My mom told me my dad had been a good man. I’d never known him. He died before my second birthday. From her, I knew he’d loved me very much. She told me stories about his kindness and his willingness to help others. I’d once asked my mom why she’d picked him if she knew he was such a good man. She’d smiled sadly and said she’d loved him and he’d loved her. Mona didn’t seem to notice my distraction. Like the day before, we worked in tandem taking and making orders. I did most of the serving while she stayed behind the counter assembling the sandwich orders. After a particularly grueling rush, I went back behind the counter and found half a ham and swiss sandwich plated with a cappuccino next to it. I looked up at Mona questioningly and she answered with a grin. “There’s about a ten minute lull. Enjoy while you can.” She pulled out a bar stool from the dark recesses under the counter and sat down propping her feet on a down-turned empty five-gallon bucket.
