Anomaly Flats Read Free

kindness on her tongue tinged with steel.
    “But I don’t—”
    “Drink it,” Trudy instructed firmly.
    “Drink it,” the man with the fly on his lip agreed.
    “Drink it,” said an old woman, her mouth filled with a half-chewed piece of waffle.
    “Drink it,” intoned a middle-aged man with a syrup-coated chin at a table across the room.
    “Drink it,” his elderly parents chanted in unison.
    “Drink it,” Trudy said again, taking Mallory’s hand and placing it around the mug. “You should drink it.”
    Mallory tried to pull her hand free, but the older woman’s grip was hard as stone. “I’m really not—I don’t—”
    Trudy leaned in across the counter so she was close enough for Mallory to smell her perfume. It smelled of gingerbread and honey, and something about it made Mallory feel calmer somehow. “Drink it,” Trudy urged yet again, in a gentle whisper this time. “Okay, honey? Just…drink it.”
    Mallory looked down at the coffee in the mug. It sat there in its sloppy, uneven pile. “It…looks old,” she said doubtfully. “And solid.”
    “It’s fresh as fresh is,” Trudy whispered. “Drink.”
    “Drink,” the man at the other end of the counter whispered.
    “Drink,” the woman with the waffle in her mouth whispered.
    “Drink,” the man with a syrupy chin whispered.
    “Drink,” his parents whispered together.
    Mallory nodded. “Okay, okay,” she said, wriggling free of Trudy’s grip, “I’ll taste it, okay? I’ll taste it.” She lifted the mug to her nose and sniffed it carefully. It smelled like burnt tires.
    She lifted the mug to her lips, closed her eyes, and took a sip…which was really more like a bite. The thick goop spilled over her teeth and coated her tongue. It seemed to expand in her mouth, taking on a life of its own. But it wasn’t unpleasant. Not really. It tasted a little sweet, and a little smoky, like blueberries roasted over hickory. Mallory relaxed, the tension melting from her shoulders. She smiled as she set the mug on the counter. “It’s…good.”
    The other patrons broke their stares and returned to their plates, chewing and slurping and talking in hushed tones.
    Trudy smiled. “Now that weren’t so hard, right?” she said. She slid a menu across the counter and patted it twice. “Take a gander; see what looks good.”
    Mallory sighed. “Honestly, I’m not hungry,” she said, even though she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and now that Trudy mentioned it again, the smell of waffles and syrup was definitely stirring something in her stomach. She thought about the sheriff’s deputy standing in front of the collapsed bridge, speaking into his radio and watching her drive away. “What I really need is to get my car fixed…I have to get going.”
    Trudy shook her head. “There is an auto shop, but it’s closed now. Don’t open ‘til 9 tomorrow. Might as well make yourself at home.” She patted the menu again. “Take a look. I’ll be right back.” She shuffled off down the counter to refill the coffee cup in front of the man at the other end, who had resumed his chewing, even though the fly still clung to his bottom lip.
    Mallory sighed and sat down on the stool. She let the backpack slide off her shoulders and tucked it between her feet. She slid the menu over; it showed a blue owl wearing dark sunglasses perched on a tree branch with the name of the diner carved into the wood. She flipped the menu open. The pages inside were blank, except for one line in the center of the right-hand page. It read, Nite-Owl Waffles with Field Mouse Syrup . There was no price, no further description, and not a single other item on the page. Mallory frowned. “Excuse me,” she said, holding up the menu. “Is this everything?”
    Trudy squinted at the page from the far end of the counter. “Bless me!” she called, laughing. “Sorry ‘bout that, sweetie.” She swayed back over to the stack of menus and plucked a new one from the middle. “I