Home>>read Weight of Silence free online

Weight of Silence

By:A.M. Arthur

Chapter One

Thanksgiving Day



At precisely 1:21 p.m., Gavin Perez dumped an entire serving bowl’s worth of cranberry sauce on the most adorable boy he’d ever seen. Gavin knew the exact time of the saucing because his mother had just asked him for it (the time, not the sauce), and the only reason he wasn’t looking in front of him was because he’d glanced down at his cell phone.

Head down + Push door = Disaster.

He couldn’t blame his mother. She’d asked an innocent question. Gavin should have stopped walking long enough to check his phone and answer her question. Should have. Did not. Usually did not and/or could not. They’d never had the money for an official doctor’s diagnosis, but Gavin had all the major traits of adult hyperactivity.

Plus he’d read a bunch of books on the topic. After twenty-three years, he figured he knew a heck of a lot about himself, including his incurable need to multitask from waking to bedtime. He also had a long mental list of mishaps and accidents caused by his need to be on the move and going at optimum speed. The cranberry sauce collision just jumped to the top of said list.

And to be fair to himself, the incredible cutie he’d sauced hadn’t seen him either, or gotten out of the way. They were both trying to go through the same door at the rear of the diner—Gavin into the back room and Cutie Pie out of it and into the dining room. The door had a wide window at eye-level, probably to prevent such accidents during regular business hours, and neither of them had used it.

Gavin had stopped short the moment he realized he’d caused an accident, and Mama ran right into his back, which nearly made him ram into the door a second time. He grabbed it as it swung back at him, ignored Mama’s curious squawk, and peeked around the corner.

Cutie Pie gaped down at the huge splotch of red goo clinging to the front of his white dress shirt. Most of the sauce was still in the bowl, but some had dripped to the floor and onto his shoes. He hadn’t even looked up yet to see who’d dressed him up like a Thanksgiving turkey. But in a diner as small as Dixie’s Cup—and with so many people rushing around getting food out to the counter—they’d already drawn a small audience.

“Dios mio,” Mama said. She’d inched around Gavin to see what had stopped him. “Oh dear, that’s going to stain.”

“My mother made this from scratch,” Cutie Pie said to the bowl of sauce.

“Most of it is still in there,” Gavin replied.

He thought it sounded helpful, but Cutie Pie gave him a sour look. “It splashed all up on my shirt. Do you think people want to eat cotton fibers with their cranberry relish?”

“Sorry.” That sounded horrible, even to Gavin’s ears. “I mean, I’m sorry about hitting you with the door.”

“My fault too.” He gave the cranberry relish such a forlorn, kicked-puppy look that Gavin was struck momentarily speechless—and that didn’t happen often.

“Look, dinner doesn’t start for twenty minutes,” Gavin said. “I’m sure we can find some canned sauce somewhere.”

“On Thanksgiving Day?”

“No need,” Mama said. “We have some in the stock room. We can doctor that up and use it for today.”

Cutie Pie blinked. “Why does Dixie have canned cranberry sauce in stock?”

“For Barrett’s Gobbler Panini. It’s a lovely sandwich he does on special once a week.”

“Oh.”

Gavin gave himself a mental head-knock. Ever since Dixie had splurged on a Panini press two months ago, her night cook Barrett McCall had been experimenting with combinations. The Gobbler had been a success from the first day. Mama had called Gavin in to taste test it before it went public, and he’d called it “Thanksgiving on a bun”.

Barrett had corrected him and said it was “Thanksgiving on ciabatta”.

“Great. Problem solved,” Gavin said.

Mama ushered the three of them into the small, cramped back room of the diner. She took the bowl of ruined sauce from Cutie and stuck it in the large industrial sink, then disappeared to root around for the canned sauce.

“Half the problem is solved,” Cutie said. “I need to change.”

There is absolutely nothing wrong with you, sweetie, very nearly popped out of Gavin’s mouth. That would have been incredibly embarrassing. The simple fact that Cutie Pie was here helping out with Dixie Foskey’s annual Thanksgiving Feast meant she knew his family, which meant Gavin should know him too. After all, Gavin’s mom had worked for Dixie for over ten years and Cutie Pie was awfully familiar.

“I mean, my shirt’s ruined,” Cutie added.