Since cooking breakfast was out of the question, the next morning we went down the hill and met Lucas for breakfast. I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask for a little advice.
“So should I call, or just show up on her doorstep?” I asked after taking a sip of orange juice.
Both Connor and Lucas were drinking juice as well, since the smell of coffee still made me want to throw up. Once or twice as the waitress passed by our table with a pot in her hand, going to refill someone’s cup, I felt a slight twinge of nausea, but it quickly passed. The problem was having it right in front of me, or filling the house with its scent as it was brewing.
“I wouldn’t call,” Lucas said, setting down his glass of grapefruit juice. “After all, she’s taken some pains to disappear, to disconnect herself from the
