A waitress with aching feet helped a quiet little girl eat with one hand — not knowing the child’s father owned the restaurant and was watching everything.
The glass hit the floor so hard that every table went silent.
One second, Tiana Brooks was reaching for a water pitcher.
The next, a crystal glass was in pieces across the black-and-white tile, glittering under the warm restaurant lights like crushed ice.
Forks froze halfway to mouths.
A woman in a pearl sweater leaned back like the sound had offended her personally.
Someone near the bar whispered, “Oh, dear.”
Tiana was already on her knees.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, though no one had asked for an apology yet. “I’ve got it.”
Her hands moved fast, too fast, scooping the larger pieces into a folded napkin. Her fingers trembled as she worked around the tiny shards.
She had been on her feet since noon.
It was almost nine at night.
Her back ached.
Her knees burned.
Her black non-slip shoes had a hole near the left toe, and every step reminded her she needed new ones.
