She loved this table, nestled against the all-glass railing, overlooking the chef’s herb and vegetable garden below and just beyond, the gorgeous promenade along the cliff above the ocean. Sometimes she’d sit here, arriving before her group sales clients, and take the moments to appreciate how far she’d come. While she was growing up, she could never have imagined dining at a restaurant like this. Her mom’s nail salon barely kept the two of them fed on the cheapest groceries from Ralph’s and most of her clothes were from the second-hand stores. She had known they were different than everyone else and she’d seen the pity in the wealthy women’s eyes as she cleaned the pedicure bowls between her mom’s clients while their own daughters joined them for a mani/pedi. But lately, instead of thinking of her embarrassing past, Madison had been people watching, imagining the lives of the diverse people who milled along the path enjoying the riot of colorful flowers, the painters with their easels hurrying to catch the perfect light, the locals with their dogs – always with their dogs – taking advantage of a sparkling day, and of course, the tourists who made her job possible, their numbers growing each year due, in no small way, to the town’s exposure on Laguna Nights.
