Free What Happens to Goodbye by Sarah Dessen Page A

is a war.”
    “That’s kind of how it feels,” she replied. She sat down on the milk crate, propping her head in her hands. “I mean, with half the menu gone, and cutting out brunch. I think maybe I should have gone with the rolls. Out with the old, in with the new, and all that.”
    She looked tired suddenly, sitting there saying this, and I felt like I should say something supportive, even though we hardly knew each other. Before I could, though, there was a bang from the stairs, and the skinny cook I recognized from the alley a few days earlier appeared on the landing, carrying a box. My dad, also with one in his arms, was right behind him.
    “Yo, Opal, where you want us to put these? ” the cook asked.
    Opal jumped to her feet. “Leo,” she said, quickly walking over to take the box from my dad’s arms, “I can’t believe you asked Gus to do this.”
    “You said to get someone to help me!”
    “Someone,” she muttered, under her breath. “Not the boss, for God’s sake.”
    “It’s fine,” my dad said easily. To me he added, “Mclean! I didn’t even know you were here. How was the rest of the day?”
    Opal turned, looking at me, confused, and I suddenly remembered I’d told her my name was Liz. I swallowed, then said, “Okay, I guess.”
    “Gus, seriously,” Opal said to him. “I’m so sorry. . . . It will only take me a second to get the rest of those boxes up here, I promise.” She shot Leo a dark look, but he was just standing there, fiddling with the strings of his apron.
    “What?” he said as she continued to glare at him. “Oh. You mean me?”
    “Yes,” she replied, sounding more tired than ever. “I mean you.”
    He shrugged, banging back down the stairs. Opal still looked mortified, but my dad hardly seemed to notice as he walked over to stand beside me at the window, looking out at the street.
    “This is a great space,” he said, glancing around him. “Did it used to be dining room?”
    “About ten years ago,” Opal replied.
    “Why’d they stop using it?”
    “Mr. Melman felt people were too slow going up and down the stairs. All the food was cold once it got here, because the kitchen was so far away.”
    “Huh,” my dad said, walking over to one of the walls and knocking on it. “In such an old building, I’m surprised there wasn’t a dumbwaiter.”
    “There was,” Opal told him. “But it never worked right. You’d put your food in and never see it again.”
    “Where was it?”
    She walked over to the wall by the stairs, pushing aside one of the tables there. Behind it, on the wall, you could see the imprint of something square, protruding slightly. “We had it plastered over,” Opal said. “Because people kept riding in it after closing. Serious liability.”
    “No kidding.” My dad walked over, checking it out. As he did, Opal glanced at me again, and I wondered what she was thinking.
    “So,” my dad said, turning back to the room proper. “What’s with the boxes? I didn’t realize we had a big order coming in today.”
    “Um,” Opal said, as Leo reappeared, carrying three boxes stacked precariously, one on top of another. “We didn’t. This is . . . something else.”
    My dad looked at her. “Something else?”
    “I was just telling Liz”—she glanced at me, and I felt my dad do the same, though I didn’t look at him—“that it’s this model for the town council. They needed someone to run the project and a place to do it in. And they were about to shut down our parking lot, so I kind of volunteered.”
    She trailed off, surveying the various cartons dispiritedly as Leo added his to the collection. My dad said, “What’s it a model of?”
    “The town. It’s for the centennial this summer,” she replied. She pulled a piece of paper out of her back pocket, reading aloud from it. “‘Providing both a community project and public art, this living map will allow your citizens to see your town in a whole new way.’ ”
    “Looks like