PART 5 – The Man Who Had Carried My Father’s Promise For Decades Finally Had To Face The Daughter He Had Promised To Find

I couldn't put the photograph down.

My fingers kept moving over its edges.

I looked at my father's face again.

Then I looked at Cyrus.

He was sitting across from me with both hands wrapped around his coffee cup.

Neither of us seemed to know what to say.

Chad stood beside the booth.

He glanced at the letter, then at me.

"Roberta?"

I looked up.

"I'm okay."

I wasn't.

But I didn't know how else to answer.

Cyrus finally spoke.

"I should have told you years ago."

I looked at him.

"Why didn't you?"

He swallowed.

"I told you in the letter. I was afraid."

I looked down at the photograph.

"Afraid of telling me that my father died saving you?"

His face tightened.

"Yes."

I didn't expect him to agree so quickly.

He looked toward the window.

"I have thought about that day every single year."

I waited.

"Every year, I told myself I would come here and explain everything. Then I would see you working, and I couldn't do it."

"Why?"

"Because you looked so much like him."

That hurt more than I expected.

I looked at the photograph again.

Cyrus continued.

"When I first saw you, I thought I was seeing Jimmy's daughter exactly as he had described her."

I wiped my cheek.

"He talked about me?"

"All the time."

I leaned forward.

"What did he say?"

Cyrus gave a small, tired smile.

"He carried your picture. He showed it to anybody who would look."

I pressed the photograph against the table.

I had spent years believing my father had disappeared into a war that had nothing to do with me.

But he had carried a picture of me.

He had shown it to his friend.

He had talked about me when I was too young to remember his voice.

I wanted to hear more.

I wanted every little detail.

"Did he miss me?"

Cyrus looked directly at me.

"More than you can imagine."

I lowered my head.

For a moment, the only sound I heard was the coffee machine.

Chad quietly stepped away.

He gave us some room.

I looked at the second cup.

It was still sitting where I had placed it.

"Is that why you never drank this one?"

Cyrus nodded.

"I couldn't."

"Because it was for him?"

"Yes."

I looked at the coffee.

It was an ordinary cup.

White ceramic.

A small chip near the handle.

We had hundreds of cups like it.

Yet I suddenly felt that clearing it away would mean something different.

I didn't touch it.

Cyrus watched me.

"I never expected you to understand."

"I didn't understand before today."

He nodded.

"I know."

I looked at the letter again.

There was something I still couldn't understand.

"How did you find me?"

He rubbed his thumb along the edge of his cup.

"It took a long time."

"Did somebody tell you where I worked?"

He shook his head.

"I found your name first. Then I learned where you were."

I didn't ask him for every detail.

The important thing was that he had found me.

And he had come back.

I looked at his face.

"Did you ever think about coming here on another day?"

"Many times."

"Why didn't you?"

He looked at the empty chair.

"Because I had made that promise to Jimmy. I thought the anniversary was the only day I had the right to sit with him."

I felt my throat tighten.

"You don't need permission to remember my father."

He looked at me.

For the first time since I had known him, he seemed completely unable to answer.

I reached across the table.

My hand rested beside his.

He looked down at it.

Then he placed his hand over mine.

It was warm.

And it was shaking.

I understood then that I wasn't the only person who had been waiting for this conversation.

Cyrus had been waiting too.

Click here to continue reading: PART 6: I Had Spent My Childhood Wondering What My Father Was Like, And Now His Closest Friend Was Finally Telling Me