I Returned to the Same Diner Every Birthday

“He wrote so much about you.”

“Did he?” I smiled back. “Your grandfather was the love of my life.”

“Would you like to read more?” he asked, pulling out another page.

I didn’t take it yet.

“No. Talk to me instead. Tell me about your father, sweetheart.”

Hart leaned back.

“He was quiet, always thinking. But not darkly. He loved old music—the kind you dance continue reading …