“Um,” Opal said, as Leo reappeared, carrying three boxes stacked precariously, one on top of another. “We didn’t. This is . . . something else.”
My dad looked at her. “Something else?”
“I was just telling Liz”—she glanced at me, and I felt my dad do the same, though I didn’t look at him—“that it’s this model for the town council. They needed someone to run the project and a place to do it in. And they were about to shut down our parking lot, so I kind of volunteered.”
She trailed off, surveying the various cartons dispiritedly as Leo added his to the collection. My dad said, “What’s it a model of?”
“The town. It’s for the centennial this summer,” she replied. She pulled a piece of paper out of her back pocket, reading aloud from it. “‘Providing both a community project and public art, this living map will allow your citizens to see your town in a whole new way.’ ”
“Looks like it might take up some space,” my dad said.
“I know.” She shoved the paper back in her pocket. “I didn’t realize how big it was. I’ll find another place for it, and soon. I just have to make some calls.”
“Yo, Opal!” a voice yelled up the stairs. “The linen guy is here and our towel order’s short. And that lady’s still on hold for you.”
“What lady?”
“The one Leo told you about,” the voice replied.
Opal turned to Leo, who was standing the window. “Oh,” he said. “You, um, have a phone call.”
She said nothing, just gave him a look before heading downstairs without comment. My dad glanced at Leo, then said, “Once all the boxes are up, you’ve got peppers to slice. And make sure that walk-in’s clean by opening. No grit anywhere, and Windex the door.”
“Sure thing, boss man,” Leo said less than enthusiastically.
My dad watched, his expression unreadable, as Leo ambled across the room and down the stairs. Once the door at the bottom banged shut, he said, “I can’t tell if this is a restaurant or a charity foundation. I mean, that guy can’t even work a spray bottle.”
“He does seem a little useless,” I agreed.
“It’s epidemic here.” He walked over to the windows again, looking out. “Unfortunately, I can’t fire everyone. At least not right away.”
I stood with him, watching the street below. It was a pretty spot, framed by tall trees on either side, bending toward us. “Opal seems nice.”
“I don’t need her to be nice,” he said. “I need her to take control of her staff and implement the changes I tell her to. Instead, she argues every single point, wasting endless amounts of tim
We were quiet for another moment. Then I said, “Did you know she’s worked here since she was in high school?”
“Yeah?” He didn’t exactly sound interested.
I nodded. “It was her first job. She really loves this place.”
“That’s nice,” he said. “But all the love in the world won’t save a sinking ship. You have to either bail or jump overboard.”
I thought of Opal, sitting on that milk crate, looking so tired. Maybe she was ready to find an island somewhere in need of a dancer or art historian, and my dad was doing her a favor by giving her a plank to walk. I wanted to believe that. It was part of the job, too.
“Look, I’m sorry for the outburst. I’m in a crap mood right now,” he said, sliding a hand over my shoulder. “Hey, want to come down for the staff meal? It’s the first run of the all-new menu. I could use someone there who actually likes me.”
“I’m your girl,” I said.
He smiled at me, and I followed him to the stairs. We were halfway down when he paused, looking back at me. “She called you Liz,” he said. It wasn’t a question, exactly. But I knew what he was asking.
“A misunderstanding,” I told him. “I’ll straighten it out.”
He nodded, and led me the rest of the way to the bar and main dining room. There, the employees were gathered around for the mandatory nightly meeting and staff meal he implemented at every restaurant. I looked for Opal, finding her at the end of the bar, taking in the plates lined up all down it, a different dish on each, with a wary look on her face.
“All right, everyone. Can I have your attention, please?” my dad said.
The group grew quieter, then silent. I watched him square his shoulders and take a breath.
“Tonight,” he began, his voice loud and confident, “we start the first phase of the reincarnation of Luna Blu. Our menu is smaller, our dishes less complicated, our ingredients fresher and more local. You will recognize some items. Others are brand-new. Now if you could just pick up a menu and read along with me, let’s start at the top.”
Opal passed out the one-page, laminated menus stacked on a nearby bar stool. As the group looked them over, there were some grunts. Some groans. One boo, although I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. It wasn’t going to be easy, this moment, or this night. But my dad had seen much worse. And as he continued, I slid into a booth just behind him, so he’d know I was there.