“He’s working in his room,” Aunt Gina said, refilling their glasses with iced tea. “He doesn’t really like fuss, so we thought it was for the best.”
“I was hoping to meet him,” Rick told them, looking straight at Gray. “If I’m writing about your beginnings, he’s kind of where it all started.”
Marco leaned forward. “I’m sure we can make that happen. Can’t we, Gray?”
“He’s been sick,” Gray told them, his voice low. “I don’t want him disturbed.”
“I’ve been around for all of Gray’s life,” Aunt Gina interjected, her voice unusually light. “I can answer the questions you have.”
“Okay.” Rick’s tone made Gray feel uneasy. “We can start with that.” He grabbed his recorder from his bag and set it up on the table, before he turned his note pad over to a fresh page. “But if your dad feels any better later, be sure to introduce me to him.”
* * *
Maddie wiped the counter down and tidied up the menus, then glanced at her phone one more time to see if she had any messages.
She hadn’t heard from Gray since his manager and journalist arrived in town yesterday. It was weird how strange it felt not to connect with him for more than twenty-four hours. She didn’t like it. Even worse, she didn’t like that she didn’t like it. Her happiness shouldn’t be dependent on a message or phone call.
News of a journalist being in town had spread like wildfire, the way gossip always did in Hartson’s Creek. According to Laura, who heard it from Sonya Chilton – Jessica’s mother – the journalist had been asking questions about Gray all over town. He’d been into the church and grilled Reverend Maitland, had walked into the high school and spoken to Gray’s old music teacher. He’d even sat down on the bench in the town square for an hour, standing to talk to anybody who walked by.
But he hadn’t been in the diner. Not yet.
“According to Mrs. Chilton, he looks like a ‘Beatnik’,” Laura had told Maddie with a grin. “I asked her what that meant, and it turns out he wears jeans that hang below his underwear, which is some kind of a crime around here.”
“I heard he has a t-shirt with Black Sabbath written on it,” Doris, one of their regulars, joined in, her voice rising up an octave. “And he wore it into church.”
Her friend gasped. “I’m surprised Reverend Maitland didn’t throw him right out.”
“Oh come on now. You know that Reverend Maitland is too kind to do that. But if I see him wearing that t-shirt I’d be happy to give him a piece of my mind.”
“Black Sabbath is a rock band,” Laura said, her amused gaze meeting Maddie’s. “I don’t think he’s going around advertising he’s the devil’s disciple or anything.”
“Ozzy Osborne was the lead singer,” Maddie added, though neither of the women next to Laura seemed to know what she was talking about.
“Is he the one that bit the head off of a bat?” Laura asked, her voice light. There was a wicked glint in her eye.
It was hard not to laugh at the older ladies’ expressions of distaste.
“Yeah.” Maddie nodded. “And apparently he once gave hash cake to a priest.”
“Hash cake?” Doris asked. “What’s that?”
“It’s cake laced with marijuana,” Laura told her. “He drugged the priest.”
“I hope that boy doesn’t drug Reverend Maitland,” Doris said, alarmed.
Maddie grinned at the memory of the old ladies’ shock. It had been a moment of lightness in a hard day. Hard because her mom was still upset about Maddie and Ashleigh’s argument, and because Gray had been ominously silent while the journalist was in town.
The bell above the door rang, and Maddie stopped clearing the counter and automatically reached for the menus. When she looked up, a man was walking toward the counter.
As Laura had described, his jeans were baggy and hanging from his thin frame. His dark t-shirt didn’t have Black Sabbath emblazoned on it today, but instead there was a religious image of a dead man lying on an altar, with Joy Division printed across the top. She could tell from the faded gray of the fabric and the way it looked thin and crinkled that it was old, probably an original.
She couldn’t help but think his clothing had been carefully chosen to cause a stir in the small town.
“You can take a seat,” Maddie said to him, nodding at the booths. “I’ll bring a menu over. Would you like coffee?”
“I’m okay at the counter.” He walked over and pulled out the stool closest to Maddie, sitting on it and leaning his arms on the countertop. “You’re Maddie Clark, right?”
Her back straightened. “Yes,” she said carefully. “That’s right.”