Did he actually miss their noise?
I brought the food to the table. “He and Beth are spending a lot of time together.”
“And that worries you,” Ash said quietly. “Because of his combat experience.”
“I admire his service. But he has issues.”
“He’s dealing with them.”
“By talking to you.”
“You know I can’t discuss that.”
Subject closed.
Just as well. Despite the intimacy, the familiarity, the, oh, thecomfortof eating dinner together, Ash hadn’t really changed. He had issues, too.
“This chili is very good,” he said.
“Thanks.”
We ate.
Ash lowered his fork. “Soldiers aren’t supposed to need help. Especially not emotional help.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Red stained his cheekbones. “I wasn’t talking about myself.”
“You never do.”
“There’s a... stigma to seeking counseling. I used to stock my tent so that my men would have an excuse to stop by and talk.”
I smiled, remembering. “We were always sending you movies and candy and books and stuff.”
“Your care packages helped a lot of homesick soldiers.”
A fall of notes drifted down the stairs. Beth, playing guitar. It was nice to have music in the house again. I was glad she had played for Mr. Laurence.
“You helped them,” I said. “I just baked cookies.”
Ash shook his head slightly. “I can offer support and resources. I can facilitate group discussions. But I’m not a medical professional. There’s a limit to what I can do.”
I gave him a steady look. “Are we still talking about Dan?”
The flush spread across his high-bridged nose. But he surprised me by answering. “Dan has made a lot of progress. He isn’t relying on me. He’s doing the work.”
“He’s a good worker,” I acknowledged.
“But Beth is your daughter.”
“Our daughter,” I reminded him.
“I wasn’t much of a father.”
I couldn’t argue with him there. Anyway, it wasn’t my job to make excuses for him anymore. “It’s never too late.”
His eyes, light as ash, met mine with odd intensity. “Isn’t it?”
