Original short fiction from Rarle USA. Characters and events are fictional.
Every Thursday, Frank arrived at the diner at eight fifteen and ordered eggs, toast and coffee. He sat at the window table, took off his cap and placed it on the empty chair across from him. Mara, who owned the diner, learned not to ask whether someone was joining him.
For two years, he had given the same answer: “Not today.” He was friendly with the servers and remembered their children’s names. He left a careful tip. Nothing about him invited pity, and Mara knew enough about running a diner not to confuse eating alone with being unhappy.
One rainy morning, however, Frank arrived without his cap. He held an envelope instead. He ordered only coffee and laid the envelope face down beside the sugar. Mara refilled his cup once, then said, “You can sit here without buying a second one. You know that, right?”
Frank turned the envelope over. Inside was a photograph of a little girl missing a front tooth. “My granddaughter,” he said. “She sent me a school picture. I haven’t met her.” He looked toward the parking lot. “Her dad and I got good at waiting for the other one to call.”
Mara did not ask who had started the argument. She had watched too many people turn an apology into a courtroom statement. Instead, she asked whether Frank had his son’s number. He nodded. “Then coffee is probably not the thing holding you here,” she said, and went to help another table.
Frank carried the envelope outside. Through the glass, Mara saw him make a call, listen and speak for less than a minute. He returned with wet shoulders. “Voicemail,” he said. She put toast in front of him. “Hard part done?” she asked.
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