Her head snapped up.
She looked around the restaurant to see if anyone had noticed.
I only caught a glimpse before she tucked it away.
“Mothers First Emergency Shelter.”
Only after she was sure nobody was watching did she slip it back into her pocket and move to the next table.
I reached for my purse.
“I’m buying her lunch.”
My husband nodded.
“Beat you to it.”
Before either of us could stand, a woman’s voice carried across the restaurant.
“Excuse me.”
The pregnant woman stopped walking.
She turned.
For a moment, I smiled.
Thank goodness.
Someone else had noticed.
The woman who had called her over looked like she’d stepped out of a luxury magazine.
