I still did not say anything and began trying to sink my trembling fork into the salad.
“I’m in here because I tried to kill myself,” he blurted.
I looked up at him a moment, held a piece of romaine lettuce on the tip of my fork, and asked, “Why did you do that?”
“Because I wanted to die,” he said flatly. “My wife died about two months ago, and I had no idea how much she meant to me until then. I spent my whole life working on that damn business most of the time, ignoring her, ignoring my kids.”
He picked up his knife and began slicing the pork chop he had selected. “I’m sixty-eight damn years old. Oh! Pardon me for saying damn in front of a preacher. I mean, please excuse my French. Anyway, I’m sixty-eight, and the woman I loved the most, and ignored the most, was suddenly gone. The k
