“First hard part,” he answered.
The following Thursday, Frank arrived early. He had his cap and the photograph. He asked whether the window table was free, though it was plainly empty. At eight twenty, he checked his phone. At eight thirty, he folded the napkin into a smaller square. Mara kept the coffee warm and her questions to herself.
At eight forty, a man in a dark work jacket paused outside the window. He looked enough like Frank that Mara recognized him before Frank did. The man came in, rubbed rain from his sleeves and stopped beside the empty chair. “Traffic,” he said. Frank nodded. “I ordered you coffee.”
The conversation began with practical things. Work. The weather. The little girl’s missing tooth. Then Frank put down his fork. Mara moved out of earshot, but she saw him keep his hands flat on the table, as if he were resisting
Comments