“Oatmeal,” she said. “You can have a sense of humor after you check your remainders.”
He laughed, a short bright sound that made two heads turn and then return to their own lives. Denise gathered the papers with a care that was new, or newly visible. She slid the printed sheet and the copy into a folder and did not, Emily noticed, put the folder under the fries. The basket was a ruin of salt and goodwill. Emily took it away. When she came back with the check, Denise had already laid down cash enough to cover the meal, the pie, and a tip that was large without being theatrical, the kind of amount that said I was paying attention and not I am purchasing forgiveness. Emily did not refuse it. Refusing would have made the money a moral lesson, and the afternoon had had enough lessons. She nodded, once, the way she had nodded at the last stone in the creek.
“The coffee wasn’t empty,” she said.
“I know,” Denise said. “It was a mean little metaphor. I am retiring it.”