Chapter 7 - Two People Who Missed Her
Maya chose a diner in Bridgeport.
She arrived ten minutes early and took a booth near the window. When Vincent came in, two men at the counter recognized him immediately. One whispered his name. The other lifted a phone as if considering a photograph.
Vincent noticed and chose the seat with his back to the room.
Maya raised an eyebrow.
"No private room?"
"You chose the place."
"No security at the next booth?"
"Across the street."
She glanced through the window and spotted the black sedan.
"Subtle."
"They are trying."
Vincent arrived wearing a suit because he had come directly from a meeting.
She looked him up and down from the booth.
“You know this place has laminated menus, right?”
“I own denim.”
“Do you know where it is?”
He laughed.
The waitress brought coffee without asking because Maya was apparently a regular.
Vincent ordered meatloaf.
Maya ordered pancakes at seven in the evening.
“My mother approved of breakfast at irresponsible hours,” she said.
“She believed clocks were suggestions unless payroll was involved.”
Maya smiled.
This dinner was different from the restaurant conversations.
There were no guards at the table, though Vincent's driver waited outside.
No walnut counter.
No Angelo.
No staff pretending not to listen.
Maya asked questions.
Small ones at first.
“What music did she like?”
“Bad nineties pop and Nina Simone.”
“Did she snore?”
“No. She talked in her sleep.”
“What did she say?”
“Mostly complaints.”
Maya laughed.
Then bigger questions.
“Did you ever plan to marry her?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“About three weeks before I ruined everything.”
Vincent stirred his coffee.
“I bought a ring.”
Maya went still.
“What happened to it?”
“I kept it.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“For twenty years?”
“Yes.”
“That is either romantic or deeply unhealthy.”
“Both can be true.”
She looked down at her pancakes.
“Did you love anyone after her?”
Vincent thought about the women he had dated. Two serious relationships. One engagement that ended before invitations went out.
“Yes.”
Maya seemed surprised.
“But differently.”
“Because of Mom?”
“Because I was different. And because I never told the full truth about why I couldn't stay.”
Maya cut a pancake into tiny squares.
"She used to bring me here after parent-teacher conferences," she said. "Good conference, pancakes. Bad conference, pancakes. She said consistency mattered."
Vincent smiled. "Were they usually good conferences?"
"I talked too much."
"Shocking."
"I got it from somebody."
He accepted the hit.
Maya poured syrup into one empty corner of the plate instead of over the pancakes.
"She did that too," Vincent said before thinking.
Maya looked up. "Mom?"
"She hated soggy food."
Maya stared at the syrup, suddenly thoughtful. "I always thought that was just me."
For a few seconds the discovery seemed to please her more than anything large could have.
Not money. Not lineage. A breakfast habit.
“My mom dated someone for six years.”
Vincent's hand stopped around his cup.
He hated his immediate jealousy.
Maya noticed.
“Oh, that's funny.”
“What?”
“Your face.”
“I don't have a face.”
“You absolutely have a face.”
He sighed. “What was his name?”
“Martin.”
“What did he do?”
“Bus mechanic.”
“Did he treat her well?”
Maya looked at him carefully.
“Yes.”
Vincent nodded.
“Good.”
It hurt.
But good.
“She ended it when I was fourteen,” Maya said. “He wanted to move to Phoenix. She didn't want to leave Chicago.”
Vincent looked out the window.
“She stayed here.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Maya's fork paused.
“She said Chicago was the only place where all her ghosts knew the streets.”
Vincent closed his eyes briefly.
That sounded like Elena too.
Dinner lasted two hours.
At the end, Vincent reached for the check.
Maya put her hand on it first.
“No.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“We split it.”
“Maya.”
“If you pay, you'll turn this into one more thing you can provide.”
He sat back.
She split the bill.
He let her.
Outside, snow had begun to fall in small dry flakes.
They stood beneath the diner's red awning.
Maya tucked her hands into her coat pockets.
“I want to show you something.”
Vincent waited.
She took out her phone and opened a video.
Elena appeared on the screen.
Thin.
Head wrapped in a scarf.
Sitting at a kitchen table.
Vincent forgot how to breathe.
Maya said, “I recorded this about two months before she died.”
On the video Elena smiled at someone behind the phone.
Maya's voice asked, “What do I do if I meet him?”
Elena rolled her eyes.
“You ask better questions than I did.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means don't ask whether he loved me. People love each other and still do terrible, weak things.”
Maya's recorded voice went quiet.
“Do you want me to hate him?”
Elena's face softened.
“No.”
Vincent looked away from the screen because he couldn't bear her kindness.
The video continued.
“I want you to make him be honest. That's harder than hate.”
Maya stopped the recording.
Snow gathered on the awning edge.
Vincent stared at the sidewalk.
“She knew you might find me.”
“She knew I wanted to.”
“Why didn't she come herself?”
Maya's expression changed.
“She almost did.”
Vincent looked up.
“When?”
“Last year.”
His heart kicked.
“She came to one of your restaurants.”
“Which one?”
“Lake Street.”
Vincent searched his memory.
He had eaten there maybe twelve times that year.
“What happened?”
“She saw you through the window.”
“And?”
“She left.”
“Why?”
Maya swallowed.
“She said you were laughing with people at a table, and she realized she didn't want to walk in sick and make you feel like the last twenty years had arrived to punish you.”
Vincent's eyes burned.
“She was dying and she protected me from discomfort.”
Maya nodded.
“That made me angry at her.”
He looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because she spent her whole life being brave for everybody else.”
Vincent understood that too well.
Maya tucked the phone away.
“That's why I came.”
“To punish me?”
“No.”
She looked directly at him.
“To stop carrying the question for her.”
Vincent nodded.
They stood in the snow a little longer.
Then Maya said, “I think I'm ready to give you the letter.”
His chest tightened.
“Tonight?”
“No.”
He smiled despite himself.
“When?”
“Tomorrow. My apartment.”
Vincent stared at her.
Maya added, “And don't bring security upstairs.”
“They'll wait in the car.”
“Good.”
She turned toward the train station.
Vincent called after her.
“Maya.”
She looked back.
“Thank you for the video.”
Her expression softened.
May you like
“Don't thank me yet.”
Then she walked into the falling snow.
