The Boy With Coins and the Harrison Name

CHAPTER 2 - THE EMPTY CHAIR

Walter Harrison sat across from the boy in a booth by the window while the server hurried over eggs, toast, sausage, and a bowl of hot soup no one had ordered but no one questioned.

The boy ate carefully at first, as if he expected the plate to be taken away.

"What is your name?" Walter asked.

"Ben."

"How old are you, Ben?"

"Ten."

Walter kept both hands around his coffee cup, though he never drank from it. "Where is your mother?"

Ben's fork stopped in midair.

"At Mercy General," he said quietly. "She told me if she got too sick, I should find you."

Walter stared at him. "She told you to find me?"

Ben nodded and opened his canvas bag. From inside, he pulled out a folded envelope, worn soft at the edges. Across the front, in faded blue ink, was written: Walter Harrison.

Walter knew the handwriting before Ben even passed it across the table.

Sarah's.

His daughter had written like that at sixteen, looping her y's too far below the line, pressing hard when she was upset. He had not seen those letters in eleven years.

His fingers shook as he opened it.

Dad, If Ben found you, then I waited too long and ran out of good choices. Please don't blame him for what I did. He is your grandson. And he is all I have ever done right.

Walter blinked hard and kept reading.

I left because you gave me one choice: leave Daniel and keep the family, or keep Daniel and lose you. I chose love. Then Daniel died before Ben was born. I was too proud to come back.

Walter put the letter down.

The soup steamed between them. The server in the red polo kept glancing over, suddenly eager, suddenly careful.

"How sick is she?" Walter asked.

Ben looked at the table. "The doctor said she needs surgery. She doesn't have insurance anymore."

Walter reached for his keys.

Then Ben said the one thing that stopped him cold.

"She also said not to trust Aunt Linda."