The mother lined up seven quarters, three dimes, and four nickels along the red vinyl seat cushion, sliding them over one by one with her thumb.

“Is that enough for the vegetable soup?” the little girl asked.

Her bright voice carried clearly over the low hum of the glass pie case.

“It’s enough for the pancake plate, Daisy,” Martha Miller said softly.

Martha reached across the table and took her daughter’s hands, holding them between her palms for three seconds before letting go.

She smoothed the knit cuffs of Daisy’s sweater, checking her fingers for cold before pulling the sleeves down over her small thumbs.

“The soup is four dollars and fifty cents tonight,” Evelyn called from behind the cash register.

“The kitchen changed the cold-weather special at six o’clock.”

Martha pulled two quarters back off the vinyl cushion.

A faint red flush rose along her jaw as she pulled her daughter’s paper placemat two inches closer to the edge of the table.

“Just the six-dollar pancake plate, then,” Martha told the waitress, her tone carrying a sharp, defensive edge.

“And one glass of tap water.”

“Aren’t you getting anything for yourself, Mama?” Daisy asked.

Her crayon stopped half an inch from the tip of a paper star.