Hopewell, Pennsylvania

"DREW! DO MY eyes deceive me, or is that really Drew Trombo in the flesh?" The owner of Chubbie's Eatery in Hopewell, PA, let out a cry of surprise.

Andrew "Drew" Trombo held up his hands in mock surrender. "Chubbie Walker, it's good to see you, too. It's been a long time---too long."

"Quick, notify the wire services!"

"No, post it on Facebook!"

"Hey, look. It's already on Instagram!"

"Some photo!"

"Wow! Some flesh!"

Voices cried out. Phones were drawn. And it wasn't even high noon.

Chubbie gave Drew a bearhug. The restauranteur was fit and strong, and in terms of his age, somewhere in the amorphous range of late thirties to fifty. "So, what brings you back?" he asked before crossing his well-muscled arms over his white apron. "Forget I asked. I'm sure it's got something to do with your dad falling off a ladder and breaking his leg. Your sister Jessica's been a real ace, by the way, what with her coming home and taking over his veterinary practice and keeping Norman from doing further damage to himself."

Drew opened his mouth and then closed it, half-expecting, half-hoping that Chubbie would continue the narrative and that any contribution on his part would be unnecessary. But Chubbie halted, waiting for a response.

Drew shook his head. "Yeah, Jess let me know when our dad fell. Pops is a great guy, but he's never been an ace handyman. What possessed him to go up that ladder and clean out the gutters is beyond me."

"Your dad is known to be stubborn."

"Pig-headed is more like it."

"But we love him just the same."

"Without question---a pillar of the community." Drew placed his hand on his chest. He could have been saluting the flag. And it was warranted. Dr. Norman Trombo had been the town's beloved veterinarian for almost forty years. People even sent him birth announcements when their cats and dogs had litters.

Drew leaned forward as if to share a secret. (It was one of those secrets that half the town knew and practiced.) "But the way to maintain a good relationship with Pops is to take periodic breaks. And that's why I'm here this morning. Not only does your food hit the spot, it's also the perfect refuge if I'm going to preserve my sanity. Speaking of which, have you got a spare table for an old friend?"

"For you, Drew, no problem." Chubbie craned his neck and peered around the intimate space. Round tables with bentwood chairs filled the long, narrow room. Potted plants hung in the windows, and flowers spruced up the tables. The place was filled with customers of all ages, including those in baby strollers. And complementing the convivial chatter was the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, homemade baked goods and heavenly concoctions featuring eggs in all forms.

"Hm-m, let me just look outside." Chubbie wandered out the side door to a brick patio shaded by a vine-covered pergola.

As Drew rocked on the heels of his well-worn hiking boots, multiple childhood acquaintances acknowledged his presence. He held up a hand and waved, feeling a bit like a celebrity on the red carpet.

Which is when someone slapped him on the back. "So, when'd you get in town?" Robby Bellona had been a classmate of Drew's from kindergarten through high school. They'd been practically joined at the hip, experiencing all of life's milestones together. First illicit puffs on cigarettes. Not-so-stolen kisses at the swimming hole at the old quarry. Speeding tickets? Unfortunately, yes.

"Robby! What a surprise. I got in just a few days ago," Drew answered.

Robby grinned. "In case you didn't know it, a lot has happened in your absence---especially recently." Robby pushed back his Phillies baseball cap. His black wavy hair had started to recede. "It's too much to explain just now, but maybe later? How long are you planning on staying this time anyway?"

"Not sure. It depends on work."

"Don't I know it. At least your job is more exciting than unclogging drains." He pointed to the logo for Bellona Plumbing on the pocket of his blue polo shirt. "Not that I'm complaining. The more families with young kids who move to Hopewell, the more times I get called for remotes flushed down the toilet."

Drew laughed. Robby always managed to find life amusing.

"Promise me you'll stay long enough for a beer together?"

"You bet," Drew agreed.

Robby grabbed his take-out coffee. "I'll work out the details. I'm booked solid this week with work, and we can't make it too late in the evening either. Nada---that's my wife---"

"You're married?"

Robby displayed his ring finger. "Yeah, I told you that a lot has happened. Anyway, Nada and I always try to have quiet time before bed, seeing as both of us put in the hard miles during the day. I'd complain, but the truth of the matter is, I'm one lucky man."

Robby Bellona was the last person Drew would have picked to settle down. "I'll be here for a while. I'm sure we'll figure something out."

"I'm looking forward to it. You must have pretty exciting stories---going to all these exotic places."

"There've been moments, no doubt about it."

"Well, I can't wait. Right now, duty calls. Mrs. Horowitz's sump pump is on the fritz. Remember her?"

"How could I forget those Czerny piano drills she put me through." He shivered.

"Then you'll know why I can't be late." Robby saluted and headed out the door.

Chubbie hustled back, his black sneakers moving with the agility of a seasoned short-order cook. "There's one seat available outside. You'll have to share the table I'm afraid. Someone new to town..."

"Not to worry. You know me. I can talk to a doorknob, and, believe me, I have. And if all else fails---" He pulled a moleskin notebook from a back pocket of his cargo shorts. "Just lead the way."

