A Meal Without Questions
A waitress came over and placed a menu in front of him.
“What can I get you, sir?”
Walter looked down.
“Just toast… and water.”
Cole didn’t hesitate.
“Add eggs. Bacon. Coffee.”
Walter shook his head quickly.
“No, I can’t—”
Cole’s voice stayed calm.
“I didn’t ask what you can afford. I asked what you need.”
Walter fell silent.
When the food arrived, he ate slowly, carefully, like someone trained to remain unseen.
Cole didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t rush him.
After a while, Walter spoke softly.
“I shouldn’t be here.”
Cole leaned back slightly.
“Why?”
Walter hesitated.
“My grandson tells people I get confused… that I wander.”
Cole’s eyes briefly dropped to Walter’s wrists.
Faint marks.
Not accidental.
“Do you?”
Walter looked up, something steady cutting through the fear.
“I spent decades solving problems,” he said. “I still know exactly what day it is.”
A pause.
“I’m not confused. He just tells people I am.”
