"Gentlemen," Sam says as I approach. "This is Bo Gates. Marine pilot. Just got back."
One of them, a guy maybe forty with a graying beard and a Navy anchor tattoo on his forearm, nods. I'd seen him around town, but didn't know him personally. "Name's Jake. Sit down before Ethel yells at you for blocking the aisle."
I slide into the booth.
Ethel appears almost instantly. She’s short, older, with her hair pinned up and an apron around her waist. She sets a mug of coffee in front of me without asking.
"New blood," she says. "Good. These old goats need fresh material."
"Ethel, you wound me," Sam says, pressing a hand to his chest.
She snorts. "You'll live." Then she's gone, moving through the diner with efficient ease.
The conversation starts slowly. Nothing heavy. Someone mentions a truck repair. Another guy talks about his grandson's science project. Jake complains about the price of hay.
It's normal. Easy.
A guy named Levi sat across from me. He was in his mid-thirties and enlisted a few years before me. We'd grown up in the same school since I was eight. Levi clears his throat. "Trash truck came by at four in the morning last Tuesday. Loud metal crash. Startled me badly enough, I didn't sleep the rest of the night."
No one jumps in with advice or tries to fix it.
Sam just nods. "That's a hard one."
Levi exhales. "Yeah."
That's it. The acknowledgment is enough.
The conversation drifts again. Someone mentions a fishing spot. Jake argues about the best brand of motor oil.
And somewhere in the middle of it, I realize my shoulders have dropped. My chest doesn't feel tight.
I'm not performing. I'm not pretending to be fine.
I'm just here.
Sam catches my eye and gives me a small nod.
I nod back.
After breakfast, the others filter out one by one. Jake claps me on the shoulder on his way past. Levi nods.
I linger, and Sam stays behind, Molly lying calm and steady under the table near his feet.
"You met Molly the other day," he says.
I nod. "Yeah."
"Best thing I ever did for myself," Sam continues. "Had a litter a while back. Lost most of them, but one pup survived. Rowdy. Little guy's got his mama's temperament, steady, smart, doesn't miss a thing." He pauses. "Been waiting to find the right person for him."
Something in me stirs. "I don't know if I'm?—"
"You don't have to decide now," Sam says. "Just think about it. Dogs don't fix everything. But they help."
I nod slowly.
Sam stands and drops a few bills on the table. "See you next Monday, Gates."
"Yeah," I say. "See you."
