I wanted to know why.”
Manny groaned softly.
Claire continued.
“And every Thursday, you sit in the same booth and pretend you don’t notice any of it.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“Pretend?”
“Yes.”
That almost-smile returned.
“Careful.”
“You said I wasn’t afraid enough.”
One of the younger men scoffed.
Claire ignored him.
“Maybe you’re too afraid,” she said to Vincent.
Manny closed his eyes.
The entire diner seemed to brace for impact.
Vincent’s face went blank.
“Of what?”
“Not dying.”
She pointed at the folder.
“Living after everybody decided who you’re supposed to be.”
Nobody spoke.
Claire heard the refrigerator compressor kick on behind the counter.
Vincent looked down at his burned hand.
For fifty-eight years, Claire thought, people had probably measured this man by what he could make others fear.
Maybe nobody had asked what was left when fear stopped working.
The taller young man laughed.
“This is pathetic.
You’re taking life advice from a waitress now?”
Vincent looked at him.
“She’s making more sense than you are.”
Manny covered his mouth, but Claire could tell he was hiding a smile.
The younger man’s face reddened.
“Sign the papers.”
Vincent pulled their folder toward him.
He opened it.
The men relaxed slightly.
They thought they’d won.
Vincent took the pen resting inside.
Claire watched his hand hover over the signature line.
Then he drew one slow line through it.
Not a signature.
A cancellation.
He closed the folder and pushed it back.
“No.”
The word was quiet.
It landed harder than shouting.
The taller man leaned across the table.
“You don’t have enough left to say no.”
Vincent picked up the lawyer’s card.
“Let’s find out.”
He turned to Claire.
“Call that number.
Put it on speaker.”
She dialed.
A man answered after two rings.
Vincent identified himself.
