Read Online Fire in the Stars by Barbara Fradkin - Free Book Online Page A

paradise after her night in the tent. Chris flashed her a sympathetic grin as he turned to go.
    The man straightened as if a thought had just occurred to him. “I did hear somet’ing of their conversation, if you’re interested.”
    Chris swung around. “Please.”
    â€œThey was going out to their truck, and de boy was talking about going fishing the next day. He were jumping up and down, you know how kids are. Like they gots springs in dere feet.”
    â€œWhat did the father say?”
    â€œNudding, b’y. Just got in the truck.”
    Amanda didn’t like the sound of that. “What kind of mood was he in?”
    â€œMood?” The motel keeper looked incredulous. “Fifty dollars a night gets dem a bed and a bathroom, my dear, not a palm reading.”
    Chris laughed. “I thought palm reading was a Newfoundland specialty.”
    â€œWell, he be wet and cold, I figures. Probably hungry too. And after listening to that kid yammering all day, even the Lord himself would be cranky.” He snapped a pillow case and turned his attention back to the bed. Chris thanked him and they headed back across the patch of gravel that passed for a parking lot. The sun hung low over the ocean, a blurry orange smudge behind the gathering clouds. Chris gestured to it.
    â€œLooks like there might be a storm blowing in. We should probably find ourselves a campground soon.”
    She cast one longing look back at the simple little motel. “We could take a page from Phil’s book.”
    â€œLet’s check out Nancy’s place first. I tell you what. Will a nice, hot, sit-down meal of fish and chips do the trick?”
    She opened the truck door and shooed Kaylee over to make room. “On real chairs? With a real server, and a pint of local ale?”
    â€œFollow me, ma’am. I’ll even spring for a bottle of wine!”
    They found Nancy’s Restaurant a couple of kilometres farther up the road. Splashy roadside billboards advertised it as having the best fish and chips on the northern peninsula, as well as sumptuous lobster in season, but when the restaurant came into view, Amanda laughed aloud. It was a little square saltbox house in the middle of a weedy field. The sign on the front door, painted pink with an inexpert hand, urged them to please come in. A single room greeted them, filled with a half-dozen tables covered in faded, mismatched plastic cloths like the leftovers from a church rummage sale. It was the dinner hour, but all the tables were empty except for one at the back, where a woman wearing a frilly apron was flipping through a magazine. Like many of the women Amanda had seen in Newfoundland, she had a round, cherub face and a short, plump body. Her hair was orange; whether by mistake or design, Amanda wasn’t sure.
    She looked up in astonishment at their arrival. “You wanting to eat?”
    Chris was about to launch into his “Aw, shucks, yes please” routine, but Amanda stopped him. She’d been in many dubious restaurants in her years overseas, and the décor didn’t deter her. The lack of customers, and the lack of cooking aromas or sounds from the kitchen, did.
    She remained in the doorway. “We’re actually looking for a friend of ours. I understand he and his son ate dinner here a couple of nights ago.” She fished in her pocket for her cellphone, while the woman’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hair. Only their dark brown colour saved them.
    â€œHere?” she asked in disbelief.
    Amanda crossed the room to show her the photos. The woman gave them a cursory glance. “Oh yeah, Mr. Personality. He came in here like he had his own permanent thundercloud over his head. Wanted a Quidi Vidi Premium to go with his fish and chips and when I said we had no liquor licence, he didn’t want to stay. The boy was hungry, you could tell, and he begged his father to stay, but they left in a big, huge