I figured I wouldn’t see him again, but three days later he returned with a bandage under his shirt. He sat in the cabin at the entrance.
“Thank you for saving my life, Lena.”
I brought him coffee.
“What happened?”
“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
His expression warned me not to ask any more, so I didn’t.
Grant became a regular. I always picked the same table and watched the door. We reached a tacit agreement: I did not question his past, and he did not question mine.
Eventually, we started talking. First about time and books, then about the truths we had both tried to escape.
Grant was a detective in Chicago. He discovered a corruption case involving his partner, but the evidence turned against him. His career and reputation were destroyed, and the attack that led him to the restaurant was aimed at silencing him.
