“I’ve been thinking about it.”
Ruth folded her hands.
“Bernice was fifty-nine when she had a stroke.”
Amber listened.
“She had worked in restaurants since she was fourteen. No retirement account. No savings worth mentioning. She nearly lost her apartment.”
Amber looked toward the kitchen.
“So you started pensions?”
“Not immediately.”
Ruth laughed.
“We were too broke.”
She continued.
“But we created a small employee fund. Then a profit-sharing plan. Then retirement contributions.”
“Mom got one?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“That is her business.”
Amber nodded.
“Fair.”
Ruth studied her.
“You thought I bought this place because I was rich.”
“I thought Marcus’s father bought it for you.”
Ruth laughed.
“Isaiah would be offended.”
“Why?”
“He wanted me to sell it every five years.”
“Really?”
“He hated restaurant hours.”
Amber smiled.
“So you kept it anyway.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Ruth looked toward the kitchen doors.
“Because nobody should work forty years and leave with sore knees and nothing else.”
Amber said nothing.
A month later, Loretta came back.
She did not announce herself.
Ruth was standing near the host station when an older woman entered wearing a dark green coat and holding a purse with both hands.
Ruth recognized her immediately.
Loretta had gotten smaller.
Her face was thinner.
