I remembered.
The diner.
Three months earlier.
A rainy Tuesday afternoon.
An older man in a baseball cap had come in alone.
He sat in the corner for nearly two hours.
Nobody recognized him.
At least I hadn’t.
He ordered coffee.
Then more coffee.
Then pie.
When his wallet accidentally slipped from his coat, I noticed his driver’s license.
Governor Daniel Hayes.
He asked me not to make a fuss.
So I didn’t.
Instead we talked.
About parenting.
About hard work.
About raising children.
About life.
Mostly about Emma.
Because
