Eddie turned down the music and slowed the car. “You okay?” he said. “What’s wrong?”
She clutched at her throat. “Can you pull over for a minute?” she said. “I need . . . I just need to get out for a second.”
He pulled the car over to the curb and stopped. She opened the door, jumped out, and bent over on the sidewalk, her hands on her knees. For a moment she thought she was going to be sick, but the feeling passed as quickly as it had come. Eddie got out and came around the front of the car.
“What is it?” he said. “Do you need a doctor?”
She shook her head. “No! No doctors. I’ll be fine. I just couldn’t catch my breath for a minute.”
“After everything you’ve been through, it’s no wonder,” he said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She straightened and wiped her fingers across her mouth, nodding. Then, suddenly roasting, she ripped off her jacket, threw it over her arm, and started down the sidewalk.
“Where are you going?” he said, following her.
She walked a few yards, then stopped, took several deep breaths, and turned back toward the car. “Nowhere. I just needed some fresh air.”
He followed her back to the car and opened the passenger’s side door, concern lining his face. She climbed in and slumped down in the seat, her energy spent. Whatever that was all about, she never wanted to feel that way again. Maybe she just needed to eat something. Or maybe being locked up in Willowbrook and finding her sister murdered had messed her up for the rest of her life. She swallowed hard, wishing for water—no, wishing for schnapps, or whiskey.
When they turned into the diner parking lot, she sat up and peered over the dashboard, trying to see in the front windows. She and her friends used to come to the Top Hat after a night out. But they normally showed up around 3:00 a.m.; it was still relatively early for the drunk crowd. To her relief, no groups of late-night partiers crowded the booths. No wasted kids gathered outside the door. Only neon signs flashed inside the wide windows.
Eddie pulled the Mustang into a parking spot near the door, popped out the eight-track, and turned off the engine. “This okay?” he said.
“Yeah,” she said.
“You sure? You seem on edge. I mean, I’m sure you’re on edge but . . .”
“No. I mean, yes, it’s fine. I’m fine. It’s just, I used to come here with my friends.”
“We can go somewhere else if you want.”
“No, it’s all right, really. I need to eat.” She opened the car door, got out, and put on her coat.
He did the same, following her across the gravel lot and hurrying in front of her to open the door. The strong aromas of coffee and fried food wafted over them as they stepped inside, and a waitress wiping down the soda fountain looked up. It was Iris, one of the two waitresses who normally worked the night shift. Blinking against the bright fluorescent lights, Sage looked for the best place to sit. An old man sat at the counter eating a slice of pie à la mode, but other than that the place was deserted. She moved toward a spot at the far end of the diner and slid into a booth, her knees shaking beneath the Formica table—from anxiety or a chill, she wasn’t sure. Hopefully she’d feel better after she ate. Eddie slid in across from her and pulled the menu out from behind the metal napkin holder. She did the same.
Sitting on her hands, she scanned the list of burgers and milkshakes and eggs, trying not to jump out of her skin at every little noise. The ding of the cash register, the piped-in music, the neon lights clicking on and off, the glasses and silverware clinking. Maybe this was a bad idea.
Iris appeared with a pot of coffee and turned over their cups. “Hey,” she said. “You both want coffee?”
“Sure,” Eddie said. “Thanks.”
“Just orange . . . I mean, milk for me,” Sage said. The last thing she needed was caffeine. And she’d never touch orange juice again.
Iris filled Eddie’s cup, then smiled at Sage. “This your cousin?” she said.
Sage frowned. “Sorry?”
“I thought maybe this handsome young man was your cousin,” Iris said. “I assumed he and your aunt came back with you from Long Island to stay for a while. You know, for support and all.”
Sage’s cheeks grew hot. Had Alan told everyone that lie? “Who told you that? And why would I need support?”
Iris dropped her gaze, her face flushing. “No one told me,” she said. “I overheard your friends when they were in here talking about why they hadn’t heard from you. They said your stepfather sent you away because you had a break . . . I mean, you needed time to get over learning the truth about your sister.”
“That’s not true,” Sage said. “I—”
“There’s no need to explain, darlin’,” Iris interrupted. “It’s just a shame your mother didn’t tell you and Alan about sending your sister to that awful place.”
Sage seethed with anger. “Alan is a liar,” she said. “He knew where my sister was all along.”
“I’m sorry,” Iris said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. But the part about your sister being sent to Willowbrook is true, right? ’Cause your friends said—”
“Can we just order, please?” Eddie said, irritation edging his voice.
“Sure,” Iris said. “Sorry.” She set the coffeepot on the table and pulled her order pad out of her apron. “What can I get you?”
He ordered pancakes and bacon, and Sage said she’d have the same. After Iris picked up the coffeepot and left the table, Sage unzipped her coat and took her arms out of the sleeves, suddenly sweating again.
“See?” she said. “I told you Alan doesn’t give a shit about me. He was so glad I was gone he lied to everyone to make it look like I had a breakdown. And he’s telling everyone he didn’t know Rosemary was in Willowbrook? How low can that bastard go?” Her eyes flooded. “I hate him so much.”
“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Eddie said. “But try not to think about it right now. Everyone will know what a loser he is when the truth comes out. The newspapers will be all over what happened to your sister, and you can tell your side of story about everything, including him. Was he home when you got there?”
She wiped at her eyes, refusing to let Iris see her cry. “No, thank God. And I hope I’m gone before he comes back.”
“I don’t blame you. He seemed like a real asshole.”
She frowned, confused. “I thought you never talked to him?”
He picked up the sugar and put three spoonfuls in his coffee. “I didn’t,” he said. “But anyone who would ignore all those letters and phone calls has to be an asshole.”
“Oh,” she said. “Right.”
“You said you hope you’ll be gone before he comes back.” He put down his spoon and took a sip of coffee. “I knew you were going to leave. So where you going?”
Damn it. She’d said too much. “I’m not sure yet. I’ll probably just stay with a friend for a while, until I can get in touch with my real father.”
“Well, if you need a ride somewhere,” he said, “don’t hesitate to ask.” He reached into his jacket pocket and took out what looked like a page from a newspaper. “Remember I told you how my uncle’s friend got fired for telling parents about the conditions at Willowbrook?”