Ruth said, “Then you are volunteering, and I do not let people volunteer in commercial kitchens.”
Amber stopped arguing.
At noon, Ruth found her loading racks of plates.
Sweat darkened her hairline.
Her arms were wet to the elbows.
Carmen was telling a story about a customer who once sent back ice water because it was “too cold.”
Amber laughed.
Ruth stood in the doorway.
For a moment, she saw Loretta.
Not in Amber’s face.
In the posture.
The tired shoulders.
The hands moving automatically.
After the shift, Amber sat at a back table drinking iced tea.
Ruth joined her.
“My mother did this every day?”
“Not every day. She served breakfast too.”
“And cleaned offices.”
“Yes.”
Amber stared at her hands.
“She still hit me.”
“Yes.”
“She still stole from me.”
“Yes.”
Amber looked up.
“You’re not going to tell me to understand her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Understanding is not acquittal.”
Amber was quiet.
Ruth continued.
“Your mother loved you. She also hurt you. She sacrificed for you. She also sacrificed you for Anthony when she should not have.”
Amber’s eyes filled.
“Both?”
“Both.”
Amber nodded.
Then she looked around the restaurant.
“Why pensions?”
Ruth smiled.
“You remembered what I said.”
