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The Counter Comes Back Out
Omar came back from the market and stopped in the doorway. The new counter was already inside the cafe, pushed tight against the back wall. He had wanted that. It was the first line on his list, and he still hoped to serve lunch tomorrow. Leila was on her knees with a brush in her hand and paint on her wrist. She was not painting.
"I cannot reach the wall," she said. "You told the driver to bring the counter in while I was out buying tape."
Omar set his bags down. At the kitchen table the night before, the order had looked simple. The counter was the heavy piece, the one he was afraid would come late, so he had put it first. The paint was only a line under it. In the room, the counter covered the exact patch that every customer would look at.