Daddy Left Me to Wash Dishes While He Took Her Daughter to Disney World

The step stool was the white plastic kind, with a crack running down one leg.

Every time I leaned forward, it rocked to the left. I'd learned to keep my weight on my right foot, even though my toes had started to tingle an hour ago.

The sink came up higher than my elbows. To reach the bottom, I had to stand on my tiptoes and stretch my whole arm into the gray water until the suds touched my shoulder. The water was warm at first. Now it was just lukewarm and full of floating bits of egg and ketchup.

The plates kept coming.

Every few minutes someone set another stack on the counter next to me with a loud clunk, and I'd pick up the top one, scrub it with the yellow sponge, rinse it, and put it in the rack. The sponge dripped down my wrist and into the sleeve of my yellow dress, which was soaked now under the big apron.

My stomach growled. It had been growling since before the lunch rush.

I'd had half a piece of toast this morning. Harper had eaten the other half off my plate while Selena was doing her makeup, and nobody said anything.

One of the servers, a tall guy named Devon, swung through the kitchen door holding two plates up high. Chicken sandwiches with crispy edges, melted cheese sliding out the side, a pile of fries next to each one.

The smell hit me so hard my mouth filled with spit.

I watched them go all the way out the swinging door.

After Mom's funeral, I didn't eat anything for two days. Daddy finally carried me to the kitchen table and sat me on his lap. He cut my grilled cheese into little squares and held each one up to my mouth until I took a bite.

"You're never eating alone again, kiddo," he'd said. "Not while I'm around."

I rubbed my nose with the back of my wet hand and looked over at the desk by the walk-in fridge, where Owen was sitting with a clipboard.

Owen was the manager when Daddy wasn't here. He wore a black polo shirt and he always seemed like he was in a hurry, even when he was sitting down.

"Owen?"

He didn't look up.

"Owen. I'm hungry," I said, louder. "Can I please have my lunch now?"

He sighed and set down his pen.

"Not yet, Lucy."

"But it's past lunch. Everybody else ate."

"Selena told me before she left. All the plates get washed first. Then you eat." He tapped the clipboard. "Those were her exact words."

"All of them?"

"All of them."

I turned back to the sink. Then I looked up at the whiteboard on the wall, the one with my name on it.

This time I tried to read every line, sounding out the words in my head the way Mrs. Patel taught us in class.

*Wipe tables. Sort silverware. Wash plates. Clean back kitchen.*

Every one of them had LUCY written next to it in Selena's curly letters. Some of the other names on the board had numbers next to them, like *$12* and *$14.50*. Mine didn't have any numbers at all.

I thought about all the times Selena had smiled at me when Daddy was in the room. "Lucy's such a good little helper," she'd say, and squeeze my shoulder. Then as soon as he went out to the front, she'd point at the black trash bags by the back door. They were so heavy I had to drag them across the parking lot with both hands, and they left red lines across my palms that stung for hours.

Once I told her my arms hurt.

"Do you know how much it costs to feed you?" she'd said. "This restaurant pays for your clothes, your food, your bed. The least you can do is pull your weight."

I'd never told Daddy. I figured if he knew, he'd make her stop.

I looked at my hands now. My palms were pink and wrinkly from the water, and there was a red stripe across the middle of my right one from where the edge of the sink pressed into it.

Then I looked back up at the whiteboard. At the very bottom, under all the names, there was a signature in blue pen. Big and slanted, with a long tail on the end.

I knew that signature. It was on my permission slips. It was on my report card.

*Caleb Morgan.*

Daddy.

"Owen," I said. My voice wobbled. "Does Daddy know about the list?"

Owen picked up his pen again. "He signs off on the schedule every week."

"So he knows I'm doing all this?"

He finally looked at me, and for a second he seemed almost sorry. Then he looked away.

"Your father says helping the family is your responsibility," he said. "Now finish those plates."

I picked up the next one. It had a smear of mustard on it. I scrubbed it until my arm ached.

Owen's phone started ringing a little after three. It was the loud kind of ring, the video kind.

He answered it and held it out in front of him, and right away Harper's voice came screeching out.

