My throat tightened.
“Why?”
“Because he wanted to save half for Monday.”
I looked at Mom again.
Her expression had changed.
She remembered.
Walt continued.
“Your mother went into the kitchen and came back with a paper bag.”
He smiled through his tears.
“Two sandwiches, an apple, and a piece of pie.”
Mom covered her mouth.
“She told Michael the cook had made too much food.”
Walt shook his head.
“But I saw her put money in the register.”
The café seemed strangely quiet.
I could hear the refrigerator humming behind the counter.
The faint scrape of a fork against a plate.
And my own heartbeat.
Walt carefully folded the old receipt.
“That’s how I knew.”
Mom wiped her eyes.
“Walt, you eventually paid me back.”
“I know.”
He smiled.
“You tried to give it back.”
They both laughed.
Then Walt looked down at the newer receipt.
The one his son had written on Tuesday.
