I watched her at Table 14 tonight, right at 6:42 PM when the lighting gets that orange, sticky glow from the streetlamps outside. She's twenty-two, maybe twenty-three, and she's got that way of standing where her heels don't quite touch the ground... like she’s ready to bolt at any second. She was telling them about the pan-seared scallops with the lemon-caper reduction, her voice steady as a heartbeat, but I saw her left hand gripping the edge of her order pad so hard the plastic was groaning. I’ve seen that grip before. It’s the way you hold onto a life raft when the waves are ten feet high and the salt is stinging your eyes...