Chapter 7 - The Empty Chair
Two years after the night we met, Miller's Diner was crowded again on Thanksgiving.
Same football game noise.
Same paper decorations.
Same smell of turkey, coffee, and cinnamon pie.
We had reserved the large booth near the window.
Lily was thirteen now.
She sat across from Daniel, criticizing his tie.
"It's crooked."
"It's not."
"It is."
Daniel adjusted it.
"Better?"
"No."
I smiled.
Some things had changed.
Daniel no longer ran from Thanksgiving.
Mercer Home and Living had recovered.
The criminal operations Victor built were gone.
Daniel had turned most of his family's legitimate businesses over to professional management.
He still carried influence.
He still had security.
He still had tattoos beneath expensive shirts and a way of looking at dangerous men that could silence them without a word.
But Lily knew him as the man who burned pancakes.
And I knew him as the man who still kept two orange cards in his wallet.
Something else had changed too.
There was a ring on my finger.
Daniel had proposed three months earlier.
Lily had helped.
Unfortunately.
Her original suggestion had been hiding the ring inside mashed potatoes.
Daniel wisely ignored her.
The diner door opened.
A woman entered with a little boy.
She spoke to the hostess.
"How long?"
"At least forty minutes."
The woman looked exhausted.
Her son looked hungry.
Daniel noticed.
So did Lily.
She looked at the empty chair beside us.
Then at Daniel.
Daniel smiled.
"Go ahead."
Lily stood.
"Excuse me!"
The woman turned.
"We have room."
"Oh, no. We couldn't."
"You can," Lily said. "It's Thanksgiving."
The little boy looked at our table.
"Do you have stuffing?"
Daniel leaned toward me.
"Generosity apparently still has limits."
I laughed.
The woman hesitated.
"Are you sure?"
Daniel stood and pulled out the empty chair.
"Very."
They joined us.
Halfway through dinner, the boy noticed Daniel's tattoos.
"Are you a superhero?"
Daniel looked at me.
I nearly spit out my drink.
Lily answered first.
"No."
Daniel raised an eyebrow.
"Thank you."
"He's in retail."
I laughed so hard I had to put down my fork.
Daniel stared at Lily.
She grinned.
Later, while everyone argued about pie, Daniel slipped his hand into mine beneath the table.
"Clare."
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
He looked around.
At Lily.
At the strangers eating with us.
At the empty chair that wasn't empty anymore.
"For calling me over."
"You could have said no."
"I almost did."
"Why didn't you?"
His thumb moved over my engagement ring.
"Because your daughter wouldn't let me."
From across the table, Lily shouted:
"I heard that."
Daniel smiled.
"Good."
She pointed her fork at him.
"You still owe me stuffing."
"I own several hundred stores and somehow I'm still being extorted over stuffing."
"That's because money can't buy everything."
Daniel looked at me.
"No."
His hand tightened around mine.
"It can't."
Outside, cold November rain touched the diner windows.
Families hurried through the parking lot.
Children slept against their parents.
Cars disappeared toward warm houses.
Three years earlier, Daniel Mercer had believed disappearing was easier than admitting he had nowhere to go.
Now there was a seat waiting beside me.
There always would be.
Lily lifted her glass of apple cider.
"To our table."
I lifted mine.
Daniel did the same.
May you like
"To our table."
And for the first Thanksgiving in years, there wasn't a single empty chair.
