The industrialist gripped the edge of the table.
“What was her name?”
The waitress’s expression tightened.
This had become something else.
Something she did not understand.
The millionaire looked between them.
“What’s going on?”
Neither answered him.
The industrialist repeated:
“Your mother.”
“What was her name?”
The waitress gave him the name.
The old man sat back down.
Not gracefully.
As though his legs had simply stopped holding him.
The blonde lawyer leaned toward him.
“Are you all right?”
He raised one hand.
His eyes never left the waitress.
“When did she die?”
The waitress froze.
“How do you know she’s dead?”
The old man’s eyes filled.
Because if she had been alive, he told himself, perhaps she would have answered one of his letters.
Perhaps.
Or perhaps not.
He whispered:
“When?”
The waitress stared at him.
“Three years ago.”
The industrialist closed his eyes.
Three years.
He had lost his daughter three years ago and had not known.
The waitress’s chest tightened.
“Who are you?”
The old man opened his eyes.
He looked toward the locket.
“May I see it?”
She hesitated.
Then removed the chain.
She did not hand it over.
She opened the locket herself.
Inside were two miniature photographs.
One was of her mother, much younger.
The other showed a white German woman with soft eyes and short auburn hair.
The industrialist covered his mouth.
The waitress stared.
“You know her.”
He nodded.
“My wife.”
The waitress’s expression changed.
The old man whispered:
“Your grandmother.”
The restaurant seemed to disappear around them.
The waitress looked at him.
Then at the photograph.
Then back.
“No.”
The industrialist’s voice broke.
“What did your mother tell you about her father?”
The waitress closed the locket.
“Almost nothing.”
His face tightened.
“She said he was alive?”
“She said he chose money over her.”
That landed.
The millionaire shifted uncomfortably.
The industrialist looked down.
“She believed that.”
The waitress’s voice sharpened.
“Was she wrong?”
The old man did not answer quickly enough.
That was an answer.
The waitress stepped backward.
“I need to return to work.”
The millionaire suddenly stood.
“Hold on.”
Everyone looked at him.
He pointed toward the waitress.
“This is ridiculous.”