The Denny’s stands across the parking lot, brightly lit from within. As we near I can see in a booth inside the wall-high windows my mother eating with my aunt. Even beneath the light Mom’s face appears dark as a shadow—worse than I remembered—and she wears the enormous glasses I hate. Aunt Jessica’s presence surprises me. She is my father’s half sister, a very pale woman of correct posture who has more to do with us than my father, and who refuses to speak to him on our account, and who seems to have taken Mom under her wing. They are a strange pair to spend time together: Mom, who is Catholic, and Aunt Jessica, who calls herself a feminist and who runs a small chain of lingerie boutiques on the Westside for rich people and celebrities.

As we get closer, the man asks me if I see my mother. I have no choice but to point out their booth.

He nods approvingly, focusing his gaze on Aunt Jessica with her silk blue scarf wrapped stylishly about her neck.

That is some lady, he says, and turns to Mom. But who is that with her?

We stand not fifteen yards away, although neither of them sees us. The room’s crowded with old people and a couple of families and a booth of smoking teenagers and a long counter behind which you can see the kitchen. It is a clean room, brightly lit, and my aunt fingers her scarf at her neck. It shines an orchid blue against her pale complexion. My mother nods at something she says and it occurs to me that she is a short woman and that my aunt does all the talking. Mom nods at whatever she says. In response to Aunt Jessica’s questioning, she prepares to make an answer, but a waitress comes and Mom sits quietly while the woman takes away their plates.

That’s our maid, I say, gesturing towards Mom.

He puckers his lips and whistles in admiration. Somewhere in the empty city a semi roars as if on an open highway, its sound coming to me distantly and echoing through the treeless buildings and crossing the empty highway. He starts towards the door and makes it twenty feet away from me before he realizes I am not following him and he turns and appears exasperated by my behavior and he asks me what is the matter.

My brain scrambles for something to say and finds nothing, but fortunately Mom rises from her booth, clutching her purse cautiously as she begins making her way towards the bathroom. Without a word I follow him.

He shakes his head in bewilderment but opens the door for me without a word and then we enter the warm interior.