Page 8 of Lowering His Guard

When the doctors diagnosed her with breast cancer, I hopped on the first flight home from Bali, where I was living at the time.

The next two years were tough. The toughest of my life. Dad and I worked our asses off to keep the restaurant Mom loves afloat while also caring for Mom as she went through rounds of chemo and radiation and surgery.

She’s been cancer free for a while now, but I still worry. I’ll probably always worry.

I make my way through the kitchen toward the restaurant. I squeeze Mom’s shoulder as I pass her. Relief seeps into me when I feel how she’s no longer skin and bone.

I step into the restaurant. It’s busy but not chaos.

Dad’s manning the hostess station. No wonder Mom begged me to come and help tonight. Dad and the hostess station are a combination awaiting disaster.

Dad leads a couple toward a table. They refuse to sit.

“This is too close to the kitchen.”

He scowls. “Follow me.” He shows them to another table.

“This is too close to the window.”

Dad’s face is getting red now, but to his credit, he merely motions them to another table.

The woman’s nose wrinkles. “There’s a whole table of children next to us.”

“Children are a godsend,” Dad mutters and my heart clenches. I ignore it. I’ve been ignoring it for years.

“Now we’re under the speaker.”

“I wouldn’t want you to not be able to hear each other,” Dad snarks.

The man beams. “Thank you.” He obviously doesn’t understand sarcasm.

The woman cheers when Dad shows them to another table. “This is perfect.”

“Good. Because I was running out of restaurant.” His voice is dry as bone. He slaps the menus on the table and marches back to the hostess desk where I’m waiting for him.

“There’s my lucky charm.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not cereal.”

He kisses my nose. “You’ve always been lucky.”

Ha! If only he knew the truth. But he won’t because I’m never telling.

The door opens and a group of four enters. Before I can speak, Dad does. “Table of four?”

“Can we have a quiet table?”

He shrugs. “Depends on who you’re bringing.”

I nudge him. “Dad.”

He blinks. The picture of innocence. “What?”

“They’re customers.”

“They’re impossible.”

I beam at the family. “We’ve got the perfect table for you!”