PART 3: The Second Coffee
It took me forty-nine years to find you. When I finally did, I saw you through the window of this diner, pouring coffee. I couldn’t make myself say who I was. So I came on the one day a year I thought I had a right to.
The second coffee was always for Jimmy.
Every year, you sat with us. You didn’t know it, but you sat with your father.
Thank you for paying my bill, sweetheart. It was always his treat.
Semper Fi,
Cy”
I couldn’t speak.
The whole diner had fallen silent. A table of old veterans by the window had taken off their caps.
Chad stood beside the booth. He’d read part of the letter over my shoulder, and his face had gone pale.
“Bobbie,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t ask,” I said.
Then Corporal Lambert reached into his jacket and handed me one more thing. A small velvet box.
