The woman at the coffee kiosk recognized me immediately.
“Two?”
For a second, I nearly said no.
Then I looked toward Larry’s empty place beside the station entrance.
“Yeah.”
She handed me my coffee with cream.
And Larry’s black coffee.
I carried both cups outside and sat in his usual spot.
In two years, I had never stayed there long enough to finish an entire cup.
I placed Larry’s coffee beside me.
Then I unfolded the next page of his letter.
At the top, he had written:
“I didn’t need a wife to make my life matter, Sarah.”
Underneath that was another sentence.
“But I wanted to know, just once, what it felt like to have somebody choose that word with me.”
I stopped reading.
Steam rose from the black coffee beside me into the cold air.
