Grace did not disagree.
Margaret looked toward the kitchen.
“Will he be here tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Should I come?”
“I can't answer that.”
Margaret nodded.
“Fair.”
She turned toward the door.
Then Grace called, “Margaret.”
She looked back.
“Come for breakfast.”
“What?”
“You don't have to turn every visit into a confrontation.”
Grace smiled.
“Sometimes a diner can just be a diner.”
Margaret looked at Booth 6.
She wasn't sure that was possible anymore.
But the next morning at eight, she returned.
For five days Margaret went to Copper Bell without asking for Nathan.
She sat in different booths.
Never Booth 6.
She ordered eggs.
Toast.
Soup once.
A cheeseburger she could barely finish.
Ava served her twice.
On Thursday, Ava leaned against the table after placing down a slice of apple pie.
“You know you're becoming a regular.”
Margaret smiled.
“Is that dangerous?”
“Very. Next Grace learns your birthday, and suddenly you have no privacy.”
From behind the register Grace shouted, “I heard that!”
Ava laughed.
Margaret laughed too.
The sound surprised her.
She had not laughed naturally since Henry died.
Ava looked pleased.
“You should come Sunday.”
“Why?”
“Grace makes cinnamon rolls.”
“Are they good?”
“I'm contractually required to say yes.”
Margaret smiled.
Then Ava’s expression changed.
“You lost someone recently.”
Margaret looked down at her wedding ring.
“Yes.”
“Your husband?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Seven weeks.”
Ava’s face softened.
“My mom died when I was fourteen.”
Margaret’s throat tightened.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.”
Ava looked toward the kitchen.
“My dad basically forgot how to function for a while.”
“What helped?”
“This place.”
Ava gestured around.
“Grace. Customers. Everybody.”
Margaret listened.
“My dad says family isn't always who shares your name.”
The sentence landed with painful irony.
Margaret almost told her.
Instead she said, “Your father sounds wise.”
Ava laughed.
“Don't tell him I said anything nice.”
The kitchen door opened.
A man emerged carrying a box of supplies.
Margaret knew him instantly.
Nathan.
He was forty-seven now.
His hair was darker than Henry’s had been but graying at the temples.
He had Henry’s shoulders.
Henry’s way of walking.
Henry’s habit of pressing his lips together when concentrating.
Nathan looked toward Ava.
Then toward Margaret.
The box nearly slipped from his hands.
Ava noticed.
“Dad?”
Nathan placed the box on the counter.
“What are you doing here?”
Ava looked between them.
“You two know each other?”
Margaret stood.
Nathan's face became pale.
“Nathan.”
He ignored the greeting.
“I asked Grace not to involve you.”
Grace stepped out from behind the register.
“I didn't.”
“I found the diner,” Margaret said.
Nathan looked at her.
“How?”
Margaret removed the old receipt from her purse.
“Your father.”
His jaw tightened.
“Of course.”
Ava stared.
“My grandfather?”
Silence.
Nathan closed his eyes.
Margaret felt sick.
This was not how she wanted Ava to learn.
Ava looked at Margaret.
“Who are you?”
Margaret could not lie.
“My name is Margaret Hale.”
Ava looked toward her father.
Nathan's shoulders dropped.
“She's Henry’s wife.”
Ava stared.
“My grandfather Henry?”
“Yes.”
Margaret’s voice broke.
“I'm your step-grandmother.”
No one moved.
Ava looked shocked.
Then hurt.
“You've known who I was?”
“For five days.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
“I didn't know if it was my right.”
Ava looked at Nathan.
“You knew she was here?”
“Not until now.”
Grace started toward them.
Nathan raised one hand.
“I need air.”
He walked out the back door.
Margaret felt everyone in the diner trying not to stare.
Ava whispered, “Why did nobody ever tell me about you?”
Margaret looked at her.
There was only one answer that did not hide behind Henry.
“Because we failed your father.”
Ava said nothing.
Then she followed Nathan outside.
Margaret sat back down.
Her apple pie remained untouched.
Grace approached quietly.
“That could have gone better.”
Margaret laughed once through tears.
“It could hardly have gone worse.”
Grace looked toward the back door.
