We eat in silence for a few minutes.
"What did you want to be?"he asks suddenly."Before the Marines.Before everything.What did you dream about?"
The question catches me off guard.No one's asked me that in years.
"I wanted to be a teacher," I say."Elementary school.Second or third grade.I liked the idea of helping kids learn.Making a difference."
"What stopped you?"
"I joined the Marines instead.Seemed like a better option at the time.More practical.Better benefits."I shrug."And I was good at it.The structure.The discipline.It made sense."
"You miss it?"
"Sometimes.Not the deployments.Not the combat.But the sense of purpose.Knowing exactly what I was supposed to do and how to do it."I take a bite of sandwich."Civilian life is harder.More choices.Less structure."
"Yeah.I know what you mean."
"Do you miss it?The Army?"
"Parts of it.The brotherhood.The mission.Knowing my team had my back no matter what."He's quiet for a moment."But I don't miss the politics.The bureaucracy.The feeling that you're expendable no matter how much you give."
"Is that why you got out?"
"That's part of it.The leg was the excuse.But I think I was ready to go anyway.Fifteen years is a long time.I'd seen enough.Done enough."He looks at me."What about you?Why'd you really get out?"
I set my sandwich down."Randall."
"I figured."
"Staying in meant staying with him.Or at least staying on the same base.Seeing him every day.Having people choose sides.I just wanted out.Wanted to disappear."
"And you did."
"For eight months.Until he found me."
"He's not going to find you again.Not here."
I want to believe him.But I've learned not to trust hope.
"He always finds me," I say."That's what he does.He's patient.Methodical.He'll wait as long as it takes."
"Then we'll be ready when he comes."
I look at him, at the determination in his eyes, and something in me loosens.Just a little.
"Why aren't you afraid of him?"I ask.
"I am.But not for me.For you."
"That's not the same thing."
"No.It's not."He reaches across the table and takes my hand."I've been in worse situations.Faced worse enemies.I can handle guys like Randall."
We finish eating, and then Timothy insists on doing the dishes.I try to help, but he shoos me away.
"Go relax," he says."Read a book.Watch TV.Take a nap.Whatever you want."
"I don't know how to relax anymore."
