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should push on with another question, but I was terrified that she would get enraged at my continued curiosity and make my grandfather turn back. Instead, I looked out the window and remained silent. Less than twenty minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of Chipper’s restaurant. I knew what an old-time diner was and thought that was what it looked like. It was certainly not what anyone would call an elegant or expensive restaurant. There were two large windows in the front, and the building was rectangular. It had a dark brown front and a flat roof. It was well lit inside. I thought it was too bright, but when we entered, I was surprised at how crowded it was. Almost every table and booth was taken.
    “Mr. Edwards,” my grandfather said to the hostess.
    I could tell from the way my grandmother was smirking at her that she didn’t approve of her short skirt and tight bodice, with just a little too much of her bosom revealed in the V-neck collar. Grandmother Myra looked at me and nodded as if to say, “See what happens when young girls are given too much freedom, missy?”
    The hostess led us to one of the booths. I sat across from my grandparents and could view most of the restaurant. I couldn’t help but be fascinated with all of it, the activity of the waiters and waitresses, the vibrant conversations being held at the various tables, some of which seemed to be occupied by families. I saw a few young couples, one of whom appeared involved in a very serious, intimate discussion. For me, it was a bigger visual feast than the food I would enjoy.
    The waiter brought us our menus and took orders for our drinks. My grandmother ordered mine, a lemonade, before I could even look at the choices, which included sodas I had never tasted.
    “These prices aren’t that reasonable,” my grandmother told my grandfather.
    “Compared with what is being charged in other places, they are.”
    “What do you know about it?”
    “I remember going out to eat, Myra, and Sam tells me about places he and Trudy go.”
    “They were always careless with a dollar,” she replied. “Just lucky you were paying him that good salary.”
    “He was worth it.”
    She grunted and looked at me. “You should have the chicken dish,” she said. “You’re not used to eating rich meats or these Italian foods. We’ll get you a salad, of course. Twelve dollars for mixed greens and tomatoes,” she added, shaking her head.
    The waiter returned with our drinks and took our orders. My grandfather looked as if he wanted the steak, mumbling about it, but he chose the chicken dish instead. My grandmother did the same.
    “I never enjoyed eating with all this noise around me,” my grandmother told me. “Even when I was as young as you. It’s not good for digestion. People eat too quickly in restaurants, because the waiters are told to rush them along so they can get someone else to sit at the table and the restaurant can make more money.”
    “Really?”
    “Of course, really. Would I tell you something that was untrue?”
    “Why do people put up with it?” I asked, looking at the other customers, none of whom seemed particularly unhappy being there.
    “They’re too stupid to realize it, that’s why,” she replied. She began to examine the silverware.
    “I’m sure everything is clean, Myra,” my grandfather said. “They have an A in the window for their inspection.”
    She pursed her lips and looked at the fake flowers in the vase disdainfully.
    My attention was drawn to a couple coming in with two children, the older one a boy who was probably eighteen or nineteen. He had wavy, long light brown hair and reminded me of an illustration in one of the biblical storybooks my grandmother had given me. He looked like a young Judah Maccabee pictured in my book. Although I was intrigued with him, I was also very interested in his sister, who looked about the same age. She had the same light brown hair and features so similar that I wondered if