ASHES OF YESTERDAY

CHAPTER 2- THE RESTAURANT

The bell above the restaurant door chimed as Anna pushed it open, its sound light and familiar, like a song only she seemed to hear in full. For her, it was more than a shop bell; it was the sound of her mother’s livelihood, the sound that meant people were coming to be fed, that the Riveras would keep their little world turning for another day.

The Hamilton boys trailed behind, reluctant at first—they preferred the open courtyard to the closeness of four walls—but the moment the wave of scents hit them, their hesitation melted. The air inside was rich with the smell of frying oil, garlic browned just to the edge of sweetness, peppers searing sharp, onions softening into gold. The mixture curled in their nostrils, tightened their stomachs, and made them swallow hard.

Mrs. Rivera stood behind the counter, a towel slung over one shoulder, her arms bare and glistening from the stove. She moved quickly, efficiently—stirring a pot with one hand, reaching for a stack of plates with the other, and speaking to a waiting customer all at once. Her voice was bright and fast, each word layered with warmth, but underneath, Anna could hear the weariness. She always heard it, though she never said so.

The restaurant was small: two wooden tables with benches that creaked when sat upon, a counter polished by countless elbows, and shelves stacked with jars of spices and flour in reused containers. A fan rattled near the ceiling, blowing just enough air to keep the heat tolerable. On the walls hung faded posters of beaches no one here could afford to visit, their corners curling with age.

Jay slid into a seat at the nearest table, folding his arms on the surface and looking around with eyes that missed nothing. He saw the cracks in the tiles, the frayed edges of the aprons hung on hooks, and the way Mrs. Rivera’s smile stretched a little too thin when a man counted coins before paying. He admired the place for its fight to exist, but something inside him tightened with unease. He thought of his own mother back in their apartment, humming as she folded laundry, never rushing, never selling her time minute by minute. If Dad worked less… if he were home more… maybe she could have something like this. Perhaps we all could.

Chase, on the other hand, drummed his fingers impatiently. His legs swung under the table, restless energy vibrating through him. “Do you think she’ll give us more pies?” he whispered to Anna, leaning close. “Like earlier? But hot this time, fresh out of the pan?”

Anna rolled her eyes, though secretly she loved the attention her mother’s food always drew. “You think about your stomach too much.”

“That’s because it’s smarter than my head,” Chase replied with a grin.

Jay reached across and rapped Chase lightly on the forehead with his knuckles. “That part’s true.”

The boys’ laughter drew a glance from Mrs. Rivera, who raised a brow but didn’t scold. Instead, she slid plates of fried plantains and meat pies across the counter. “Eat before you start fights, hm?” she called.

Anna rushed forward to carry the plates, her small hands wrapping around the edges carefully, her face glowing with pride. She liked serving when her mother asked; it made her feel important, grown. The food was hot and fragrant, the kind that could stop conversation mid-sentence. She placed it on the table with a little flourish. “See? I bring better treasure than you find in the courtyard.”

Chase wasted no time, reaching for a pie, but Jay caught his wrist. “Say thank you.”

Chase groaned but mumbled the words. Anna’s smile widened; she liked that Jay always remembered manners.

They ate greedily, though their ways were different. Chase devoured, crumbs dusting his shirt. Anna took small, neat bites, savoring each one. Jay ate slowly, his gaze drifting between his brother and Anna, then back toward Mrs. Rivera, who had returned to her stove. He studied her face, the way she pressed her lips together when she thought no one was looking. He wondered how many hours she worked before she allowed herself to rest.

The doorbell chimed again, and a family entered—two parents, a girl about Anna’s age, and a toddler balanced on the mother’s hip. They brought with them the scent of sweat and sun, the dust of the street clinging to their clothes. Mrs. Rivera welcomed them with a smile that seemed to light up her whole body, and in minutes, steaming bowls of stew were ladled out; the toddler quieted as soon as the food touched the table.

Jay watched, chewing slowly. He felt the room’s pulse—the way everyone seemed bound together by hunger and satisfaction, by the simple gift of food. He thought of his father, hunched over printing machines, producing words on paper that people bought and sold. Useful, yes. Necessary, maybe. But did it fill anyone’s belly? Did it make them smile the way Mrs. Rivera did, handing over hot bowls with a laugh?

Chase interrupted his thoughts with a loud groan of happiness. “This is the best,” he declared, leaning back and patting his stomach. “Anna, if you ever don’t finish your food, give it to me.”

“I never waste,” Anna said proudly.

Jay chuckled. “She’ll give it to me before you.”

Anna tilted her head. “Maybe I’ll keep it all for myself.”

They grinned at one another, the game of rivalry threading easily between them.

After they finished eating, Anna darted behind the counter to help her mother. She fetched jars, wiped down surfaces, and handed over spoons, her movements practiced and sure. Chase tried to follow, eager to poke around, but Mrs. Rivera blocked him gently with her hip. “Out, Chase. Too many cooks spoil the broth.”

He pouted, but Jay tugged him back toward the table. “Let her help. It’s her place.”

They sat, waiting. Chase grew restless again, picking at the wood grain in the table, tracing invisible patterns with his finger. “Let’s play something,” he muttered.

Jay leaned back, watching Anna’s small form dart about. “What do you want to play?”

Chase thought for a moment, then grinned. “Who can guess how many times the bell rings before we leave?”

Jay rolled his eyes but indulged him. “Fine. I say three.”

“Five,” Chase countered.

Anna, overhearing, called out, “Four!”

The game began. Every time the door opened and the bell chimed, they tallied their guesses. With each arrival, more smells filled the room—grilled fish, fresh bread, beans simmering in clay pots. The restaurant filled slowly, conversations overlapping in a gentle roar. Some customers greeted Mrs. Rivera by name, while others nodded; however, all left with fuller bellies and softer expressions.

Jay noticed details—the way coins were counted carefully, the way Mrs. Rivera sometimes slipped an extra piece of bread onto a plate for a child, the way her laughter carried even when her shoulders sagged. He thought about his own mother again, folding clothes with humming lips, about the silence of their apartment when his father was gone. A knot formed in his chest, one he didn’t know how to loosen.

“Jay?” Chase nudged him. “You’re overthinking again.”

“Maybe you should try it sometime,” Jay shot back, though without heat.

Chase grinned. “Nah. I’d rather eat.”

The bell chimed again, and Anna crowed, “That’s four!”

They laughed, the noise of their joy mingling with the restaurant’s hum.

As the evening wore on, the light outside dimmed, shadows lengthening across the street. The fan rattled overhead, struggling against the heat. Anna’s arms grew tired, her steps slower, but she kept moving. Her mother smiled at her, proud and grateful, but Jay noticed the flicker of concern behind it.

When the last customer finally left and the bell gave its final chime, the children slumped together at a table, weary but satisfied. Mrs. Rivera sank into a chair, wiping her brow with her towel, her chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

“You worked hard today,” she told Anna, brushing her cheek with the back of her hand.

Anna straightened, pride glowing in her. “I helped.”

“You did,” her mother agreed.

Chase stretched and yawned dramatically. “I helped by eating everything,” he said.

Jay rolled his eyes but smiled, the warmth of the room settling into him. For a moment, the world outside seemed far away.

The restaurant might have been small, its walls faded and its floor worn, but it was alive. It fed more than bodies. It fed friendships, laughter, and the fragile hope that tomorrow would come just as golden.

And for the children, sitting there with crumbs on their fingers and smiles tugging at their lips, the night felt safe, infinite—unaware that safety was not forever.