The Rusted Spoke was nearly empty at 1 PM.
The lunch crowd had come and gone. A few old men nursed coffees in the corner. The cook leaned against the pass-through, scrolling through his phone. The waitress wiped down the counter, her movements slow and tired.
Elena sat in the back booth, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had gone cold. She hadn't touched it. She hadn't taken her eyes off the door.
Adam sat across from her. He'd been quiet for the past hour, letting her sit with her thoughts. Sandra was in the booth behind them, pretending to read a newspaper, watching the windows.
“She's going to come,” Adam said.
“You don't know that.”
“I know she wants to.”
Elena shook her head. “Wanting and doing are different things. I wanted to see her for twenty years. I never did.
