Sarah Matthews sat opposite Clarence Harlow in a cramped booth at the Sirenia Diner. They were an odd pair with more years between them than there were inches across the thin red table. A stranger might have mistaken them for father and daughter, but there were no strangers in Farrow Point, and everyone knew Clarence Harlow had no children. The diner’s most notable feature was an extensive menu that included just about anything other than seafood. The owner—a friendly enough man named Watty Friedman—allegedly had a strong disdain for food that originated in the ocean. His personal preference wasn’t remarkably unique, but he did own a restaurant in a fishing community; hell, the ocean was visible from the front windows. Sarah supposed it was part of the eatery’s unique charm.With no fish on the menu to choose from, Harlow had ordered a burger. When the towering plate of meat and grease arrived, he noted the monstrosity was not something his doctor or wife would be happy to see him eating. But it was the kind of benign secret he didn’t have to ask his company to keep. As the chief said before his first bite, “Do I really need to be around an extra five years if I can’t enjoy a damn hamburger?” Sarah supposed not. Even the few vegetables he might have received from this meal were currently sliding out of the bun. He didn’t purposefully remove the lettuce and tomatoes, but she noticed he made no real effort to keep them contained within the assemblage of oozing cheese and charred bacon. A dangling piece of meat missed his mouth as he took another bite, landing somewhere in his lap. He looked up as Sarah stifled a laugh.

Sarah Matthews sat opposite Clarence Harlow in a cramped booth at the Sirenia Diner. They were an odd pair with more years between them than there were inches across the thin red table. A stranger might have mistaken them for father and daughter, but there were no strangers in Farrow Point, and everyone knew Clarence Harlow had no children. The diner’s most notable feature was an extensive menu that included just about anything other than seafood. The owner—a friendly enough man named Watty Friedman—allegedly had a strong disdain for food that originated in the ocean. His personal preference wasn’t remarkably unique, but he did own a restaurant in a fishing community; hell, the ocean was visible from the front windows. Sarah supposed it was part of the eatery’s unique charm.

Sarah Matthews sat opposite Clarence Harlow in a cramped booth at the Sirenia Diner. They were an odd pair with more years between them than there were inches across the thin red table. A stranger might have mistaken them for father and daughter, but there were no strangers in Farrow Point, and everyone knew Clarence Harlow had no children. The diner’s most notable feature was an extensive menu that included just about anything other than seafood. The owner—a friendly enough man named Watty Friedman—allegedly had a strong disdain for food that originated in the ocean. His personal preference wasn’t remarkably unique, but he did own a restaurant in a fishing community; hell, the ocean was visible from the front windows. Sarah supposed it was part of the eatery’s unique charm.With no fish on the menu to choose from, Harlow had ordered a burger. When the towering plate of meat and grease arrived, he noted the monstrosity was not something his doctor or wife would be happy to see him eating. But it was the kind of benign secret he didn’t have to ask his company to keep. As the chief said before his first bite, “Do I really need to be around an extra five years if I can’t enjoy a damn hamburger?” Sarah supposed not. Even the few vegetables he might have received from this meal were currently sliding out of the bun. He didn’t purposefully remove the lettuce and tomatoes, but she noticed he made no real effort to keep them contained within the assemblage of oozing cheese and charred bacon. A dangling piece of meat missed his mouth as he took another bite, landing somewhere in his lap. He looked up as Sarah stifled a laugh.

.