"Daddy! Daddy, take my picture in front of the castle!"

I couldn't help it. I leaned so far over on the stool that it rocked hard to the left, and I had to grab the edge of the sink.

On the screen, there it was. The castle. It was blue and white and gold, with tall pointy towers, and it was so much bigger than the one Mom drew. Harper was standing in front of it in her sparkly pink dress, spinning in a circle.

On her head were my mouse ears.

The red bow. Mom's white L, right in the middle.

"Owen, I want to show Lucy!" Harper said, and the screen swung around as she grabbed the phone from someone. Her face filled up the whole thing. She was holding a giant striped box of popcorn against her chest.

"Hi, Lucy!" She stuffed a handful of popcorn in her mouth. "Are you still washing dishes?"

I didn't answer.

"She is," Owen said.

Harper giggled. Then the screen jerked again, and suddenly Daddy was there. He was wearing sunglasses pushed up on his head, and his face was red from the sun.

"Daddy," I said quickly, before he could disappear. "Daddy, can you bring me back a chocolate? Just a little one? A small one is okay."

Somewhere behind him, Selena laughed.

"If she really wants to eat, she should finish her work first," she said. "That's how it works in the real world."

Daddy frowned. Not at Selena. At me.

"Owen, I don't want to deal with this right now," he said. "Don't let restaurant stuff interrupt the trip."

"Daddy, I only—"

"Lucy, we're trying to enjoy our vacation. Stop bothering everyone."

The screen went black.

The plate in my hand slid right out of my fingers. It hit the water with a big splash, and soapy water sprayed up over the edge of the sink and onto my wrist. It stung. My wrist had been rubbing against the metal rim all day, and the skin there had gone bright red and raw.

I stood very still and waited for the stinging to stop.

Owen put his phone in his pocket and went back to his clipboard.

By the time the light coming through the little back window turned orange, my legs had started to shake. Not a lot. Just a tremble in my knees that wouldn't go away, even when I locked them. I had to hold onto the sink with one hand while I scrubbed with the other.

Marta noticed.

Marta was the cook who made the soups. She had gray streaks in her hair and a burn scar on her forearm, and she hummed when she chopped onions. She came over to the sink like she needed to rinse a ladle, and when she was right next to me, she pushed something into my hand under the water line.

A dinner roll. Soft and still a little warm.

"Quick," she whispered. "Eat it."

I took a big bite. It was the best thing I'd ever tasted.

"Lucy."

Owen was standing behind us.

I froze with my cheeks full.

"Selena said no extra food. You know that." He looked at Marta, and Marta looked at the floor. "Don't put me in this position, okay?"

I chewed and swallowed. It hurt going down.

When Owen walked away, I tucked the rest of the roll into the front pocket of my apron, way down at the bottom, and picked up the sponge again.

Then the dinner people started coming in.

I could hear them through the swinging door. Chairs scraping. Glasses clinking. Somebody laughing really loud. Devon kept bursting through with tubs full of dirty plates, and the stack beside me got higher and higher until it was taller than me, even standing on the stool.

I started counting so I wouldn't cry.

Fifty-four. Fifty-five. Fifty-six.

On fifty-seven, the old clock in the front dining room started to chime. I could hear it over everything. Bong. Bong. Bong.

I looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. The short hand was on the seven.

My stomach squeezed so hard I had to bend over the sink. The bread in my pocket pressed against my belly, and I wanted it so bad, but I didn't dare.

"Owen?" I said quietly. "When I finish today, can I have tomorrow off? Just tomorrow?"

He didn't even look up from his clipboard.

"No dinner until every plate is clean," he said. "That's what Selena says."

That wasn't what I'd asked. But I didn't ask again.

Through the round window in the swinging door, I could see the front entrance of the restaurant. The bell over the door jingled, and a family came in. A mom, a dad, and two kids. Then a couple holding hands. Then a man in a suit.

Four more plates. Six more. Seven.

The bell kept ringing.

I looked down at the mountain of dishes next to me, and then back at the door, and for the first time, I understood something I hadn't understood all day.

It didn't matter how fast I scrubbed.

The plates were never going to stop.