The years passed.
The diner changed a little.
We replaced the old counter stools.
The coffee machine broke twice.
The owner repainted the walls.
But Booth 4 stayed where it had always been.
Cyrus kept coming.
I started putting two cups on his table before he even ordered.
He noticed.
One morning, he looked up at me as I placed them down.
"You're getting good at remembering."
I shrugged.
"It's not a difficult order."
He smiled.
It was a small smile, but I noticed it.
"Some things are worth remembering."
I didn't know what to say.
I poured his coffee and moved on to the next table.
That was how most of our conversations went.
A few words.
A nod.
Nothing personal.
Yet I began to feel that his visits were important.
Not because of the money.
He never spent much.
Not because he was demanding.
He was probably one of the easiest customers I had.
It was the way he treated that second cup.
He never moved it.
He never drank from it.
Sometimes, after finishing his own coffee, he would sit for another ten minutes.
Then he would leave.
The second cup remained untouched.
I always cleared it after he was gone.
One year, I asked whether he wanted a refill.
He shook his head.
"Just mine, thank you."
I looked at the other cup.
"Of course."
He followed my eyes.
Then he looked away.
I felt embarrassed for asking.
I should have left it alone.
But there was something about his expression that stayed with me.
It wasn't sadness exactly.
It was something older.
Something that had been carried for a very long time.
I went back to work.
The diner continued moving around him.
Plates clattered.
The kitchen bell rang.
Somebody complained that their eggs were cold.
Cyrus sat quietly in Booth 4.
I sometimes wondered whether he had a family.
Whether he had children.
Whether he had anyone waiting for him at home.
But I never asked.
I had enough experience to know that people didn't always want to answer personal questions.
And I had my own unanswered questions.
My father's old photograph remained in a drawer at home.
I kept it in a small envelope to protect it.
The picture had become soft at the corners.
I had looked at it so often that I knew every detail.
The uniform.
The expression.
The crooked smile.
Sometimes I took it out after work.
I would sit at the kitchen table and wonder what my life might have looked like if he had returned.
Would he have been strict?
Would he have spoiled me?
Would he have taught me to drive?
Would he have sat across from me at breakfast?
I never found an answer.
My mother had passed away without telling me much more.
I had accepted that there were parts of his life I would never know.
At least, I thought I had.
Then Cyrus began asking small questions.
Not every visit.
Just occasionally.
"How long have you worked here?"
I told him.
"Do you live nearby?"
I answered.
"Have you always lived around here?"
I said yes.
He listened carefully.
I didn't think much of it at first.
He was an old man making conversation.
But one morning, he asked something different.
"Your name is Roberta, right?"
I nodded.
"That's right."
He looked at me for a few seconds.
"Roberta Kane?"
I paused.
"Yes."
His expression changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
He lowered his eyes to the table.
Then he picked up his cup.
I thought perhaps he had remembered somebody with the same name.
It wasn't unusual.
Kane wasn't exactly a rare name.
I carried on with my work.
But after that morning, I began noticing how often he watched me.
Not in an uncomfortable way.
More like he was trying to remember something.
Sometimes I caught him looking at me when I crossed the diner.
If our eyes met, he would look down.
I wondered whether he was sick.
Whether he was lonely.
Whether he needed help.
I considered asking if he had somebody I could call.
But I didn't want to embarrass him.
So I kept bringing his coffee.
Two cups.
Every year.
One afternoon, Chad noticed the routine.
Chad worked alongside me at the diner.
He was younger than Cyrus and had a habit of asking questions nobody else thought to ask.
He watched me carry the two coffees to Booth 4.
"Does that guy always order two?"
I nodded.
"Every year."
Chad glanced at the empty seat.
"Maybe he's waiting for somebody."
"Maybe."
"Then why doesn't the person show up?"
I didn't answer.
Chad shook his head.
"That's strange."
I put the tray down.
"People have their reasons."
He laughed quietly.
"You're too nice to everybody."
I wasn't sure that was true.
I had just learned that some questions were better left alone.
That afternoon, Cyrus stayed longer than usual.
He sat with his hands resting beside the two cups.
He looked at the window.
Then at the empty seat.
Then at me.
I was wiping down the counter when he finally stood.
He walked toward the register.
I gave him the bill.
He reached into his wallet.
"Thank you, Roberta."
"You're welcome, Mr. Lambert."
He placed the money on the counter.
Then he hesitated.
"Your father would have been proud of you."
I stared at him.
For a second, I thought I had misunderstood.
"What did you say?"
He looked at me.
The expression on his face was different now.
Almost frightened.
"Nothing. I just meant you're a good person."
I wanted to ask how he knew anything about my father.
But he was already turning toward the door.
The bell above it rang.
And he was gone.
I stood behind the counter with the bill in my hand.
Chad came over.
"What's wrong?"
I shook my head.
"Nothing."
But it wasn't nothing.
For the first time, I wondered whether Cyrus knew more about James Kane than he had ever admitted.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: The Name He Spoke So Casually Made Me Question Whether My Father’s Past Had Been Hidden From Me
The Old Marine Who Came Back Every Year and Ordered Two Coffees Had Left Something Behind That Changed Everything I Knew About My Father
Part 2 of 10