A couple of people stopped Drew along the way, and he had to hustle to catch up with Chubbie who had arrived at a small table tucked in the corner of the patio. "If you don't mind sharing a table, I've got a desperate customer here," Chubbie appealed to the woman already seated. He signaled to Drew.

She looked up from her phone and gave Drew a quick once over---giving away nothing---before acknowledging Chubbie. "Sure. No problem." She went back to scrolling through her phone.

Drew pulled out a metal chair. "This'll work out great. Thanks, Chubbie."

The owner gave Drew a sorry-but-this-is-the-best-I-can-do look. "You need the menu, or will it be your regular?"

"The regular. Why mess with perfection?"

Chubbie gave him a thumbs up and hustled back to work.

Drew slid into the tiny café chair with the ease of a tall man used to adapting to cramped surroundings. "Thanks for sharing, by the way. Chubbie's fried eggs and bacon are the only things saving me this morning," he apologized.

A beat went by, then two, before his companion looked up. She eked out a strained smile. "No problem. I gotta warn you though. I'm not much of a talker in the morning. In fact, I'm not much of a morning person---period." She went back to her phone.

Drew didn't take it personally. (His life motto, by the way.) Besides, he figured her indifference meant he could study her without inhibition. And he did.

She was petite, with dark, short hair---a cross between an homage to Joan Jett and a high-end coiffure. Punk meets Park Avenue. Although his interest in fashion was basically nil, he recognized an expensive outfit when he saw one: designer jeans, black stiletto heels and a black T-shirt made of some silky material that fit her taut torso like a second skin. Around her neck she wore a slim gold chain with a small pendant---a single gold bean covered in pavé diamonds. Definitely expensive.

Drew had been away a few years, but unless the residents of Hopewell had undergone a radical transformation, it was clear she wasn't a local. And she seemed perfectly content not to fit in.

Whatever. Drew could take a hint. He placed his moleskin notebook on the table and withdrew the pen clipped to the ragged neck of his faded olive-green T-shirt. That gesture seemed to get her attention in a way that his friendly overtures hadn't.

She placed her phone on the table and sat up, thrumming her fingers on the metal tabletop. "Planning on taking notes?" She nodded at his pad and pen.

"Something like that."

She crossed her legs tightly. "Are you a reporter?"

"Hardly. I just like to draw." He flipped open the notebook to show her a sketch he'd done earlier that morning of the giant sycamore tree in his father's backyard. Its spreading limbs held his sister's childhood treehouse---an architectural wonder that was part medieval castle, part Swiss chalet. The way he'd drawn it emphasized a gnarly fantasy world.

She leaned over to inspect. "Like something out of Lord of the Rings." She sat back and uncrossed her legs. She seemed to relax. A bit. That was until Chubbie descended.

"An egg white omelet for the lady, and two fried eggs over easy on sourdough toast with a side of bacon and home fries for the gentleman." Chubbie placed the orders on the table. "Can I get you anything else? Another latte?" He looked to Drew's companion.

"Why not? Soymilk, please."

Chubbie stared at Drew. "The usual?"

"A must. I managed to grab a cup with my sister before she headed out for work, but it wasn't nearly enough to help me get over the jet lag."

Chubbie nodded. "I can imagine. How long was the trip this time?"

"Eight hours from Pakistan to London and a layover of four hours at Heathrow before almost eight more to Philly. The train to Trenton, then an Uber to Hopewell. You do the math. I'm too tired."

"Depending on the train schedule, I'd say around 24 hours," the woman announced.

Chubbie and Drew stared, speechless.

She shrugged. "Simple arithmetic." She picked up her knife and fork and began cutting a neat portion of her omelet. Using a right angle wouldn't have produced squarer corners.

Drew shook his head for a whole host of reasons. "Like she said. In any case, when I arrived home, I fell asleep while Jessica was still filling me in on all the family news. Face plant straight into a bowl of fruit salad." He mimicked the mishap. "I'm not proud. And I can still taste the strawberries."

"At least they're fresh this time of year," Chubbie said. "How's your sister doing anyway? She always seems on the go, always on a mission. Still, she never forgets to wave and say hello."

"That's Jessica for you. Organized, efficient and always thinking of others, especially if you've got a pet." Drew shook his head. "I used to think her life concentrated solely on furry creatures, but not only has she decided to stay in Hopewell and take over Pops's veterinary practice, she's also found true love. Some fellow named Briggs who moved with his aunt and son to Hopewell a couple of years ago. That kind of blew my mind. You know my sister. She was always all work and no play." He shrugged. "Not that life is completely without challenges. Apparently, this woman suddenly descended on her and the boyfriend. Something about being the guy's son's mother? She'd been out of the picture for fourteen years---that's the age of the boy, but her being here can't help but spell trouble."

Chubbie cleared his throat.

Drew frowned. "Did I say something I shouldn't have?"

The woman held up her empty cup. "My latte?" she asked Chubbie, who seemed all too eager to hustle away.

Then she turned to Drew. "That trouble you mentioned?" She smiled sweetly.

Drew knew to be worried.

"That would be me."