It was an open-ended question, veiled in the deniability of intruding into John’s loss of his mother. John nodded. “Yeah, I’m good,” he lied. “Let’s eat.”
Mick slapped the steering wheel and smiled. “All right then.”
* * *
John followed Mick into the café and headed to a table near the back. On the way, Mick grabbed a copy of the Himalaya Times off the rack near the front door. As usual, the café was humming with the latest Nepalese tunes. John combed his fingers through his hair and pulled out a chair. As he sat, Nabin came shuffling out of the kitchen carrying a large tub of dishes. When the young man saw them, he set the tub on the front counter with a thud and came running to them like a puppy.
Himalaya Times“Namaste, Mr. Patterson. Where have you been?” Nabin said, his dark eyes w
