“It’s money.”
“I know.”
“You’re behind already.”
Danny looked away.
Loretta closed the notebook.
“Why him?”
Danny’s voice became quieter.
“I don't know.”
“That’s not true.”
Danny rubbed her thumb across the edge of her father's watch.
“He reminds me of Daddy.”
Loretta said nothing.
“Not his face.”
Danny swallowed.
“Just the way he says thank you.”
She smiled faintly.
“Daddy used to do that.”
Loretta knew exactly what she meant.
Thomas Mercer never said thank you casually.
If someone passed salt, he said thank you like they had done something worth noticing.
If Danny brought him coffee, he looked directly at her.
Thank you, baby.
Every time.
“Walter does that.”
Danny looked down.
“And he folds his napkin when he's done. Daddy did that too.”
Loretta's mouth trembled into a smile.
“He surely did.”
“I couldn't watch him eat dry toast every morning.”
Danny shrugged.
“I just couldn't.”
Loretta looked again at the ledger.
“Your father used to give away his lunch at the plant.”
Danny smiled.
“I remember.”
“One boy there had five kids and kept saying he wasn't hungry.”
Loretta shook her head.
“Your daddy came home starving three times a week.”
“You yelled at him.”
“I did.”
“Did he stop?”
“Not once.”
They both laughed quietly.
Then Loretta’s expression changed.
“You're behind on the clinic payment.”
Danny froze.
“How do you know?”
“I saw the letter.”
“I hid that.”
“You put it under three grocery coupons.”
“That usually works.”
“Not on me.”
Danny lowered her head.
“This month is just tight.”
“How tight?”
“I’ll catch up next week.”
Loretta reached across the table.
“Danny.”
She took her daughter’s hand.
“Don’t apologize to me for having a good heart.”
“I wasn't.”
“You were about to.”
Danny looked at her mother.
“We’ll figure the money out.”
Loretta squeezed her hand.
“The way we always do.”
The next morning, Walter noticed the watch.
Danny was pouring his coffee when he pointed toward her wrist.
“You wear that every day.”
“Yes.”
“Man's watch.”
“It was my father’s.”
Walter looked closer.
Old stainless steel.
Black face.
Scratched crystal.
“He passed?”
“Four years ago.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“The clasp is broken.”
“Technically.”
“Why don't you fix it?”
Danny smiled.
“Because then it wouldn't annoy me every time I put it on.”
Walter laughed.
“That sounds like a daughter talking about her father.”
“Pretty much.”
Danny turned toward the register.
Walter stopped her.
“Your mother.”
Danny looked back.
“You mentioned an appointment last week.”
“I mention lots of things.”
“Then you changed the subject.”
“Also something I do often.”
“Is she all right?”
Danny became more guarded.
“She’s on a waiting list.”
“For?”
“Treatment.”
Walter waited.
Danny exhaled.
“Kidneys.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She’s tough.”
“You said something about the list moving slowly.”
Danny looked toward another table.
“Lists move slow when you can't pay to move anything else faster.”
Walter studied her.
Then looked down at his breakfast.
That morning, Danny had added sausage.
“And still,” he said, “you spend your tips on an old man's breakfast.”
Danny's face tightened.
“Some things aren't about money.”
Walter looked at her.
“You'd know that better than most, the way you count out your coins.”
If Danny had looked more carefully, she might have noticed something strange in his expression.
Not embarrassment.
Guilt.
“You'd be surprised what I know about money,” Walter said.
“Then you know it can't buy what you get here every morning.”
“What do I get?”
Danny topped off his coffee.
“Somebody remembering you take it black.”
She turned.
“Now finish your coffee. I've got tables.”
“Danny.”
She stopped again.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“Tomorrow, would you sit with me five minutes?”
She frowned.
“About what?”
“Something I should have told you weeks ago.”
Danny studied him.
Walter suddenly looked nervous.
That unsettled her more than anything.
“Five minutes.”
“If the rush allows it.”
“It will.”
“How do you know?”
“I've been studying the rhythm.”
Danny smiled.
“You have too much time.”
Walter looked down at the coffee.
“Yes.”
He said it so quietly she almost missed it.
The next morning, Walter arrived earlier.
6:52.
Danny was still arranging creamers when the bell above the door rang.
“You're early.”
“I know.”
“Toast won't taste better before seven.”
“This isn't about toast.”
He took stool four.
Danny finished setting up the counter.
At seven, Gus disappeared into the kitchen.
Only one trucker occupied a booth.
Walter tapped the stool beside him.
“Five minutes.”
Danny glanced at the clock.
“Four.”
“Sit.”
She sat.
Walter folded his hands.
For the first time since Danny had known him, he looked uncomfortable.
“My full name is Walter Ashford.”
Danny waited.
“Ashford.”
“Yes.”
The name meant something.
Then it landed.
Ashford Industries.
One of the largest privately held industrial manufacturing groups in the region.
Facilities in four states.
Thousands of employees.
A glass headquarters building outside Lexington with ASHFORD INDUSTRIES in enormous silver letters across the front.
Danny stared at him.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“I founded it forty years ago.”
She looked at the coat.
Then the shoes.
Then Walter.
“You?”
Walter nodded.
Danny actually laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because her brain had nowhere else to put the information.
“You own Ashford Industries.”
“Most of it.”
“You've been counting quarters for toast.”
“Yes.”
“While owning a company with helicopters?”
“We don't own helicopters.”
“That is not the important part.”
Walter almost smiled.
Danny stood.
“You've got to be kidding me.”
“Sit down.”
“No.”
“Danny.”
She remained standing.
Walter's voice softened.
“I've spent most of this year doing something my children consider ridiculous.”
“That narrows nothing down.”
“I go places where nobody knows me.”
“In that coat?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Walter looked toward the window.
“Because I no longer know whether people are kind to me or kind to Walter Ashford.”
Danny’s anger paused.
Walter continued.
“My wife, Eleanor, died three years ago.”
Danny slowly sat again.
“I'm sorry.”
“She was the one person left who told me when I was being an ass.”
“That sounds useful.”
“It was essential.”
Walter smiled faintly.
“After she died, everything got strange.”
He looked at his hands.
“People wanted things.”
“Business people?”
“Everyone.”
“That's cynical.”
“Yes.”
“I began wondering whether I could still recognize genuine kindness.”
“So you pretended to be poor?”
“Not exactly.”
“You counted coins.”
“I gave myself a fixed amount each morning.”
“That's pretending.”
Walter accepted that.
“Yes.”
“Was I some kind of experiment?”
“At first.”
Danny’s expression hardened.
Walter continued before she could stand.
“It stopped being one.”
“When?”
“Second week.”
“How convenient.”
“I’m serious.”
“Why?”
Walter looked at her.
“Because you weren't performing.”
Danny said nothing.
“The first time you gave me eggs, you never stood there waiting for gratitude.”
“The diner was busy.”
“The second time, you forgot about it before I finished eating.”
“I had work.”