Scallion Noodles on a Deadline

[Scallion oil noodles. Fresh scallions, lard, soy sauce, flour. No substitutions. No questions. Serve to the first customer who says, “Anything.”] Shen stared, then gave a short laugh. One last joke from his father. The bell over the door rang. A woman in a gray trench coat stepped inside, rain darkening her hair. She looked at the open sign. “Are you still serving?” “I am.” She took the window seat, removed her glasses, and revealed exhaustion too deep to hide. When he handed her a menu, she did not look at it. “Anything,” she said. Shen's hand stopped in midair. He did not believe in ghosts. But he believed in his father's hands. More precisely, he believed those hands had never been wrong in a kitchen.