“Don’t do what?”
“Make your son’s behavior your punishment.”
His eyes filled.
“He’s fifty-eight years old. If he hasn’t learned how to treat people by now, that’s his responsibility.”
Walt looked at her for a long moment.
Then he gave a small, sad smile.
“You always did have a way of telling me the truth without making me feel small.”
Mom patted his shoulder.
“Now, are you having breakfast or not?”
He looked down at the menu.
“I already told you.”
She smiled.
“The usual from 1979.”
He nodded.
“The usual.”
Mom turned toward the kitchen.
“Two eggs over easy, hash browns, rye toast, and one pancake on a separate plate.”
Walt closed his eyes.
“And don’t forget the apple butter.”
“As if I ever have.”
I watched her walk away.
Then I slid out of my booth and approached Walt.
“Morning, Mr. Bellamy.”
He looked up.
