Walt nodded.
“Do you remember this place when you were a boy?”
Michael glanced around.
“Of course.”
“Do you remember the Sunday pancakes?”
A faint smile appeared.
“Sure.”
“Do you remember asking to take half of one home?”
Michael’s smile disappeared.
He looked at his father.
“Dad.”
“Do you?”
Michael swallowed.
“Yeah.”
Walt leaned forward.
“Do you remember why?”
For several seconds, Michael didn’t answer.
Then he looked down.
“Because we didn’t have much food.”
Walt nodded.
“That’s right.”
He tapped the old receipt.
“Darlene paid for our breakfasts during the months I was out of work.”
Michael’s head lifted.
“What?”
“Eleven Sundays.”
Walt’s voice remained steady.
“She fed us because she knew I was ashamed to ask for help.”
Michael stared at the old receipt.
Then toward the counter.
Mom was taking another customer’s order.
Smiling.
Writing something on her pad.
She had no idea what Walt was saying.
