Chapter 4: Eggs for the Baby

By six the next evening I had a job.

The owner of the diner two blocks from campus looked at my hands, asked if I could carry four plates, and handed me an apron.

I carried six.

It was the first apron in my life that came with a paycheck.

The diner was nearly empty on a Monday at eleven at night, and I was refilling the napkin holders when the bell over the door rang.

My little brother stood in the doorway in his school hoodie with the hood up.

He looked around the diner and did not take the hood down.

"Elio," I said. "It's almost midnight."

"I know what time it is." He slid onto a counter stool and put both elbows on it. "Did you really get a job here?"

"Looks like it."

"Does it pay?"

"Eleven dollars an hour and tips."

"That's not even a week of my allowance."

"Then you can pay for what you order, and I'll tell you the price first."

He dug a hundred-dollar bill out of his pocket and flattened it on the counter.

I did not take it.

"Scrambled eggs, toast, bacon," he said. "Please. Livia."

It was the first time in my life I had heard him say please.

I went back to the grill.

I cooked his eggs the way he liked them, soft, with pepper, and told myself I was only doing it because the owner was watching.

When I set the plate down, he ate fast, with his elbow around the plate.

"Does Mom know you're here?" I asked.

"No. I took a car." He talked with his mouth full. "Dad's in a mood. He closed himself in the study with the consigliere and the book."

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