The old man eyed the small cafe from afar, studying with intense concentration. He had to be sure to pick the right one. He headed down the street towards a small cafe, reaching the doors as soon as they flipped the sign to “Open.”
After ordering his breakfast, he limped over to an unassuming booth and settled into a comfortable position. The waitress tidied her hair, and he waited.
First came the nurse, dark circles underneath her eyes from finishing her night shift, ordering a deluxe roast beef sandwich with a side of salad. She must have been a regular since the waitress didn't bat an eye at the strange “breakfast.”
Next was the businessman. There was a streak of gray in his hair he could no longer hide and his hand gripped tightly around his custom leather briefcase. Flipping open his wallet to pay for his Big Original Breakfast, the old man glimpsed a picture of what seemed a younger version of the man, standing in front of the doors to Wellington College, where the faculty served more as babysitters than educators. No, this man definitely didn't need his help.
Then came an order of donuts for the policeman, some orange juice and hash browns for the UPS guy, a grilled cheese sandwich and coke for the sports fan watching tv, and many more, none of them needing his help, but he waited patiently, there was always someone.
She came in well past dinner hour, her shoulders weighed down, and she ordered a muffin with a glass of water. He knew this was the one.
He picked up his coffee mug and pretended to walk to the counter to grab a refill. The busboy was busily cleaning up dishes from rush hour, and as he hurried back the old man’s way, he bumped into the busboy, and the inevitable clash of glass exploded into the air. The waitress let out a slight scream and the cook looked from his kitchen into the cafe.
The busboy hastily began clearing up the broken pieces, and the waitress ran to grab a broom. Mumbling that he couldn’t help because of his aching back, the old man shuffled out of the way and behind the girl’s table. The girl leaned over to ask the busboy if he was okay.
As she was distracted he slipped an envelope underneath her purse, then quickly limped away muttering thank yous and apologies to the busboy.
The mess and confusion soon cleared up, and he safely returned to his table. The girl was about to leave, when she saw the envelope he had expertly placed.
A bundle of cash burst from the inside. Her eyes widened and she slowly counted the money. She hugged the envelope tightly to her chest. Leaving a large tip for the waitress, she quickly exited the cafe, tears filling her eyes.
Happy with his day’s work, he leaned forward to stand, but saw an envelope addressed to him lying on the table. Slowly, he opened it.
“Hello,
I've been trying to track you down, ever since the Jackson case. I caught sight of you in Chicago, (remember your little incident in the library?) and I’ve followed you from there to LA, then Denver, and now here, trying to make a good story for the papers. Everyone wants to know why you disappeared.
But I watched you give that stolen money away, and I wondered why a dishonest, cunning lawyer like you would do that. I knew your services could never make up for your crimes of condemning innocent men, but I saw the happiness caused by what you do. I became uncertain.
I've wanted to expose you for so long, and with this chance to do it, it has been extremely tempting. But somehow, I don't feel like I should.
I've decided to withhold the story, until it the time is right. When the moment does come, I will be sure to release the whole story, both good and bad.
Until then.”
He folded the letter. He had not expected anything like this to happen. Not in a million years. After he exited the cafe, he stared upon a bright star in the sky. His eyes moistened. “Oh thank you,” he whispered.
He stood there, silently watching, but soon he starting walking. After all this time, after everything he had done, it was finally time to step off the hazy, hurried highways of life, and take the old pathway home.
After ordering his breakfast, he limped over to an unassuming booth and settled into a comfortable position. The waitress tidied her hair, and he waited.
First came the nurse, dark circles underneath her eyes from finishing her night shift, ordering a deluxe roast beef sandwich with a side of salad. She must have been a regular since the waitress didn't bat an eye at the strange “breakfast.”
Next was the businessman. There was a streak of gray in his hair he could no longer hide and his hand gripped tightly around his custom leather briefcase. Flipping open his wallet to pay for his Big Original Breakfast, the old man glimpsed a picture of what seemed a younger version of the man, standing in front of the doors to Wellington College, where the faculty served more as babysitters than educators. No, this man definitely didn't need his help.
Then came an order of donuts for the policeman, some orange juice and hash browns for the UPS guy, a grilled cheese sandwich and coke for the sports fan watching tv, and many more, none of them needing his help, but he waited patiently, there was always someone.
She came in well past dinner hour, her shoulders weighed down, and she ordered a muffin with a glass of water. He knew this was the one.
He picked up his coffee mug and pretended to walk to the counter to grab a refill. The busboy was busily cleaning up dishes from rush hour, and as he hurried back the old man’s way, he bumped into the busboy, and the inevitable clash of glass exploded into the air. The waitress let out a slight scream and the cook looked from his kitchen into the cafe.
The busboy hastily began clearing up the broken pieces, and the waitress ran to grab a broom. Mumbling that he couldn’t help because of his aching back, the old man shuffled out of the way and behind the girl’s table. The girl leaned over to ask the busboy if he was okay.
As she was distracted he slipped an envelope underneath her purse, then quickly limped away muttering thank yous and apologies to the busboy.
The mess and confusion soon cleared up, and he safely returned to his table. The girl was about to leave, when she saw the envelope he had expertly placed.
A bundle of cash burst from the inside. Her eyes widened and she slowly counted the money. She hugged the envelope tightly to her chest. Leaving a large tip for the waitress, she quickly exited the cafe, tears filling her eyes.
Happy with his day’s work, he leaned forward to stand, but saw an envelope addressed to him lying on the table. Slowly, he opened it.
“Hello,
I've been trying to track you down, ever since the Jackson case. I caught sight of you in Chicago, (remember your little incident in the library?) and I’ve followed you from there to LA, then Denver, and now here, trying to make a good story for the papers. Everyone wants to know why you disappeared.
But I watched you give that stolen money away, and I wondered why a dishonest, cunning lawyer like you would do that. I knew your services could never make up for your crimes of condemning innocent men, but I saw the happiness caused by what you do. I became uncertain.
I've wanted to expose you for so long, and with this chance to do it, it has been extremely tempting. But somehow, I don't feel like I should.
I've decided to withhold the story, until it the time is right. When the moment does come, I will be sure to release the whole story, both good and bad.
Until then.”
He folded the letter. He had not expected anything like this to happen. Not in a million years. After he exited the cafe, he stared upon a bright star in the sky. His eyes moistened. “Oh thank you,” he whispered.
He stood there, silently watching, but soon he starting walking. After all this time, after everything he had done, it was finally time to step off the hazy, hurried highways of life, and take the old pathway home.
©Kaleigh Smith 2014
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