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his napkin in his plate, stands up, and walks out the door. Not only does he leave his food, he also leaves payment and an enormous tip.
Natasha politely scoffs up his meal. After I ring up his ticket, I discover he's left a forty dollar tip.
Chapter Nine
    On Monday evening, I open the mailbox and find two money orders. They're written in the amount of three thousand dollars each. Squealing with joy, I run upstairs to my apartment, leaping and praising God. Though trembling with fear, I just have to show Mama.
    There are no names on the money order except mine. I flip the paper currency over and over. "Do you think it's any good, Mama?"
Mama reaches for the paper with wavering hands, then she grins and licks her lips. "There's only one way to find out, baby. Cash it."
And cash it, I do. I tear up another eviction notice and pay the rent. Past-due bills suck up an enormous amount. As if he can smell the cash, T. J. isn't far behind. He sticks out his grimy hands, and I pay for Mama's freedom. Then, I threaten her life. With Tory's life at stake, this is the absolute end of the line. I love my mother, but she ruined her own life, not me. Now, I have no problem letting her do time in jail.
With the money I have left over, I buy Tory three new outfits and a pair of shoes. When my spree ends, only six hundred dollars remain. Although the car desperately needs repairs, I put the cash away for a rainy day. I don't know who sent the money, and I won't ask.
* * * * *
    On Wednesday evening, Hilton Maxwell comes back into the grill. I feel he probably wants to shut us down for poor service. Just like before, he sits in my area.
"Mr. Maxwell, I see you've joined us again today. How are you?"
His ice blue eyes sparkle with mirth; his smile is soft and sweet. "I'm fine, thank you," he says, peering over his glasses. "And how about yourself?"
Feeling giddy, I confess. "I'm feeling pretty damn good!"
"Great. I'm glad to hear that." He rests his elbows on the table and makes a steeple with his fingers.
Reaching for my pad, I ask, "What will you have this evening?"
"I've tried your chopped beef; now I'll have that meal I tried to eat the other day. How did you put it? A dirty colon and a burp?"
Giggling, I write the order. As I walk away, I realize there’s a knowing or a presence about him. I can’t seem to shake the feeling that I’ve met him before.
After Hilton finishes his meal, we make light conversation. "So you have a son?" he asks, raising both brows.
"Yeah, he's my heart. Sometimes, my mother helps me with him."
"It's nice to have a mom," he agrees. "I didn't have one."
"That's too bad. I love my Mama. It seems I'd do anything for her short of selling my soul."
"Well, you take good care of her."
Obviously, he didn't know my Mama. That's all I ever did. My life is lacking in the selfish department.
Casey yells from the window, "Order up!"
"I will. Listen, why do you eat here anyway? I'm sure there're better places to eat than this dump."
"Oh." Hilton stretches his eyebrows. "Any suggestions?"
"I might have a few. First let me get this order out."
"Sure. After all, you are a working woman."
I beam softly and walk away. When I return, Hilton is all ears.
"Lead on," he says, listening intently. "Where is the best food in town?" "Have you tried Cameo's?"
Folding his arms, he repeats, "Cameo's. No, I've never heard of that place. I must try it sometime."
"Some people like it and some don't. I think they have wonderful food."
"Let's say I pick you up on Friday, and we'll check it out."
"Me." I point to myself and shake my head. "You wouldn't want to take me there."
"Why not?" He shrugs.
"You need to take someone who's educated and refined. Well, you know, pretty."
Hilton leans forward and cocks his head to one side. "I take it you don't believe you're any of those things."
"Perhaps pretty, but not refined or even educated, for that matter."
Hilton slowly blinks. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"
"Okay. What time shall I meet