military?”
Her mouth twisted into the semblance of a smile. “Yes. He re-upped a few weeks before he was killed. Another two years. He was good at what he did.”
“He went into the military right after high school graduation.” Amazing how the memory still caused tightness in his chest.
Haley traced a droplet of condensation on the outside of her glass. “I know. He told me.”
“We always talked about going to college together—getting an apartment.”
“Plans change.” Haley slumped back against the seat, the too-large coat she wore sliding off her shoulders. Sighed. “If my friend Claire were here she would slap me right now—and then she’d make me apologize. Well, actually, Claire’s too much of a lady to slap anyone.”
Was it too late to invite Claire to join them for dinner?
“But I do apologize.” The smile on her face was a mere shadow of the real thing. “Claire would be proud of how quickly I recovered my manners. I’ll pretend she’s sitting next to me and we’ll see if things go better the rest of the time.”
“Did Sam deploy often?”
“Yes.” She paused when their salads arrived, allowing the waitress to grind pepper over hers. Her hair shimmered in the lamplight when she bowed her head for a moment, eyes closed. Saying grace? If she was, she didn’t include him in the process.
Silence settled in the booth as they ate their salads even as the conversation and laughter of other people in the restaurant ebbedand flowed, buoyed by the upbeat music piping through the building. Haley seemed content to let him handle the one-sided conversation. He asked questions. She answered them. And that would be the routine from salad to dessert. And then what? She’d exit the restaurant and never look back? He’d have a sixty-minute sound bite of his brother’s life. Was that enough to fill the yawning relational gap between him and Sam? Hardly.
Stephen helped himself to more salad. “What did Sam like to do?”
“Pardon?” She paused with a forkful of lettuce in midair.
“Besides work, what did Sam like to do?”
“Um, I met him the second time when he and some buddies came to the shooting range where I work.”
A laugh slipped past Stephen’s take-it-one-step-at-a-time approach. “I noticed you’re, um, comfortable with guns. What do you do at the range?”
“I participated in competitive pistol shooting in high school and college.” For once, the distant look in Haley’s eyes disappeared. “I’ve been teaching gun safety classes at the club.”
When she didn’t elaborate, Stephen moved the conversation on. “So Sam liked to shoot, too?”
“Yeah.” She ate some salad, chewing for so long he wondered if that was all she was going to say. “I mean, he had to pass firearm certification—but he liked shooting for fun, too.”
“Did you guys shoot together—you know, as a hobby?”
“No.”
Another dead-end topic—and time for a different question. “Sam and I wrestled from middle school into high school. Do you know if he kept that up?”
“He never said.”
“What did Sam do in the army exactly?”
“He was a medic.”
“Wait . . . a medic?” His hoot of laughter broke the stillness in the booth once again. “Sam hated the sight of blood when we were kids.”
“Guess he outgrew it.”
“And aren’t medics considered noncombatants? Why would a sniper—”
“Do you really think enemy snipers have a code of ethics? Don’t be naïve.”
“I’m not naïve—”
“Forget it.” Haley shook her head, eyes closed. “Believe me, you didn’t say anything I haven’t thought.”
How did she switch gears like that? “Did Sam plan on making the military a career—I mean, was he going to stay in until retirement?”
“I don’t know. We hadn’t discussed it that much. It was a possibility.”
The waiter delivered their entrees: a steaming serving of sixteen-layer lasagna for him, and a trio of lasagna, chicken parmigiana, and
Her mouth twisted into the semblance of a smile. “Yes. He re-upped a few weeks before he was killed. Another two years. He was good at what he did.”
“He went into the military right after high school graduation.” Amazing how the memory still caused tightness in his chest.
Haley traced a droplet of condensation on the outside of her glass. “I know. He told me.”
“We always talked about going to college together—getting an apartment.”
“Plans change.” Haley slumped back against the seat, the too-large coat she wore sliding off her shoulders. Sighed. “If my friend Claire were here she would slap me right now—and then she’d make me apologize. Well, actually, Claire’s too much of a lady to slap anyone.”
Was it too late to invite Claire to join them for dinner?
“But I do apologize.” The smile on her face was a mere shadow of the real thing. “Claire would be proud of how quickly I recovered my manners. I’ll pretend she’s sitting next to me and we’ll see if things go better the rest of the time.”
“Did Sam deploy often?”
“Yes.” She paused when their salads arrived, allowing the waitress to grind pepper over hers. Her hair shimmered in the lamplight when she bowed her head for a moment, eyes closed. Saying grace? If she was, she didn’t include him in the process.
Silence settled in the booth as they ate their salads even as the conversation and laughter of other people in the restaurant ebbedand flowed, buoyed by the upbeat music piping through the building. Haley seemed content to let him handle the one-sided conversation. He asked questions. She answered them. And that would be the routine from salad to dessert. And then what? She’d exit the restaurant and never look back? He’d have a sixty-minute sound bite of his brother’s life. Was that enough to fill the yawning relational gap between him and Sam? Hardly.
Stephen helped himself to more salad. “What did Sam like to do?”
“Pardon?” She paused with a forkful of lettuce in midair.
“Besides work, what did Sam like to do?”
“Um, I met him the second time when he and some buddies came to the shooting range where I work.”
A laugh slipped past Stephen’s take-it-one-step-at-a-time approach. “I noticed you’re, um, comfortable with guns. What do you do at the range?”
“I participated in competitive pistol shooting in high school and college.” For once, the distant look in Haley’s eyes disappeared. “I’ve been teaching gun safety classes at the club.”
When she didn’t elaborate, Stephen moved the conversation on. “So Sam liked to shoot, too?”
“Yeah.” She ate some salad, chewing for so long he wondered if that was all she was going to say. “I mean, he had to pass firearm certification—but he liked shooting for fun, too.”
“Did you guys shoot together—you know, as a hobby?”
“No.”
Another dead-end topic—and time for a different question. “Sam and I wrestled from middle school into high school. Do you know if he kept that up?”
“He never said.”
“What did Sam do in the army exactly?”
“He was a medic.”
“Wait . . . a medic?” His hoot of laughter broke the stillness in the booth once again. “Sam hated the sight of blood when we were kids.”
“Guess he outgrew it.”
“And aren’t medics considered noncombatants? Why would a sniper—”
“Do you really think enemy snipers have a code of ethics? Don’t be naïve.”
“I’m not naïve—”
“Forget it.” Haley shook her head, eyes closed. “Believe me, you didn’t say anything I haven’t thought.”
How did she switch gears like that? “Did Sam plan on making the military a career—I mean, was he going to stay in until retirement?”
“I don’t know. We hadn’t discussed it that much. It was a possibility.”
The waiter delivered their entrees: a steaming serving of sixteen-layer lasagna for him, and a trio of lasagna, chicken parmigiana, and
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