Then an older waitress hurried toward us.
“There he is!”
Leo’s expression immediately softened.
“Hi, Marcy.”
She pointed toward the rear of the diner.
“Booth seven?”
“Yes.”
“Jerry still hasn’t fixed that wobbly table.”
“I know.”
I stared at them. Leo hadn’t introduced himself. Chloe hadn’t introduced us either. Yet Marcy knew his name, his birthday, his favorite booth, and apparently enough about his habits to speak to him like an old friend. Then she turned to Richard and me.
“You must be Leo’s parents.”
“I’m Kaitlyn. This is Richard.”
“I know.”
She said it so casually that my stomach tightened. I looked at Chloe, but suddenly she seemed fascinated by the dessert case. That was the first moment I realized there might be an entire part of Leo’s life inside this diner that I knew nothing about.
Chloe had begun taking Leo on monthly outings when he was eight. At the time, I thought she was giving me one of the greatest gifts a friend could offer. Leo was a sweet child, but the world wasn’t always patient with him. Restaurants were especially difficult. Servers asked questions quickly, dishes crashed, chairs scraped across tile, music changed without warning, and strangers expected immediate answers. Whenever Leo needed a few seconds to process a question, I usually stepped in. I called it helping.
