PART 8 – “THE OLD OWNER OF THE CAFE REVEALED TO ME WHY GERARD CAME EVERY YEAR — AND HE GAVE ME A LAST MESSAGE THAT MADE ME CRY”

The next morning, the old owner of the cafe was waiting for me at table four.

Mr. Philip had aged a lot since he had retired.

His hair had turned white.

His hands were shaking a little.

But his gaze was still warm.

— Sit down, Josian.

I sat across from him.

Nathan was standing behind the counter.

“My son told me what happened,” Philip began.

I nodded.

— Then you know about my father.

Philip lowered his gaze.

— I know more than you imagine.

My heart skipped a beat.

— What do you mean?

He took a deep breath.

— Nine years ago, Gerard came to see me a few days before November 11th.

I looked at him carefully.

— And?

— He told me he wanted to sit at table four.

— Why there?

Philip smiled sadly.

— Because from there he could see the harbor.

Stop for a moment.

— He told me that he had once promised a friend that they would have coffee together again when they got home.

I felt my eyes fill with tears.

— My father…

— Yes.

Philip nodded.

— Gerard told me that his friend didn’t return. And that his friend’s daughter worked here.

I remained motionless.

— So you knew?

— Yes.

— And why didn’t you tell me?

Philip bowed his head.

— Because Gerard asked me not to do it. He wanted to find the courage himself.

A tear rolled down my cheek.

— He never found it.

— Not while he was alive.

Philip put his hand in his jacket pocket.

He took out a small envelope.

— But leave this to me.

I got him.

Above it was written:

“For Josian, if she ever finds out who I am.”

I opened the letter.

“My dear Josian,

Every year, when I come to the cafe, I think that this will be the year I talk to you.

Every year I’m scared.

I’m afraid you’ll look at me and only see the man who was saved when your father didn’t return.

But you never looked at me like that.

You brought me two coffees.

You were sitting with me.

You were asking me if I was okay.

And when my hands were shaking, you pretended not to notice.

You didn’t know who I was.

And yet you treated me with the same kindness that your father had.

I want to tell you something I’ve never been able to say out loud.

It wasn’t your father’s fault for what happened.

And it wasn’t your fault that you grew up without him.

If I could turn back time, I wish I had found the courage to approach you sooner.

But I’m grateful for every minute you sat across from me.

Because in those few minutes, every November 11, I felt that Henri had not completely disappeared from the world.

He lived in the kindness of his daughter.

Thank you, Zoziane.

Your father’s friend,

Gerard.

I couldn’t hold back my tears.

Philip held out his hand.

— Sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner.

I looked at him.

— I don’t know if I could have heard this story nine years ago.

Then I smiled through the tears.

— But I’m glad I learned it now.

Nathan approached.

He was holding a small wooden sign.

He placed it on the table.

Above it was written:

“TABLE 4 — IN MEMORY OF HENRI PETIT AND GERARD LAMBER. FOR THOSE WHO DID NOT RETURN AND FOR THOSE WHO WERE NOT FORGOTTEN.”

I touched the letters with my fingers.

— It’s wonderful.

Nathan smiled awkwardly.

— I also thought about offering two coffees every November 11th to anyone who wants to sit here and remember someone.

Philip looked at him proudly.

— Now you’re starting to understand what it means to have coffee.

Nathan smiled.

— Maybe.

That afternoon, Theo came again.

Sit with us.

I showed him the sign.

His eyes filled with tears.

— My grandfather would love this.

— I know, I told him.

Then the young man took his cell phone out of his pocket.

— Mrs. Josian, I have another piece of news.

My heart skipped a beat.

— What’s new?

— I was contacted by the local memory club.

— And?

— They want to organize a ceremony for your father.

My eyes filled with tears.

— When?

Theo smiled.

— Next November 11th.

I closed my eyes.

One year.

I would wait a year.

Like Gerard waited every year to return to table four.

But Theo wasn’t finished.

— And there is something else.

I looked at him.

— What?

— I was asked to tell you that the ceremony will not just be for your father. They will also honor my grandfather, because he never gave up trying to get his friend’s story heard.

I brought my hand to my mouth.

And then I realized something.

Gerard had died believing he had not done enough.

But in the end he had done something much greater.

He had kept alive a story that would otherwise have been lost.

And now, sixty-four years later, two friends would stand together again.

Not on the deck of a ship.

Not in an old photo.

But in the memory of an entire city.

CONTINUED IN THE FINAL PART…