Chương 11
“I saw.”
“He works with aviation personnel and special operations support.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“He also has no authority to remove your qualification.”
“That does make me feel better.”
“His job is evaluation and treatment recommendations.”
“Treatment.”
“Yes.”
“I haven't agreed to treatment.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“But if you enter the evaluation already planning which answers keep you operational, we will have another problem.”
I unwrapped the peppermint.
“I dislike how many people assume I'm dishonest now.”
Patel's expression softened by half a degree.
“I don't think you're dishonest.”
“You just described me concealing symptoms.”
“You were dishonest.”
“That sounds remarkably like thinking I'm dishonest.”
“No.”
She pointed at me with the pen.
“Do not turn behavior into identity because identity is easier to defend.”
I stared at her.
“Did Mercer call everyone on base and tell them to become therapists?”
“Mercer?”
Her brow furrowed.
I regretted mentioning him.
“Nothing.”
She studied me.
“What happened at the evaluation?”
I considered keeping it brief.
Then I remembered what she had just said about answers designed to preserve status.
“He thought the scars were self-inflicted.”
Patel's face changed.
“What?”
“The mission records weren't available when he started the assessment.”
“He asked whether you injured yourself?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I said no.”
“What happened after that?”
“He was preparing to recommend psychiatric evaluation and suspend my operational status.”
Patel sat very still.
“How did the records become available?”
“Admiral Bennett arrived with legal.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“With legal?”
“And Marcus.”
“Senior Chief Rowe?”
“Yes.”
“On crutches.”
Patel stared.
“That man is clinically incapable of ordinary entrances.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
She let me.
“What did Rowe do?”
I touched my pocket.
The insignia pressed against my fingers.
“He gave me his Trident.”
Patel's expression went blank.
“He gave you what?”
“His warfare insignia.”
“I know what a Trident is.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“You didn't ask?”
“I did.”
“And?”
I looked down.
“He said he wanted me to have it.”
Patel leaned back slowly.
There was a long silence.
“Where is it?”
I pulled the insignia from my pocket.
Even under office lighting, the gold caught every movement.
Patel stared at it.
Her expression was difficult to read.
Not awe.
Something more careful.
“Put that somewhere safe.”
“I intend to return it.”
“Does he intend to take it back?”
“Not currently.”
“Then don't decide what the gesture means before you're able to hear what he meant by it.”
I looked at her.
“Everyone has become very philosophical today.”
“It's fourteen twenty.”
She looked at the wall clock.
“Philosophy usually starts after lunch.”
I returned the insignia to my pocket.
Patel closed the administrative duty form.
“You are dismissed until zero seven tomorrow.”
“I can work.”
“You can go home.”
“I'd rather work.”
“That is one reason you're going home.”
“I have nothing to do there.”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
I stood.
Patel looked at me.
“Ward.”
“Yes, ma'am?”
“You are not being punished for surviving.”
The peppermint stopped moving between my fingers.
She continued before I could answer.
“You are being held responsible for what you do after surviving.”
I swallowed.
“Yes, ma'am.”
Outside her office, the broken fountain was still wearing its sign.
I stood in front of it long enough for the yeoman to glance at me twice.
Then I kicked it lightly.
Water sputtered from the nozzle.
The yeoman raised both eyebrows.
“It knew what it did,” I said.
He looked at the sign.
“Fair.”
I drove home instead of returning to the clinic.
My apartment felt unfamiliar at three in the afternoon.
I was rarely there while the sun was still high enough to reveal the dust on the television stand.
There were two mugs in the sink, a laundry basket I had been pretending not to see for four days, and a carton of eggs in the refrigerator that had expired yesterday.
I threw away the eggs.
Then I took them back out of the trash because I wasn't completely certain expiration dates on eggs worked that way.
I searched my phone.
They were probably fine.
I put them back in the refrigerator.
This felt like a poor use of medical training.
At four twelve, someone knocked.
I assumed it was a delivery.
Marcus stood outside on his crutches.
I stared at him.
“How did you get here?”
“My wife.”
A woman leaned out the passenger window of a dark SUV parked at the curb.
“I'm not staying,” she called.
Marcus turned.
“Dana.”
“You said ten minutes.”
“I said approximately.”
“You said ten.”
She looked at me.
“You're Elena?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She pointed at Marcus.
“He skipped lunch.”
“I had coffee.”
“That is not lunch.”
“It contained calories.”
Dana looked at me.
“Please don't encourage him.”
“I never do.”
“Excellent.”
She drove away.
Marcus watched the SUV disappear.
“I feel abandoned.”
“You arranged this.”
“I underestimated her commitment.”
I stepped aside.
“What are you doing here?”
“Occupational therapy.”
“At my apartment?”
He lifted one hand.
In it was a cheap plastic shopping bag.
“What is that?”
“Dinner.”
“You just got accused of skipping lunch.”
“I contain contradictions.”
He came inside.
Getting him up the short flight of stairs took almost five minutes and produced language that would have embarrassed most sailors.
At the top, he stopped to breathe.
I pretended to inspect the mail on the counter.
He pretended not to notice.
When he finally lowered himself onto my couch, I took the bag.
Inside were two frozen pizzas, a bag of salad, and a box of chocolate cookies.
“This is terrible.”
“That's insulting.”
“You're feeding a physician frozen pizza.”
“I'm feeding a physician who apparently owns expired eggs.”
I turned.
“How do you know about the eggs?”
“I looked in your refrigerator.”
“When?”
“Just now.”
“You've been sitting down.”
He pointed toward the bag.
“I also have eyes.”
I looked inside again.
May you like
A carton of eggs sat underneath the cookies.
“You brought eggs?”
