“I’d bring Michael here on Sundays because it was the one thing that still felt like life before his mother died.”
He swallowed.
“Then one morning, I realized I couldn’t afford it anymore.”
Mom looked away.
Walt continued.
“I told Darlene we were just having coffee that day.”
He smiled sadly.
“She brought the usual anyway.”
I looked at Mom.
She had started wiping a perfectly clean section of counter.
Walt watched her.
“When I told her I didn’t have the money, she said the owner was running a special.”
Mom shook her head.
“Walt.”
He ignored her.
“Two breakfasts for the price of coffee.”
I stared at him.
“Seriously?”
He nodded.
“For almost three months.”
My mouth fell open.
Mom gave an embarrassed little laugh.
“It wasn’t that long.”
“Eleven Sundays,” Walt said immediately.
She looked surprised.
“You counted?”
“I counted everything back then.”
He reached into the inside pocket of his church coat.
