I Asked the Waiter to Split the Check

into her purse with shaking fingers. I don’t think I had ever seen my mother’s hands shake. She kept cash folded inside an old leather checkbook, the kind with a little pen loop on the side. She took out three twenties and laid them on the table.

“For the girls,” she said.

Dad stared at her like she’d started speaking Norwegian.

“Patty.”

She didn’t look continue reading …