“They do,” Dorothy finally said. “Though I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Callaway is not the rarest name.” “No,” Dorothy agreed. “But you’ve got that look, Walter Higgins, like a man who already knows the answer and is just waiting for the courage to ask the question.” Walter didn’t answer that. He kept wiping the counter a little slower now, thinking.
He thought too of a small cassette tape tucked away in a shoe box on his closet shelf at home. Recording of a young trooper’s statement taken for the county report the night a robbery had gone quiet instead of tragic. He hadn’t thought of it in years. Something told him he might need it again soon.
It took him another week to work up the nerve. He waited until the diner had mostly cleared. Just Josie in her booth and an older couple finishing pie by the door. He walked over with the coffee pot, though her cup was already full. “Mind if I sit a minute off the clock?” “Of course,” Josie said, closing her textbook.
Walter eased into the booth, joints creaking the way they did more and more these days. “I hope you don’t think I’m prying, but I couldn’t help noticing your name on that receipt.” Josie tilted her head, curious. “Callaway,” Walter said. “That your family name?” “Yes, sir. Josephine Callaway. Everyone calls me Josie.” “Nice to properly meet you.” He extended a weathered hand and she shook it.
“I knew a man once. A trooper went by Daniel Callaway.” Josie went very still. “That was my father,” she said softly. Walter felt something settle in his chest. A piece finally clicking into place it had been waiting twenty years to fill. “I thought it might be,” he said. “You’ve got his eyes. Same steady way of looking at a person.”
Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, though she blinked them back quickly. “You knew my dad?” “I did. Before you were even born, probably. He came in here often back when he was just starting out. And one night, this place got held up. Man with a gun looking to clean out the register.” “He never told me about that.” “Wouldn’t surprise me. He wasn’t the type to brag.”
Walter’s voice grew quieter, careful, like handling something fragile. “He talked that man down without raising his voice. Kept everybody calm, kept everybody safe. I’ve never forgotten it.” Josie pressed the napkin between her fingers. The same one Dalton had knocked to the floor weeks earlier. “He passed two years ago,” she said. “Heart condition ran in the family, they told us.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Walter said and meant it. “He was a good man,” Josie said. “The best I ever knew. He believed in doing the right thing, even when it cost him something.” Walter nodded slowly. “Sounds exactly like the man I remember.” They sat quietly a moment. The kind of silence that isn’t uncomfortable. The kind between two people who’ve just discovered they share something worth being gentle with.