Chương 5
I kept reading.
The diner was never just a business.
You know that.
Your mother knew that.
This place was where people came when they needed somewhere to belong.
That matters.
But there is something you don't know.
Before I could continue, the office door opened.
I looked up.
Harold stood there.
He removed his hat.
"I thought I should come."
I folded the letter.
"How did you know?"
"Your employee called me."
I looked at Jenna.
She lifted her hands.
"I didn't know who else to call."
I wasn't angry.
Actually, I was grateful.
Harold stepped inside.
"I owe you an explanation."
The words made me nervous.
"About what?"
He looked at the envelope.
"About why your father was worried."
I waited.
Harold sat down slowly.
The chair opposite me was the same chair Dad used whenever employees had problems.
He always sat there instead of behind his desk.
He said people told the truth more easily when they weren't looking up at someone.
"Your father found something wrong with the diner accounts."
My heart sank.
"What kind of wrong?"
"Money missing."
The room became silent.
"From the diner?"
Harold nodded.
"Not a huge amount at once."
He looked tired.
"That's why it took him so long to notice."
I opened the folder.
The bank statements suddenly looked different.
Not memories.
Evidence.
"Who?"
Harold looked toward the closed door.
"I don't know for certain."
That answer bothered me.
Because it meant someone did.
"What did Dad know?"
Harold rubbed his hands together.
"He thought someone close to him was involved."
The words landed harder than I expected.
"Trish?"
He did not answer.
He didn't need to.
I looked back at the letter.
The handwriting seemed less like a goodbye now.
More like a warning.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Cole.
Please talk to me.
I stared at it.
Then another message appeared.
I know I handled today badly.
I closed my eyes.
Because the worst part was that I believed him.
Cole was not a monster.
Trish was not a cartoon villain.
My father was not a perfect man who had left behind a simple battle between good and evil.
These were people.
Complicated people.
People who could love you and hurt you.
People who could make mistakes and still be responsible for them.
I typed a response.
Then deleted it.
Harold watched quietly.
"You don't have to decide everything today."
I looked at him.
"That's what everyone keeps telling me."
"Maybe because you're trying to decide your whole life in one afternoon."
I almost argued.
Then I stopped.
Because he was right.
The wedding was gone.
The papers existed.
The questions existed.
But I did not have to solve every answer before sunset.
I opened my father's letter again.
The next line waited beneath my finger.
Before you blame anyone, including Trish, look at the records carefully.
Because the person who hurt this diner may not be the person you expect.
I turned the page.
The next sentence was written in darker ink than the rest.
Maybe Dad had pressed harder because he wanted me to understand.
Maybe his hands had been shaking.
Either way, I felt the weight of every word.
The person who hurt this diner may not be the person you expect.
I read that line until the letters stopped looking like letters.
Then I placed the paper on the desk.
"Did he tell you who he suspected?"
Harold looked uncomfortable.
"No."
"Did he tell you anything?"
He leaned back.
"Your father was careful."
That sounded exactly like him.
Dad had always hated accusing people without proof.
When a customer complained about a waitress, he never fired anyone immediately.
He watched.
He listened.
He waited.
Sometimes that patience made him wise.
Sometimes it made him carry burdens alone.
"What did he do when he found the missing money?" I asked.
Harold looked at the records spread across the desk.
"He started checking everything."
"With Trish?"
A pause.
A small one.
But I noticed.
"At first."
The answer bothered me.
"At first?"
Harold nodded.
"Your father trusted her with the business side of things after he got sick."
I felt something twist inside my chest.
Not anger.
Not exactly.
Something closer to grief.
Because suddenly I was seeing a version of my father I had ignored.
The version who was tired.
The version who needed help.
The version who may have handed someone responsibility because he had no other choice.
"How long did she handle the books?"
"Almost a year."
"And nobody else checked?"
Harold looked away.
"Your father didn't like admitting he needed help."
That sounded like Dad too.
He would rather struggle carrying a broken refrigerator than ask someone younger to lift the other side.
I looked at the records again.
There was a strange sadness in finding evidence of someone's weakness after they were gone.
When people die, everyone talks about who they were.
Nobody talks enough about the things they were afraid to become.
My father was afraid of being helpless.
Maybe that fear had shaped more decisions than I knew.
The office door opened slightly.
Jenna peeked inside.
"Sorry."
She looked at me.
"There is someone outside."
"Who?"
She hesitated.
"Cole."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Part of me had hoped he would disappear for a while.
Not because I wanted him gone.
Because I didn't know what to do with him standing in front of me.
"Do you want me to tell him to leave?"
I looked at Harold.
Then at the letter.
Then toward the front of the diner.
"No."
The word surprised me.
"Let him in."
Jenna nodded and left.
Harold stood.
"I should go."
"You don't have to."
He gave a tired smile.
"I think you need to have this conversation without an old man sitting nearby pretending not to listen."
Despite everything, I smiled.
"You're terrible at pretending."
"I know."
He walked out the back door.
May you like
A minute later, Cole appeared.
He looked nothing like the man who had stood at the altar.
