The sign outside the restaurant said, “BIRTHDAY GUESTS EAT FREE: ONE ENTRÉE, ANY MONDAY.” My grandmother Rose was turning ninety, so we took her to Marcello’s, a family restaurant she'd loved since 1974. She ordered her old favorite, veal piccata. After three bites, she put down her fork and whispered, “Baby, I'm just tired.” I asked our server if we could have the rest boxed up so Grandma could eat it the next day. Before the girl could answer, the owner appeared beside our table. “Free birthday meals are meant to be eaten here,” he announced. “We don't give people free food to take home. That's how customers take advantage.” I stared at him. “She's ninety years old.” “Then she should've ordered less.” Grandma gently patted my hand. “It's fine, honey. Don't spoil the evening.” I was ready to let it go when our server reached for the plate. She looked about nineteen, and her name tag read JADE. Instead of picking up the food, she rested her hand on the edge of the plate and leaned toward me. “Please don't let them take that back into the kitchen,” she whispered. “Can you meet me by the restroom hallway?”…….