She had a small gold pin on her collar, and her hair was perfectly neat.
She stared down at my dripping red shoes and the wet green blanket in my arms.
Her face did not look like she wanted to open the door for us.
I knew we were not allowed in places like this without an adult, but the cold was too deep now.
I reached out with my right hand, still holding Tommy against my shoulder with my left arm.
The heavy brass handle of the restaurant door feels ice cold under my small fingers.
The heavy oak gave way under my weight, and the sudden warmth of the foyer hit my face like a dry towel. It was a thick, heavy heat that smelled of roasted meat and clean linen.
My boots left gray puddles of melted sleet on the dark floral carpet as I took my first step inside. The carpet was plush, sinking under my heels in a way the hard Ohio sidewalks never did.
