The Creamy Freeze's expansive crushed rock parking lot gave it away as a business that only operated for four months out of the year at most. When snow or the boot-sucking leavings of snow dominated Vermont's landscape, it would be useless. The building itself was on the smaller side, with a dramatically sloped roof. The roof was a bright strawberry red, probably aluminum, and the body of the building was built up with many layers of extremely white paint.

It kind of looked like an overgrown, polygonal Smurf's house.

"See what I mean?" Graham rolled his window down to gesture at the building and its associated sign - ugly, garish, not-too-tall as Ari had noticed most signs in Vermont to be - with a flapping arm. "Look at this dollar bin googie stuff. Is it a primitive McDonald's? Is it a public park restroom building? Who knows?”

"Really selling it," Ellie said. She swung the van in a crunchy turn into a gap in the lines of cars assembled around the Creamy Freeze for lunch. “Oh, right. Speaking of restrooms, these ones are usually clean."

"Good?" Ari let himself out and into the heat, hungrier than he'd realized.

Wyn followed. "The house we're working at isn't in the best condition, so enjoy it while you can" he said, stepping around Ari. Looking at him from behind, in full daylight, Ari recognized with no shock at all that he was in no way dressed for the weather. He was in a stiff, gray flannel shirt that creased like kraft paper, black skinny jeans, and black boots with no visible laces. His one concession to the season was a plain black baseball cap he'd pulled on before leaving the van. It was an improvement over the layers of sweater and coat, but still. 

Maybe he had bad skin.

This was also the first real look he got at Ellie. She did embody her supposed role as The Girl, being slim and pretty with voluminous hair and a full face of makeup. Her eyes and hair were very dark, and the most striking feature of her face was her nose. It had a high, straight bridge. She reminded Ari of old, old photos of his mother’s mother.

The spaghetti strap top she wore with what looked like the visible legs of a denim jumpsuit she'd rolled down, both black, clashed with this impression.

She lagged behind with Ari, walking in stride with him.

"So, how'd Caleb find you?"

"He didn't."

"Yeah?"

"I know Wyn. He didn't mention that?"

"Well, you don’t know me.” Ellie let that hang suspended in the humidity for a beat. "Good thing you're not another geezer."

“Yeah”, Ari said. Up ahead, Wyn and Graham came into view again were in line for the order window. "The trade-off with that is I'm not very experienced."

Ellie shrugged. "That's a type. I'm sure people will find it very endearing."

Graham waved them over, and Ari set his mind to ignoring the question of whether or not they were all distinct types. The environment was active enough to allow this. The speakers suspended in the ceiling were pumping out Bonnie Tyler, every other mouth in the place was talking, there was road buzz and fryer smell hanging in the air, and even in the relative shade of the Creamy Freeze's overhanging mushroom cap the day was scalding bright. He could allow all that to push active thought out of his brain, if he wanted.

They did all order according to type. Graham ordered a cacophony of different proteins and sauces, and also a large shake. Ellie got fries and informed Graham he would be sharing the shake as a kind of tax. Wyn managed to tie the line up for what felt like twenty minutes ordering a cup of coconut water.

More specifically, to the consternation of the teenager trying to fulfill his order, he wanted three things: a bottle of coconut water, and a cup of ice, and a straw. All separate.

“I said don’t open it,” Wyn snapped, leaning over the four-times-repainted lip of the order window to poke his head accusingly into the combined kitchen and cash office.

“Ma-” The kid behind the counter did some very visible arithmetic behind his eyes, hand hovering over the cap of the bottle. Wyn already had his cup of ice, which he gripped covetously. “Sorry. Yeah, sure, of course you can just have it. Saves me the trouble, right?”

Wyn snatched it the instant it came within striking distance and blew a huffy sigh in the kid’s direction. And then he pivoted with no thank you, no sorry, no nothing.

Ellie and Graham had already retreated to the one vacant picnic table left. A cranky Wyn was not something they had the stomach for, apparently. Ari minded less, so little that he was willing to sit by Wyn at the table while he assembled his drink.

"Carsick?"

Wyn did look pale, and a little frayed. He held his cup in both hands like a squirrel with a seed. ”I try not to eat a lot right before I work. And no meat."

"Oh." That called to mind Wyn's kitchen and what he apparently thought of as food. "You can have some fries if you change your mind."

"Maybe."

"I couldn't live your life, buddy." Graham, having set up a tiny tripod with a smartphone set on it camera-side-out at the end of their table, was already seated and mowing through his chicken fingers. 

"I'm surprised you're alive at all," Ellie said. She took from Graham's heavily sauced fry pile, and this parasitic arrangement left Ari and Wyn to share the other side of the table. "Where are you putting eight thousand calories?"

"I'm a growing boy!"

"Growing sideways, you mean."

"Your dad jokes can't hurt me. Boxing takes a lot of energy. And skateboarding.” His eyes snapped on to Ari suddenly. "Do you do any sports?"

"Uh, no." He could paddle a kayak, but that wasn't what Graham was asking and he knew it. It wasn't a camera-friendly answer, either, but he hadn't prepared any of those.

"He'll try to get you to join a band, too," Wyn said. Behind his profile, along the edges of the mushroom cap roof, there were dangling strands of clear Christmas lights. Ari wished for a just a second that it was nighttime and they were on. 

It was a weird thought.

"You'll all join my band eventually." Graham was making real progress on his heaped tray, disappearing entire handfuls of fries and bread and hotdog meat between words and clauses and sentences. "This is the fate of every group of people who travel in vans together long enough. I'm serious, though."

"Heh. I'll think about it." Ari wasn't sure which implied invitation he was trying to politely dismiss. Probably both. He ate faster to look busy and kill the conversation, and it felt like everyone but Wyn followed his lead.

At some point Wyn must have run out of ice, because he slipped away for a few minutes and returned with his flannel tied around his hips. He looked much more normal in the black t-shirt he had on underneath that.

His right elbow was wrapped in the same streaky white marks as the soles of his feet. Ari had forgotten about that.

"What happened to your arm?" It was a social gamble made hastily, but Ari figured it was normal enough for guys to be curious about and proud of scars that asking wasn't explicitly off the table. 

"A house fire when he was a kid." The answer came from behind Ari, cutting through the lunchtime babble. Caleb had finally made good on his promise to come meet them. "He doesn't like to talk about it. Right, Wyn?"