"Do you remember me?" I ask.
"Yes, she says. "You'd like a merlot." My heart sinks. "How's your granddad?" She asks.
I could cry. "Fran," I say, "I feel just terrible."
"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Her eyes wet with sympathy.
"No, no, my grandfather is still doing OK. I feel terrible because the last time I was here I asked you to break a twenty so I could tip you and then I left without tipping you!" I'm begging for forgiveness. I hate the thought of kind and good Fran holding bitterness in her heart toward me. It would be like Mother Teresa spitting at you.
"You did?" She asks, putting on that sweet smile and lowering her eyes to watch my glass fill.
"Yes!" I proclaim, "So take this, please!" I hand her a twenty dollar bill.
"No!" She says, humbly, waving a napkin at me, "Oh no!"
"Yes!" I insist, "This has been on my conscience ever since it happened. Please. Help me out."
"Well, OK." She blushes as she takes the money and I am released. Still loved by Fran! From then on, when she saw me coming, the merlot was in the glass waiting for me before I even got to the bar, and she always asked about my Granddad.
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