Well, look at that,” said Freddie. “You wore a different shirt today. It must be a national holiday or something.” She was sitting at a table in the dining room, smoking a cigarette and rolling silverware up in blue paper napkins. Her hair was piled high on her head.

The sun flashed off the silverware. The room was empty except for Freddie and the mountain of napkins and another mountain of forks and spoons and knives.

Beverly stared at Freddie.

“What?” said Freddie.

“Nothing,” said Beverly.

“I take it back about you being a model and all,” said Freddie. “You might have good legs and good hair and white teeth, but you’re not friendly enough. You’ve got to be friendly to model. People want to look at somebody that knows how to smile, someone who smiles like they mean it.”

Freddie smiled a big fake smile.

“Like that,” said Freddie. “That’s how you do it.” She stopped smiling, took a long drag off her cigarette, and blew the smoke up in the air.

Mr. Denby came out into the dining room. “Good morning, Beverly Anne,” he said.

“Right,” said Beverly. She went back to the kitchen.

Doris was at the sink, scrubbing something. Charles was mopping the floor.

“It occurred to me last night that you might not know what ‘tipping out’ means,” said Doris without turning around, “what with you being young and wet behind the ears. Charles didn’t know how things worked when he got here, either.”

“I didn’t know nothing,” said Charles. “Still don’t.”

“You’re learning,” said Doris. “Now, Aunt Beverly, listen. Tipping out means that Barbie gives you a percentage of what she gets in tips. Ten percent, at least. How much did she give you yesterday?”

“Two dollars,” said Beverly.

Doris snorted.

“What?” said Beverly.

“Pay attention to what’s going on,” said Doris. “See what people leave on the table. Know what things cost. Pay attention. Nobody watches out for you in this world.”

“But you’re watching out for me,” said Beverly to Doris’s wide, solid back, “aren’t you?”

Doris snorted again.

Charles kept mopping the floor. He laughed a low laugh.

The lunch rush started slow, but by half past noon, Mr. C’s was full of sunburned kids and dazed parents. Beverly was almost running with her bucket full of dishes, trying to keep up. Freddie was smiling her fake smile, moving from table to table. And Mr. Denby, wearing a tie with a frowning fish on it, kept escorting more people in.

The same thing happened that had happened the day before. Everything slid out of Beverly’s head: Iola’s bony, insistent hand; the memory of her father and the rocket launch; the VFW and the bird’s nest; Buddy’s grave and Raymie’s question about how they were going to survive without him.

Beverly forgot. She didn’t think. She just worked.

At one point, a fat old man with a cigar in his mouth pinched her on the butt.

“You’re kidding,” said Beverly, “right?”

“Sorry,” he said.

“That’s just Lou,” Freddie told her. “If you don’t complain about him, he tips more.”

“Tips who more?” said Beverly.

Which shut Freddie up.

After lunch was over, Freddie gave Beverly two dollars.

“Is that my full ten percent?” said Beverly.

“What are you even talking about?”

Beverly stared at her.

Freddie rolled her eyes, and then she peeled three more dollars off a big roll of bills. “Are you satisfied now?” she said.

“Sure,” said Beverly. “Thanks.”

“Uh-oh,” said Freddie. “Here comes Jerome. He’s early.”

A man was walking across the almost-empty dining room. He was big and dark-haired. He was wearing a red tank top and a thick gold necklace that winked in the light.

Freddie waved and smiled her model smile. “Hi, baby,” she said. “Hi, Jerome. You’re early.”

“Who’s the new girl?” he said, tipping his head in Beverly’s direction.

Up close, Beverly could see that he wasn’t that old — seventeen or eighteen, maybe. He had a toothpick in the side of his mouth. It waggled up and down when he talked.

“I told you about her already,” said Freddie. “You never listen to me.”

“I listen to you,” said Jerome. “That’s all I do — listen to you.” He winked at Beverly. “Hi, new girl.”

Jerome’s shoulders were hairy, and his nose was big. He looked like a wolf in a cartoon. He reminded Beverly of her mother’s boyfriends — stupid and desperate and sometimes mean.

“What’s the matter, new girl?” said Jerome. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Beverly Anne,” called Mr. Denby. He was standing at the threshold to the dining room. He looked tired.

Jerome took the toothpick out of his mouth and used it to salute Mr. Denby. “Good afternoon, sir!” he shouted.

“Hello, Jerome,” said Mr. Denby.

“The world treating you okay, Mr. Denby?” said Jerome. He put the toothpick back in his mouth. He grinned. “How is the fish business, sir? Is it good?”

“The fish business is just fine, Jerome,” said Mr. Denby. “Beverly Anne, if I could see you in the office?”

“Bye-bye, Beverly Anne,” crooned Jerome as Beverly walked out of the dining room. “Bye-bye. Have a good time in the office with Mr. Denby, Beverly Anne.”

Mr. Denby ushered Beverly into the office and closed the door. He turned to face her. He tugged at his fish tie.

“I don’t like him,” said Mr. Denby. “That boyfriend of hers is not good news.” He sighed. “Of course, Freddie isn’t exactly good news, either. She’s a crackerjack waitress, though. Very motivated in that regard.” He sighed again. “But I feel like she is primed to take a wrong turn. It’s worrisome, how people can take a wrong turn and never right themselves. I hope that doesn’t happen to you, Beverly Anne.”

“Uh-huh,” said Beverly.

“You think about these kinds of things when you’re a parent,” said Mr. Denby. “You do a lot of thinking about wrong turns when you’re raising children. In any case, we’re going to get the paperwork filled out just as soon as I locate the paperwork, but in the meantime, here is some cash. And I thank you for your good work.”

“Thanks,” said Beverly. She took the money.

“I’m guessing that you’ll come back tomorrow?” said Mr. Denby.

“Sure,” said Beverly.

“How’s your grandmother?”

“I don’t have a grandmother.”

“I thought you said you had a grandmother.”

“No,” said Beverly.

“Well, maybe it’s just that I saw you in the car with your grandmother yesterday.”

“You didn’t,” said Beverly.

“Oh,” said Mr. Denby. He gave his fish tie another tug. “My apologies. I wish for things to be a certain way, and that is how I see them. Wishful thinking, I suppose you would call it. It’s a personality trait that drove my wife to despair.” He sighed. “I have three daughters, you know.”

“Yeah,” said Beverly. “You told me.”

“Right,” said Mr. Denby. He clapped his hands. “I’m certain that I did. Well, have a good afternoon, Beverly Anne. Enjoy the sunshine. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Sure,” said Beverly. “See you tomorrow.”