“I promise,” she whispered back, “this will never be a part of our story.”
The memory evaporated. The diner suddenly felt like a foreign environment as Gillen repeatedly blinked and brought his attention back to the booth. A wellspring of emotions bottlenecked at his throat, a wave of exhaustion overtaking his senses.
He again became aware of Samantha sitting across from him, gazing at him through her honey-brown eyes. She had finished her tea and was snuffing out the remainder of her cigarette into the ashtray.
“You loved her so much,” Samantha said, witnessing the anguish on his face.
Gillen reached for his hat on the jade-green tile and began sliding himself out of the booth. Wearily he responded, “It doesn’t matter.”