Our new server, Aiden, treated her with quiet kindness, even sending her home with an extra slice of pecan pie “for later, in honor of your Walter.”
As we left, Grandma paused at the bus stop, her hand brushing my arm.
“He was there, Taylor. I could feel him,” she said.
I told her he’d be proud of her for being brave enough to come back. She smiled—a real smile this time—and linked her arm with mine.
Together, we looked back at the restaurant one last time before heading home.
