as every customer was sweating out the heat in front of their electronic devices. There was a woman squinting at her laptop in the opposite corner of the place, and a family who tapped silently away on their phones without looking at one another. 

"There's no cell service here," the owner said. She'd returned, though for what Colt couldn't quite say. She must have seen that he hadn't had a chance to look at the menu. So far as he could tell, she had stopped by his table for nothing more than a chat, which didn't surprise him considering the large number of people who were happy to chat with just about anyone at any time. 

"So, folks are often coming in here to use our WiFi," the owner continued. 

Seeing everyone else on their phones made him aware of his own device on his backpack. When he first began traveling, Colt had cancelled his plan so he wouldn't have to worry about the bills, never mind that he'd been trying to escape all his friends and family at the time, but he'd kept the phone on him. It came in handy for the odd time he wanted to check the weather or something.

He tried to resist the call, but he couldn't. Too long being disconnected made him curious, and he dug around in his backpack until he found the phone. Holding down the power button, and the device didn't respond, the screen staring blankly at him. Dead battery. It figured, but then again, it was probably for the best.

Colt ordered a burger, which was just about as impressive as the croissant he'd had from the bakery his first morning in town. What was it about the food in this town being terrible? The vegetables were limp, tasting as though they had been kept in the fridge for several days. The bun was stale, the meat dry. It definitely wasn't homemade. He could have went on and on, but it was something to stop the rumbling in his stomach.

He ate and then left quickly, glad to get out of the heat and back outside where there was a nice breeze.

The food felt heavy in his stomach. Was it really that terrible? The chef in him answered yes, but to the average person? To someone who was familiar with the tastes of home-cooking, then Colt supposed that the food he just had would be underwhelming, but for everyone else?

The mood in town had shifted. It seemed more calm now. People weren't in the streets or agitated like when Colt had left. Curious, or perhaps without anything better to do, Colt strode to Chuck's house and knocked on the door.

There was a shuffling inside and Chuck's large frame appeared. He was rubbing his eyes as he pushed the door open, and Colt's stomach fell, fearing the worst.

Maybe it was his expression, tense and unsure of what to say, that gave him away, but Chuck groaned. "Was just takin' a nap," he said, moving into the house. "Let's go out back. This heat will be the end of me."

Colt followed him through the house, which was quiet and seemed empty. He accepted the beer offered to him and sat, like the first night Colt had dinner at the house.

"I see you crawled back into town," Chuck said. "You probably want to know about Abigail. She's fine. Home safe and sound."

Colt let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. "That's good."

"We told everyone," Chuck grunted, shifting on the chair. "We told them she wasn't missing. Nosy soul-suckers all of them. Where'd you end up going?"

"Around. I checked out Foaming and this little bed and breakfast in the next town. Good waffles."

"That's Carla's place. Her husband, George is the one who makes the waffles."

"Do you know everyone around here?" Colt asked, amazed.

"Everyone knows everyone," Chuck said, sipping at his beer. "Small-town living. Not that someone from the city like you would know that."

"Well, do you know about a strange guy?"

"Strange how? Everyone's a bit strange. Be more specific."

"Well..." Colt tried to remember Atticus. The man seemed to be everywhere, popping up when Colt least expected it. "I first met him down the trail you can take from the lake. There was a row of raspberry bushes. Then I met him... just wandering the forest in the middle of the night. His name was Atticus."

Chuck nodded in understanding, but Colt thought he caught a hint of pity in his gaze. "I'd avoid him if you know what's good for you," Chuck said. "He's not dangerous, but he does make people uneasy."

The news that Chuck's daughter, Abigail was fine was a relief. Colt accepted Chuck's invitation to stay in his guest room, but he did decline working for him again. Colt had a more grand idea.

Each day for lunch, Colt began to visit the restaurant in town, just a few minutes walk from Chuck's house. He came to learn that the waitress was the cook's wife. They ran the restaurant together, and she was tired.

"I've been trying to get him to sell this place for years," she told Colt. "I'm too tired and this business is too hard. The only reason anyone comes here anyway is for the WiFi."

Each day, Colt smiled and waved at the cook, named Grant, but all he got in return was a cold stare. Grant would drag himself from his spot outside the establishment when Colt approached, looking as though it took great effort to get up, and mosey into the kitchen.

This went on for several weeks as the rush of summer tourists slowed to a trickle, and the leaves started to change from green to brilliant oranges and yellows. It was then that Colt struck.

As he approached the restaurant one day for his regular lunch, he jogged to catch up with Grant before he went into the kitchen.

"One dinner service," Colt said. "Give me one dinner service. I'll even do it for free."