“Give them time.”
Margaret nodded.
She had already given this family twenty years.
For the first time, she understood that asking them for more time might itself be selfish.
Nathan called three days later.
Margaret almost dropped the phone when she saw his name.
“Hello?”
“Margaret.”
His voice sounded older than she remembered.
“Hello, Nathan.”
“Grace gave me your number.”
“I hope that's all right.”
“I asked.”
Margaret sat at the kitchen table.
“What can I do?”
“Meet me tomorrow.”
“Anywhere.”
“Copper Bell. After closing.”
At three the following afternoon, Margaret entered the empty diner.
Nathan sat in Booth 6.
Margaret stopped.
For a moment she saw Henry sitting there instead.
Then Nathan looked up.
She joined him.
Neither spoke for several seconds.
Finally Nathan said, “He sat where you're sitting.”
Margaret looked down.
“Grace told me.”
“He'd come in and stare at the kitchen.”
“What did you think?”
“At first?”
Nathan laughed without humor.
“I thought he had a lot of nerve.”
Margaret nodded.
“He did.”
Nathan looked surprised by the answer.
“You're not defending him?”
“I loved Henry.”
“I know.”
“But loving him doesn't make what he did right.”
Nathan looked toward the window.
“I waited for him to call after I got married.”
Margaret's throat tightened.
“He didn't.”
“I waited when Ava was born.”
“He kept the announcement.”
Nathan looked sharply at her.
“What?”
“All these years.”
Margaret removed copies of several photographs.
Nathan stared.
“Where did he get these?”
“Grace.”
His expression hardened.
“She had no right.”
“I think she was trying to help.”
“Everyone was always trying to help Dad without asking what I needed.”
Margaret nodded.
“That's fair.”
Nathan stared at her.
“You keep agreeing with me.”
“Would you prefer I argue?”
“I don't know.”
He looked exhausted.
“When Claire died, do you know what I thought?”
Margaret shook her head.
“I thought maybe somebody would tell him.”
“Grace said she did.”
“She did.”
Nathan's voice became quieter.
“I waited.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“He didn't come.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Nathan stared at her.
“You lived with him.”
Margaret forced herself not to escape into ignorance.
“He was afraid.”
Nathan laughed bitterly.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“Of me?”
“Of what you'd say.”
“So he let me bury my wife alone because he was afraid of an uncomfortable conversation?”
The words cut.
Margaret nodded.
“Yes.”
Nathan looked away.
After a long silence Margaret said, “I was afraid too.”
Nathan looked back.
“I told myself it wasn't my place.”
“It wasn't.”
“That was convenient.”
He said nothing.
“I could have called.”
“Yes.”
“I could have written.”
“Yes.”
“I could have come to the funeral.”
Nathan’s eyes became wet.
“Yes.”
Margaret began crying.
“I'm sorry.”
Nathan looked down.
“I don't know what to do with that.”
“You don't have to do anything.”
“I don't forgive you.”
“I understand.”
“I don't hate you either.”
Margaret nodded.
“That’s more than I deserve.”
Nathan rubbed his face.
“I remember you trying when I was younger.”
“Not hard enough.”
“No.”
The honesty hurt but felt clean.
Nathan reached into his jacket.
He removed a sealed envelope.
Henry’s handwriting covered the front.
Nathan.
Grace must have finally given it to him.
“You read it?”
Nathan shook his head.
“I've carried it three days.”
Margaret stared.
“What are you waiting for?”
“I don't know.”
Then he surprised her.
“Did he talk about me?”
Margaret smiled through tears.
“More after he found you.”
“What did he say?”
“That you looked tired.”
Nathan laughed.
“That sounds like him.”
“That your diner needed better chairs.”
Nathan laughed harder.
Margaret continued.
“That you still held knives wrong when you cooked.”
“He never saw me cook.”
“He watched from Booth 6.”
Nathan became quiet.
Margaret looked at the envelope.
“He loved you.”
Nathan’s expression hardened again.
Margaret raised one hand.
“I know that's not enough.”
The anger softened slightly.
“He should have said it.”
“Yes.”
Nathan looked at Henry’s envelope.
“Maybe he finally did.”