“PECANS?”
Auggie had to fight a giggle.
“Excuse me?” Theo said.
“DO YOU EAT PECANS? THE STICKY BUNS HAVE PECANS.”
Auggie could feel himself slipping. Then Theo kicked him in the shin, and Auggie yelped and bent to massage his leg.
“Love pecans,” Theo said. “Do you have coffee?”
“COURSE.”
“We’ll both have coffee. How about the biscuits and gravy for me? And a sticky bun, definitely. I think that’ll be good to start.”
“SWEETIE, YOU JUST TELL ME IF THOSE BISCUITS DON’T FILL YOU UP. I’LL EAT MY APRON. AND FOR YOU?”
“Um, a glass of orange juice. Is it fresh squeezed?”
“WHAT?”
“Fresh squeezed,” Auggie said, more loudly. Some part of his brain had become convinced that she had a hearing impairment. “And do you have an egg-white omelet?”
“THIS ISN’T A BARN, YOUNG MAN. YOU DON’T HAVE TO YELL.”
That was it; Auggie felt himself sliding over the edge.
“He’ll have the biscuits and gravy too,” Theo said. “And I guess a sticky bun for him as well. Sorry. He doesn’t get out much.”
The woman sniffed and left.
She had barely cleared the kitchen door when Auggie broke out laughing. He laughed until he was crying.
“She’s coming back,” Theo whispered, and then he tried another kick. Auggie saw it coming, though, and he just laughed harder.
“COFFEE,” the woman announced. She gave Auggie a curious look, glanced at Theo, and shrugged. Then she set down cream and sugar and left.
“I can’t take you anywhere,” Theo said.
Auggie laughed even harder.
“You’re going to get us kicked out,” Theo said. He sipped the coffee. “Oh my God, Auggie, it wasn’t that funny.”
“You. Don’t. Have. To. Yell,” Auggie got out between gasps. Then laughter overwhelmed him again.
Theo had one of those gentle smiles tucked away behind his beard, and he just shook his head.
Somehow, Auggie managed to pull himself together enough to doctor his coffee: eight packs of sugar, and most of the cream. Then it tasted just right. The biscuits and gravy came, a gray mass slopped over two mounds, with home fries and over-easy eggs on the side. Auggie stirred the gravy with a fork. He ate the eggs. He speared a couple of home fries and looked around for ketchup.
Theo had already finished one biscuit when he glanced over. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing. I just don’t really like gravy.”
Chewing slowly, Theo watched him. Then he swallowed and said, “Have you had sausage gravy before?”
“It’s not, like, something I grew up eating.”
“Well, you might not like it.”
“Yeah, I don’t think it’s my thing.”
“It’s kind of more of a country meal, you know,” Theo said. “California kids, yeah, I don’t think they’d eat it.”
“Well—”
“I should have thought of that when I ordered. Sorry. Just, you know, put it to the side. I’ll box it up and take it to go.”
“What? Why?”
“I like it. Here just give me this. What do people in California eat? A nice breath of air with asparagus essence?”
“Oh my God,” Auggie said. “Oh my God, how did I not realize this before?”
“What?”
“You hate California.”
“I don’t hate California.”
“You do.”
“I hate people from California.” Theo raised his fork. “Most people.”
“Oh my God.”
“So just give me your biscuits and gravy, and we’ll find something else for you.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“No, you’re like this crazy anti-Californian. And what do you know about me? Maybe I’d like this stuff.”
“You won’t.”
“Maybe I would.”
“Don’t do this.”
“You say it’s great, so why wouldn’t I like it?” Auggie cut into the biscuit, revealed steaming fluffiness, and popped a piece into his mouth. The peppery heat of the sausage exploded on his tongue, melding perfectly with the buttery flakiness of the biscuit. “It’s delicious,” Auggie said. “There. Are you happy?”
“This is silly. Just let me—”
“No. I’m going to eat them. I like them. I like biscuits and gravy.”
“Ok,” Theo said. “Fine.”
Five minutes later, Auggie’s plate was clear, and he said, “And if you ever fucking brag about using reverse psychology on me, I will go cut a fucking switch and go all country on your ass.”
Theo had to cover his mouth with his napkin for almost a full minute.
After breakfast, they scraped snow off the Malibu until their hands were stinging, and then they made their way back to the motel. Auggie wiped away the frost from the inside of the glass, and he studied the state highway.
“There’s no way we’re getting out of here today.”
“They actually are really efficient about clearing the roads,” Theo said. “I bet we’ll be back in Wahredua by this afternoon.”
“So we just hang out here until we can leave?”
“I’m not going to hang out,” Theo said. “I’m going to work.” He grabbed the pocketsize Lear, bundled himself in the blanket, and began to read.
“Theo?” Auggie said.
Theo made a questioning noise.
“Robert’s apartment was a dead end. Robert’s police record was a dead end. Robert’s social media was a dead end. We tried to figure out who else might know him, and we just about got dragged off into the woods and shot.”
Theo made the same noise again.
“How are we supposed to find the flash drive?”
“We’ll keep working on it,” Theo said. “There are other people around here who might know him. That guy last night said he was a cousin; he obviously wants revenge for what happened to Robert. But we might find parents, siblings, friends. We keep looking, Auggie. That’s all we can do.”
“Yeah, but we have less than two weeks, and we’re just sitting here.”
“We’re snowed in. We can’t do anything until we can leave, so I’m going to make use of this time to try to write this thesis before I shoot myself because I have to teach freshmen every day.”
Auggie bundled up in the blanket, snapped a few selfies, and worked on his social media presence. Getting snowed in at a motel was actually a fun story, and he was getting a great response. After a while, though, the back part of his brain switched tracks, and Auggie found himself thinking about Robert McDonald and the flash drive.
Everything had started in September.
