Chapter 14 - Walter Had Been Waiting For A Promise I Never Owed Him
My flight was at seven the next morning.
I went to the café at five-thirty.
Walter was already there.
Of course.
Calvin unlocked the door when he saw me.
No one shoved anyone.
Progress without commentary.
Walter sat at Table Seven.
I joined him.
“I listened to my transfer statement.”
His face tightened.
“You talked about me?”
“Yes.”
He looked down.
“Bad?”
“Accurate.”
“That sounds bad.”
“Sometimes.”
He waited.
I told him the part he needed to hear.
“I wasn't banned from you.”
He nodded.
“I know now.”
“I asked for no contact during rehab.”
“I know.”
“I did not promise I would come back once I remembered Maya.”
Walter looked up.
“Calvin said—”
“I said if I remembered, I would decide.”
His face changed.
Different sentence.
Different obligation.
Walter rubbed his thumb along the table edge.
“I made it a promise.”
“Yes.”
“I waited.”
“Yes.”
“Was that wrong?”
I thought.
“Waiting isn't the part that bothered me.”
“What was?”
“You built a whole explanation for why I didn't come.”
“The Army.”
“My mother.”
“Marcus.”
“Yes.”
He looked ashamed.
“Because if they kept me away, then you didn't have to consider that I might choose not to see you.”
Walter stared at me.
I hated how sharp it sounded.
It was still true.
After a while he said:
“Would you have?”
“Six years ago?”
“Yes.”
“I don't know.”
“Now?”
I looked at him.
“I came.”
That was enough.
Walter’s eyes filled.
He nodded.
I told him about the toast memory.
He laughed.
“She stole everybody’s food.”
“Apparently.”
“She hated cinnamon.”
That caught me.
“What?”
“Maya hated cinnamon.”
I froze.
My memory had Maya stealing cinnamon toast.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then why would she steal mine?”
Walter smiled.
“Because you hated when people touched your plate.”
A tiny fragment of sensation appeared.
My hand slapping hers away.
Maya laughing.
Not because she wanted the food.
Because she wanted to annoy me.
I smiled before I could stop myself.
Walter saw.
Then stopped himself from asking.
That mattered more than the memory.
I said:
“You can ask one.”
He looked surprised.
“One question.”
He thought for a long time.
I expected:
Did she love me?
Was she scared?
Did she forgive me?
Instead he asked:
“Was she funny?”
I laughed.
“Yes.”
Not from evidence.
From the memory.
“Yes. She was.”
Walter covered his mouth.
For a moment we sat there while dawn filled the front windows.
Then he said:
“I’m sorry I called you a coward.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry I made you into the person who had to tell me what my daughter meant.”
I nodded.
No forgiveness requested.
I appreciated that.
Then:
“There is something Maya asked me to give you.”
My body tightened.
Walter saw it.
“It isn't a letter.”
“Good.”
“It isn't evidence.”
“Better.”
He almost smiled.
“What is it?”
“A question.”
I stared.
“Of course.”
He looked toward the counter.
“The night before the crash, after she told me about the directive, she said if you ever came back here and remembered enough to be angry with her again, I should ask you something.”
I waited.
Walter looked at me.
“Do you still want to follow her?”
My chest tightened.
“Follow her where?”
“I don't know.”
That was the problem.
Maybe transfer.
Maybe career.
Maybe some plan we made.
Maybe nothing dramatic at all.
“Maya didn't explain?”
“No.”
“Why didn't you tell Marcus?”
“I did.”
I laughed quietly.
Of course he knew.
“What did Marcus think it meant?”
Walter shook his head.
May you like
“You’ll have to decide whether you want his answer.”
For once, he did not give it to me.
