I looked at him.
“But why?”
His expression softened.
“Bev, you know why.”
And suddenly, I remembered November 1998.
***
Ed had lost his wife, Lorraine, to ovarian cancer.
She was fifty-two.
They’d been married thirty years.
After her funeral, he disappeared from town for weeks.
Then one morning, he walked into Gus’s Diner.
He looked exhausted and grief-stricken.
He sat on stool three.
I brought him a cup of black coffee.
Then two slices of plain wheat toast.
He hadn’t ordered the toast.
But he looked as though he needed something simple to eat.
He stared at the plate.
Then slowly began eating.
When he finished, he paid exactly $1.85.
I smiled.
“See you tomorrow, Ed.”
He looked up.
“Tomorrow?”
“Six-fifteen,” I said. “I’ll have your coffee ready.”
And he came back.
The following morning.
And the morning after that.
Years later, Ed admitted how difficult those weeks had been.
