Amazing the junk customers leave behind. Ava’s clearing tables with the haste of someone stalking free time. She seems more energetic since that lying-faced guy vanished. Bursting past the kitchen door, she deposits a load of trays and turns to go. “How’s your son?” He can do better than that. “Frisky. Girls are different. How’s Glory?” “She’s looking for a job, not sure about college, moping, sharing little.” “Yeah . . . well . . . give her time.” “As much as she wants.” “Nice beard. I’m going to get the newspapers.” How about a drink? What’s so hard about that? His ear picks up the incessant drip of the sink tap. He’ll fix it tomorrow. Charge Murray a plumber’s fee. Yeah, right. Bruce shuffles in through the back door, an hour late. A man so worn he makes Nick feel chipper.
