'Til Grits Do Us Part by Jennifer Rogers Spinola Page A

what?”
    Trinity sighed. “I don’t know, Shiloh. He’s just been…different lately.”
    Adam squinted up in the candlelight, reflections dancing in his eyes. “Different how?”
    She dropped her voice. “Nervous. Stressed. I don’t know. His head in the clouds.”
    â€œDon’t say stressed.” I closed my eyes, trying not to think of Mom and her pile of unopened letters. “But why’s Jerry on edge? Because the sanitizer hose keeps breaking?”
    â€œNot exactly. He keeps changing things around, trying to cut costs.Cheaper flowers. Lower-quality cheese. Slashing stuff off the menu that people love because he says it’s too expensive. That sort of thing.”
    â€œHe can’t be too hard up, can he? He must’ve shelled out big bucks for this new flooring.” I looked across at the polished wood grain, shining dimly in the yellow-white overhead light.
    â€œExactly. Because the dirty carpet cost too much to shampoo, and people were complaining. He had a relative lay the flooring and sold his car to pay for everything.”
    â€œHis car?” I jerked my head back, stunned.
    â€œYep. He’s borrowing a car from your next-door neighbor until he can buy a cheaper one.”
    â€œStella? His sister?”
    â€œYep. She dropped him off today, and they went in the back and talked a while. And she didn’t look happy when she left. I don’t know, Shiloh. But something tells me all Jerry’s little changes to the restaurant are last-ditch efforts.”
    Adam leaned forward. “You mean like…he might have to close the restaurant?”
    â€œI’m not sure.” Trinity’s full lips formed a line. “He hasn’t let anybody go yet, but I’ve seen him going over numbers for hours, glued to his accounting books.”
    The bad haircut. “To save a buck,” he’d said
.
    I ran my hands over the thick tablecloth and brown wicker charger, light dancing in pale ribbons across its surface. “But it’s all so beautiful.”
    â€œWell. Everything ends sometime.”
    The bright candle flames bobbed in a current of air.
    Trinity lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m looking for another job just in case.” She shrugged. “Anyway. You can ask him about the rose while I go get your appetizer.”
    We all turned at the sound of Jerry’s voice from across the tables, unusually tight as he called something over his shoulder. I sized him up as he strode between the tables toward us, a no-nonsense leather folder under his arm and a weary look in his eyes.
    Trinity shook her head. “Poor guy. Wait to bring up the rose until he’s talked to you about what’s on his mind first. Otherwise he might keel over. Stress and all that.”

    â€œSo I’m offering you a proposal,” said Jerry, leaning forward on the chair he’d swiped from a neighboring table. “A business proposal. I need your help, and you need moola. For that weddin’ of yours.” He grinned. But when he settled back in the chair, the tired lines crossing his forehead spoke louder than his smile. For the first time I noticed some gray edging his chopped sideburns.
    â€œYou want us to help you give The Green Tree a face-lift,” I summarized.
    â€œYep. That’s what it boils down to.” Jerry sighed and set his glasses on the edge of our table, wiping the sweat from beneath his eyes. “We need a new direction. A new…something.”
    â€œBut I don’t understand. The place is gorgeous.” I pointed to the bamboo placemat. “You nailed the Japanese theme. If this is your new direction, it’s perfect.”
    â€œIt does look nice, don’t it?” Jerry’s tight face relaxed a bit. “I had some special help with that one. But I’ll be blunt. We ain’t doin’ so well.”
    â€œBut people are packing in here!” I gestured