“I know. I just wanted to be the one to decide when.”
“You don’t get to decide when. You just get to be there after.”
The food came. Anna took a bite and closed her eyes—the fish was buttery and clean, lemon and something herbed underneath. It was even better than she’d expected, which was the thing about this restaurant—the patio faced the wrong direction but the kitchen faced exactly the right one.
They were halfway through when the front door opened and Margo walked in.
Anna’s fork stopped.
Margo was in her good coat. The one she wore to the Circle and to things that weren’t the Shack. She walked to the counter, spoke to the hostess, and stood waiting with her purse on her arm.
“Is that Margo?” Michael said.
“That’s Margo.”
“Does Margo eat out?”
“Margo does not eat out.”
They watched. The hostess disappeared into the kitchen. Margo stood at the counter. She had not seen them, or had seen them and was pretending she hadn’t, which with Margo was always possible.
“Margo.” Anna was standing at the counter before she’d decided to get up.
Margo turned. The half-second of surprise was there and then it wasn’t.
“Anna. Hello.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Picking up an order.”
Margo shifted the purse on her arm. “You ordered takeout? From here?” Anna asked.
“They have a good soup.”
“You make good soup.”
“I wanted a different one.”
Anna looked at her grandmother. Margo looked back and said nothing else.
“Is it for Bernie?” Anna asked.
“It’s soup, Anna.”
“From a place you’ve never been to.”
“I’ve been here. I came once in 2019.”
“For what?”
“Eleanor’s birthday. I had the fish. It was fine.”
The hostess came back with a paper bag. Margo took it. Thanked her. Turned back to Anna.
“Enjoy your dinner,” Margo said. “Tell Michael the halibut is good here.”
“How do you know he ordered the halibut?”
