Lizzie had moved in, she’d insisted that the manager install a sturdier chain lock and tighten the dead bolt, but still, she would never leave her daughter in the room alone. Dana even took her along when she paid the rent.
“So, you doing okay?” Dana asked Lizzie, after an afternoon of delivering the luncheon special, a blue crab salad with shredded jicama, raw sweet potato and cold rice noodles. If she had ten dollars for every time she’d had to explain what jicama was, or why the sweet potato wasn’t cooked, she and Lizzie could leave right now. A hundred for each time she’d removed a salad that was only half eaten and they wouldn’t need to be in Palmetto Grove at all.
They could spread their wings and fly far, far away.
“I’m tired of sitting out here.” Lizzie wasn’t a whiner, but this time Dana couldn’t blame her. The afternoon was beautiful, and Lizzie was spending it in a beat-up beach chair just outside the service entrance. Dana had brought all kinds of things for her daughter to do, but it was no surprise that even adaptable Lizzie was more than ready to leave. The little courtyard where the staff took breaks—courtyard being the kindest possible term—was clean and safe, but the smell of seafood was strong, and sometimes the kitchen crew came out to smoke a quick cigarette and curse the new owners. It was not the kind of place where Lizzie should be spending her day.
“I know you’re tired.” She ruffled Lizzie’s pale honey-colored curls. Dana had streaks of the same honey in her dark blond hair, but while her hair was spiky short with just a hint of wave, Lizzie’s curls spiraled past her shoulders.
“It’s time to go,” Lizzie said. “It’s past four already.”
Dana had saved the unfortunate news so Lizzie wouldn’t spend the whole afternoon steaming about it, but now she had to tell her. “I hate to say this, but there’s a staff meeting in a few minutes, sweetie. I have to be there, but you can come inside and sit with me. I got permission.”
“I want to go somewhere fun. You promised! The beach, or McDonald’s, or even the stupid library.”
“I really am sorry, and we will, just as soon as this is over. You can choose. McDonald’s and the beach, if you want. We can stay until the sun sets.”
“You’ll make me get a salad.”
“Uh-huh. But you can have a hamburger with it.” Dana saw that hadn’t done the trick. “And fries, just this once.”
“And a milk shake.”
“Nice try. Fries or shake, you choose.”
“How long is this going to take?”
“I’m not sure.” Dana lowered her voice. “They probably called the meeting to tell us they’ve changed something else. Maybe I’ll have to wear a bikini and serve in my bare feet. How’ll I look?”
Despite her annoyance, Lizzie giggled. “Silly!”
Dana ruffled Lizzie’s hair once more. “Okay, come on, and please be on your good behavior, okay? As much as you don’t like being here, it’s nice of them to let you hang out while I work. Let’s not spoil a good thing.”
“I’d like to spoil it. Then I could hang out at the mall.”
“Too young. Sorry. But not for long. You’re growing up so fast.”
“Not fast enough.” Lizzie tried to pout, but when she stood, she let Dana give her a quick hug.
Dana led the way through the kitchen to the dining room. The waitstaff had set the tables for the dinner shift. Dana’s feet throbbed, and she was grateful to take a seat in the circle that had been set up for the meeting.
Rena and Gaylord Stutz, the couple who owned the Dancing Shrimp, were, in Dana’s opinion, most notable for the way they resembled each other. Late thirties, dark slicked-back hair, hips so narrow that from behind, it was impossible to tell who was whom.
Staff who hadn’t been on the lunch shift began to trickle through the front door. Dana saw Wanda limp in. This was a job for athletic shoes, not for pointy-toed pumps. She caught Wanda’s eye and gestured to the seat beside her. Wanda joined them, pulling out a plastic bag of chocolate chip cookies and passing them to Lizzie.
“For when your mom says you can have them.”
Treats like homemade cookies were such a luxury that for a moment Dana didn’t know what to say. In the past few years she couldn’t remember an oven reliable enough to produce such a thing. She couldn’t remember having the money to