So did two of my coworkers.
Mr. Harrison pulled back and looked at me.
“I cannot believe it’s you.”
I didn’t understand.
“I’m sorry… have we met?”
His smile disappeared.
“You really don’t remember me?”
I shook my head.
He slowly sat down.
Then he said:
“About eighteen years ago, I came into this restaurant alone.”
Something in his face looked familiar.
But I still couldn’t place him.
He continued.
“It was one of the worst nights of my life.”
The table went silent.
“My company was close to failing.”
“My marriage was falling apart.”
“My father had just died.”
“I had been sitting at this table for almost two hours.”
Then I remembered.
Not his name.
But the man.
Years earlier, a customer had come in close to closing time.
He barely touched his dinner.
He kept staring at a
