The Empty Chair at Table Six

Ruth kept a chair free at table six every Friday for ten years. The regulars thought it was grief. The new waitress thought it was superstition.

Ruth knew it was hope, and hope is stubborn.

On the tenth anniversary, rain came in sideways off the highway, and a stranger in a soaked coat stood at the door, holding an envelope.

"Is this seat taken?"

Ruth looked at the chair, then at the face she had last seen when it was twenty years younger.

"It always has been," she said.