THREE DAYS LATER ALLISON STUDIED the midsixties man who sat in the corner of Kopi Kafé, the coffee shop she’d frequented before she got divorced. The man sat under a classic black-and-white photo of men eating lunch on the I-beam of a New York skyscraper still under construction.
He was reading a newspaper—at least appeared to be—but he hadn’t changed the page in over five minutes. She couldn’t be sure from the distance, but she thought his eyes held a deep sadness.
It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him. Ages back, a few months before she and her ex parted ways, he’d spoken to her on his way out. She’d been alone, a novel held out in front of her, her coffee untouched. He’d shuffled up to her, stopped four feet away, and motioned as if asking if he could approach her table. She nodded. The man stepped closer, then smiled down on her with a look that spoke of understanding life’s highs and lows. He said, “This too shall pass.”
“Excuse me?”
He offered a wink and a smile and a brisk wave of his hand. “Whatever it is you’re going through.”
“How do you know I’m going through anything?”
“It’s in your eyes.” He leaned closer and whispered, “But even more than that, you’ve been staring at the same page of your book for five minutes now, and I don’t take you for a slow reader.”
“You’ve been watching me?”
“I watch everyone in here. The regulars, the first-timers, the only-timers. People are interesting. The pages of their faces often much more so than any book.”
He spoke the words as if Allison agreed, and he was right, she did. He nodded and repeated his opening line. “This too shall pass.”
With that he strolled off, then turned after he’d covered ten paces. He smiled again and mouthed the words, It will. It will.
He’d been right, and now his eyes held the same sadness hers must have held. Would he remember her? Probably not. She peered at him for a few more seconds. Time to find out.
“Excuse me.”
The man looked up, a puzzled look on his face. “Do I know you?”
“No.”
He gazed at her a few seconds before speaking. “I don’t think that’s true. I think we did meet, long ago. Yes?” He folded his paper methodically and set it on the table.
“We did.” Allison slid into the seat across from the man. “Very briefly. Here, in this coffee shop.”
“I don’t remember.”
“You spoke powerful words to me that day.”
“Did I?”
“You did.” She reached into her purse and pulled out the journal. “I have something for you.”
She slid the journal across the table and patted it. “For you.”
The man peered at the journal, then looked back at Allison for a moment, then focused back on the journal. With tentative fingers he reached out and stroked the leather.
“Beautiful.” He looked up. “It’s yours?”
“No, it belongs to a friend of mine.” Allison stretched out her arm and pushed the journal a few inches closer to the man. “But for a time, it’s yours. To write in. To immerse yourself in. To pour out the way you see the world.”
“Why me? Why give it to me?”
Allison stood and took the man’s hands in both of hers. “Because.”
She let go of the man’s hands and strolled away, a smile playing on her face. Without question, she’d made the right choice.