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that we have decided to have children?”
    “There was no time and no inclination. We do not need my mother keeping track of our progress.”
    “That we do not.”
    Janya lifted one shoulder. “Besides there was nothing to tell her. No good news, anyway.”
    He looked uncomfortable, as men often seemed to when anything personal was discussed. He glanced past her to the clock in the kitchen, then he stood. “Do you have plans for the day?”
    She wanted to say her plans had included him, and now they would have to be remade. Instead she shook her head.
    “Will you be home for supper?”
    “I will try.” He picked up his plate and took it into the kitchen.
    Janya wished she could remind her husband that leaving her alone for so many hours was not the best way to start their family. But that, like so many things, was too direct, too emotional. They might be living far away from the country of their births, but they were still products of its culture, a culture they respected. She told herself she would see Rishi through this difficult time at work. And everything else would take care of itself.
     
    Saturday’s lunch shift at the Dancing Shrimp was always jammed and tips were good, but despite that, it was Dana’s leastfavorite shift. During the week, when Lizzie was in school, Dana didn’t have to worry about child care. Tips weren’t as good, but at least Lizzie could walk to the restaurant after school. Usually by then Dana was ready to take her back to the Driftwood Inn, the run-down motel that nowadays passed for home.
    Unfortunately, on Saturdays Lizzie had nowhere to go. She was the only child who lived in the two-story building, so there was no hope of a friend’s mother watching her. Dana thought of the Driftwood as the Drifter Inn, since the residents—mostly male—seemed to drift here and there while they tried to find a reason or place to set down roots. Before she and Lizzie had moved in, she’d insisted that the manager install a sturdier chain lock and tighten the dead bolt, but still, she would never leave her daughter in the room alone. Dana even took her along when she paid the rent.
    “So, you doing okay?” Dana asked Lizzie, after an afternoon of delivering the luncheon special, a blue crab salad with shredded jicama, raw sweet potato and cold rice noodles. If she had ten dollars for every time she’d had to explain what jicama was, or why the sweet potato wasn’t cooked, she and Lizzie could leave right now. A hundred for each time she’d removed a salad that was only half eaten and they wouldn’t need to be in Palmetto Grove at all.
    They could spread their wings and fly far, far away.
    “I’m tired of sitting out here.” Lizzie wasn’t a whiner, but this time Dana couldn’t blame her. The afternoon was beautiful, and Lizzie was spending it in a beat-up beach chair just outside the service entrance. Dana had brought all kinds of things for her daughter to do, but it was no surprise that even adaptable Lizzie was more than ready to leave. The little courtyard where the staff took breaks—courtyard being the kindestpossible term—was clean and safe, but the smell of seafood was strong, and sometimes the kitchen crew came out to smoke a quick cigarette and curse the new owners. It was not the kind of place where Lizzie should be spending her day.
    “I know you’re tired.” She ruffled Lizzie’s pale honey-colored curls. Dana had streaks of the same honey in her dark blond hair, but while her hair was spiky short with just a hint of wave, Lizzie’s curls spiraled past her shoulders.
    “It’s time to go,” Lizzie said. “It’s past four already.”
    Dana had saved the unfortunate news so Lizzie wouldn’t spend the whole afternoon steaming about it, but now she had to tell her. “I hate to say this, but there’s a staff meeting in a few minutes, sweetie. I have to be there, but you can come inside and sit with me. I got permission.”
    “I want to go somewhere fun. You