Chapter 9 - Eighteen Months Later
Leo wrote every week.
Actual letters.
His handwriting was terrible.
Clara told him so.
He blamed prison pens.
Evan graduated high school.
Leo missed the ceremony physically but sent a letter.
Evan read it three times.
He started college studying biomedical engineering.
His heart condition stabilized with improved treatment.
Clara became assistant manager at Riverlight Diner.
Then manager.
Then something unexpected happened.
The owner, Mr. Kaplan, decided to retire.
“You should buy it.”
Clara laughed.
“With what?”
“Financing.”
“I have sixty-eight dollars.”
“You have more now.”
“Not diner-buying money.”
Kaplan helped her apply for a small-business loan.
Clara qualified.
Barely.
She bought a minority stake first.
Then more.
For the first time, she built something of her own.
No mafia money.
No Leo investment.
When she told him, his reply arrived a week later.
Proud of you.
Also offended you named a sandwich after Frank and not me.
She had.
The Frank Special.
Extra bacon.
Leo received no sandwich because Clara claimed “Caruso” sounded too expensive.
When his release date arrived, she drove alone.
No entourage.
No Frank.
Leo walked through the gate carrying one bag.
He looked older.
Leaner.
Peaceful.
Clara leaned against her car.
“You look terrible.”
Leo smiled.
“You look worse.”
She laughed.
Their first conversation all over again.
He approached.
Stopped.
“Can I kiss you?”
Clara smiled.
“Look at you asking permission.”
“I’ve evolved.”
“Barely.”
She kissed him.
On the drive home, Leo asked:
“Where are we going?”
“Work.”
“I just got out.”
“And?”
“I thought there might be romance.”
“There is. You’re carrying boxes.”
At Riverlight, Frank waited.
So did Evan.
So did half the staff.
A banner hung over the counter.
WELCOME HOME, JOHN DOE.
Leo stared.
Clara burst out laughing.
“You did this?”
“Evan.”
Evan shrugged.
“Mostly.”
Leo hugged him.
That surprised everyone.
Then Leo saw the menu.
THE FRANK SPECIAL.
He looked offended.
“Still?”
“Still.”
“No Leo Burger?”
Clara pointed toward the bottom.
There it was.
THE JOHN DOE.
Bacon.
Cheddar.
No onions.
Price: $6.80.
Leo looked at her.
“Six dollars and eighty cents?”
She smiled.
“Ten percent of the sixty-eight dollars I had the night I saved you.”
He stared at her.
She continued.
“I thought it was funny.”
“It’s terrible business.”
“Welcome home.”
Home.
The word hit him.
Leo had owned estates.
Apartments.
Safe houses.
Properties across the city.
None had ever felt like that diner.
Clara behind the counter.
Evan laughing.
Frank complaining.
May you like
Coffee burning.
Home.
