happened. But security work did?”
He looked at her then, and suddenly he nodded. A single quick slash of his chin.
A yes. “So why are you ashamed of it? Why don’t you just say you like catching bad guys? You…” she thought about the way he ate his waffle. Neat squares cut in neat little rows. Not in an OCD neurotic way, but she hadn’t forgotten that he’d cleaned up her clothes before he’d left her bedroom. “You like things orderly.”
“I like rules, Alea. And I like for people to obey them. Orders are usually there for a reason, and when people don’t follow them—”
“Bikes get stolen.”
“Bombs get driven onto Air Force bases.”
Right. Orders of magnitude, but the same principle. “So you find fulfillment in your job. That’s good. Maybe not quite happiness, but purpose.”
He looked at her and shrugged. If she didn’t spend her days interpreting teenage body language, she might not have understood that shrug. But in this case, she had a pretty good guess. After all, she’d been listening to Sam bitch about military command for years. “Trouble in paradise?”
“A military base in Afghanistan is about as far as you can get from paradise.”
“Right, but—”
“But yeah. There’s trouble.” He nodded to the waitress who picked up their dirty plates. Then he scooped up the bill before she could reach for it.
“Hey! I invited you.”
“I can pay for my meal, Alea.”
“Touchy, touchy. I never said you couldn’t. Just that I invited you to breakfast.”
“Threatened me with my sisters—”
“Which means I should be footing the bill.”
He nodded. “You should. But I’m going to.” Clearly he thought that was the end of that discussion.
She gave in with grudging grace. “Fine. You can pay provided you finish what you were saying.”
Silence. Or more accurately, a stare down. She won as he finally sighed.
“You were telling me, ‘trouble in paradise.’”
“Oh.” He finished his coffee. “No promotions.”
“What?”
“I’ve gone about as high as I’m going to go for a while. A long while.”
“Until someone retires or dies.” She meant it as a joke, but then realized belatedly that in the military, people did die. Regularly. “I’m sorry. That was tactless. That’s not—”
“I know. And…you got it. I’m stuck for now.”
“What about a transfer?”
“Won’t help. Not enough.”
“Oh. That sucks.”
He looked at her, surprise in his eyes.
“What?” she asked.
“You’re not going to tell me to get out. To come home and get a real job?”
“You do have a real job.”
“I know that.”
She filled in the rest. “But your sisters and mother don’t seem to understand, do they?”
“Nope.”
She leaned forward. They needed to leave the restaurant. The line for seating was getting long, but this was too important to let slide. “Forget them. They didn’t influence your decision to go into the military. Don’t let them tell you when to get out.”
His gaze flicked to hers with a strange expression. Oh shit. They had influenced his decision. “Wait a moment. You went in because of them?”
“I… They…” He grimaced and stood up. “Let’s take a walk.”
She scrambled to follow. Fortunately, the weather was perfect outside, and she wouldn’t do anything to interrupt his suddenly talkative mood. It took a while for them to pay and leave, but eventually they were outside. He’d arrived on his motorcycle, but the beach was near enough. That’s one of the reasons she’d picked this restaurant. They could wander down to the sand. They were a block away before he started talking.
“Do you remember my dad?”
“As flamboyant, almost manic. He always had a funny story or a business idea.”
John nodded. “That was his public face. At home he was more whiny, moody, and irresponsible. Always with a get-rich-quick scheme. Never with the follow-through. And never, ever his fault.”
“With your mom working long
He looked at her then, and suddenly he nodded. A single quick slash of his chin.
A yes. “So why are you ashamed of it? Why don’t you just say you like catching bad guys? You…” she thought about the way he ate his waffle. Neat squares cut in neat little rows. Not in an OCD neurotic way, but she hadn’t forgotten that he’d cleaned up her clothes before he’d left her bedroom. “You like things orderly.”
“I like rules, Alea. And I like for people to obey them. Orders are usually there for a reason, and when people don’t follow them—”
“Bikes get stolen.”
“Bombs get driven onto Air Force bases.”
Right. Orders of magnitude, but the same principle. “So you find fulfillment in your job. That’s good. Maybe not quite happiness, but purpose.”
He looked at her and shrugged. If she didn’t spend her days interpreting teenage body language, she might not have understood that shrug. But in this case, she had a pretty good guess. After all, she’d been listening to Sam bitch about military command for years. “Trouble in paradise?”
“A military base in Afghanistan is about as far as you can get from paradise.”
“Right, but—”
“But yeah. There’s trouble.” He nodded to the waitress who picked up their dirty plates. Then he scooped up the bill before she could reach for it.
“Hey! I invited you.”
“I can pay for my meal, Alea.”
“Touchy, touchy. I never said you couldn’t. Just that I invited you to breakfast.”
“Threatened me with my sisters—”
“Which means I should be footing the bill.”
He nodded. “You should. But I’m going to.” Clearly he thought that was the end of that discussion.
She gave in with grudging grace. “Fine. You can pay provided you finish what you were saying.”
Silence. Or more accurately, a stare down. She won as he finally sighed.
“You were telling me, ‘trouble in paradise.’”
“Oh.” He finished his coffee. “No promotions.”
“What?”
“I’ve gone about as high as I’m going to go for a while. A long while.”
“Until someone retires or dies.” She meant it as a joke, but then realized belatedly that in the military, people did die. Regularly. “I’m sorry. That was tactless. That’s not—”
“I know. And…you got it. I’m stuck for now.”
“What about a transfer?”
“Won’t help. Not enough.”
“Oh. That sucks.”
He looked at her, surprise in his eyes.
“What?” she asked.
“You’re not going to tell me to get out. To come home and get a real job?”
“You do have a real job.”
“I know that.”
She filled in the rest. “But your sisters and mother don’t seem to understand, do they?”
“Nope.”
She leaned forward. They needed to leave the restaurant. The line for seating was getting long, but this was too important to let slide. “Forget them. They didn’t influence your decision to go into the military. Don’t let them tell you when to get out.”
His gaze flicked to hers with a strange expression. Oh shit. They had influenced his decision. “Wait a moment. You went in because of them?”
“I… They…” He grimaced and stood up. “Let’s take a walk.”
She scrambled to follow. Fortunately, the weather was perfect outside, and she wouldn’t do anything to interrupt his suddenly talkative mood. It took a while for them to pay and leave, but eventually they were outside. He’d arrived on his motorcycle, but the beach was near enough. That’s one of the reasons she’d picked this restaurant. They could wander down to the sand. They were a block away before he started talking.
“Do you remember my dad?”
“As flamboyant, almost manic. He always had a funny story or a business idea.”
John nodded. “That was his public face. At home he was more whiny, moody, and irresponsible. Always with a get-rich-quick scheme. Never with the follow-through. And never, ever his fault.”
“With your mom working long
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