Eggs over easy, with hash browns and diced sausage and mushrooms, steams on the plate as David sets it down in front of Jason. The two sat opposite each other in a booth by the window, overlooking the parking lot and the road beyond.

"I saw you cook this, and I'm still surprised you did," Jason said, spreading a napkin on his leg and taking up his knife and fork. "It looks so professional."

Hands around a cup of hot tea, David's black-tipped nails agitated against the ceramic. "It's just eggs."

"Maybe to you," Jason said. Taking a bite, he moaned lightly. "God, that hits the spot. Hey, what about this? You could go to culinary school."

"I don't love it that much."

"How about a diner of your own?"

"No," called Nancy sternly with a matching glare, from the counter where she was reading a book. "He's not."

Jason backed down with open palms as David giggled silently.

"Hey," David said.

Jason looked up from his food.

"Can I ask you...a personal question?"

"Sure," he said, taking a sip of coffee. "But I reserve the right not to answer."

David nodded. Looking at the table, he paused, collecting his thoughts, then began slowly. "You said you came to Ulysses because you're also from a small town, and the military was your way out. It was what saved you."

"That's right."

"Then," dark rimmed eyes looked up to meet brown, "why are you no longer in active service?"

Jason's eyes showed his surprise, but also something else, before he looked away. He mixed some egg and hash, forked it up, but then put down his fork without eating.

"I'm sorry," David said quickly. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No," Jason said. "No, it's fine. I'll answer." He sat back in the booth and raised his coffee. "The short answer is, I was discharged because of an injury." His left hand unconsciously went up to slide along the right side of his chest and shoulder. "Enemy fire, during patrol. Halfway through my second tour, I was done."

"Oh." A pause. "Does it bother you?"

Jason met his dark, knowing gaze, and smiled. "That my service got cut short? I'd be lying if I said it didn't. But," he smiled, dropping his hand from his shoulder, "I'm able to serve in other ways. And I'm grateful. The military helped me understand who I was, gave me a place to belong. I was a foster kid who aged out of the system; the service gave me lifelong friends, family, direction, a purpose." He put down his cup and picked up his fork. "That's what I'm trying to do for others now. Like your friend, Drew—who's not your friend, yes, I know, I know."

David watched him return to eating, content in his life's choices. It was a feeling he could not understand. "Can I ask you another question?"

"Shoot," came the muffled response around a mouthful of eggs.

"What happens," he began slowly, "to those who aren't fit for the military?"

Jason looked up at the quiet voice and met the dark gaze.

"How can people like you, but not like you, find...what you found?" David looked away. "Sorry, that doesn't make sense, I—"

"Yes, it does."

David met the steady, understanding gaze.

"I don't have an answer for you, David," Jason said. "But my answer—the military—is only one out of many. There are other answers out there, waiting to be found. With a little help from the friendly neighborhood recruiter, if you'll have me."

David looked at him, met the open and smiling face and could not help smiling back.

They talked for hours, about Jason's various teenage infractions, and about David's, and about other little things. At about nine o'clock, Jason's empty dishes between them, they were deep in conversation when it was broken by the sound of the door opening and the bell above it jingling. In walked Earnie, the proprietor.

"What a shame," he was saying loudly, taking his hat off to reveal a shiny bald head. "What a crying shame!" Looking around, he spotted David and Jason, who'd turned to look at him, and moved towards them. "Such a shame," he repeated, like a death lament. "And so young too! Can you believe it?"

"Did something happen, Earnie?" David asked.

"Did something happen? Did something happen? Oh, if only something didn't happen!"

Nancy, who had gone up to the apartment above the dinner, came back down at the sound of her husband's voice. Coming into the dinner from a door behind the counter, she said, "Oh, quite being dramatic and just tell us what happened."

"Such a crying shame," he repeated, shaking his head. "Such a shame. Last play of the night, down by four points and with ten seconds to go, he gets caught in a bad spot and blows his shoulder and knee out. Such a damn, crying shame."

"Well, who did?" asked Nancy, looking concerned.

"Who do you think?" Earnie said somberly. "That Drew Boutan did. Such a shame. He'll never play ball again. His whole career is over."

**

Nancy locked up soon after Earnie's return, and David and Jason stood outside the front door, facing the bracing chill of the night. The air was cold and speckled with wet drops of rain, smelling of petrol and French fries. David dug deeply into the pockets of his hoodie, and Jason pulled his collar up around his face.

"Not to sound like Earnie," Jason said, "but that really is a shame about Drew."

"Yeah," David murmured.

"He must be devastated."

"Yeah."

Jason paused. "Can I give you a ride home?"

David glanced at him sideways, then nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."

Once at his car, however, Jason suddenly had second thoughts. "Maybe I shouldn't," he said.

Looking at him over the hood of the dark blue car, David frowned. "Why?"

"You're still a minor."

David blinked in true surprise, and then he did something utterly unexpected—he laughed. It wasn't loud, but clear and bright, showing his teeth and rounding his cheeks. "Don't worry, Jason," he said, an amused smile on his lips and twinkling in his eyes. "This isn't my first time getting into a car with a strange man."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Jason said. "Because it doesn't. It really doesn't."

Chuckling quietly, David opened the car door and slipped into the passenger seat. "It's fine," he said.

"Hang on," Jason said, getting in himself. "Whose car did you get into? David? I know you can hear me. Don't make me lecture you about stranger danger."

"Says the stranger whose car I'm in."

Jason opened his mouth, but David's laughter stopped him. He got in behind the wheel and gave a half-serious humph! "Just this once, but do it again, and I'm going to tell Nancy on you."

"Tattletale."

"And don't you forget it."

**

It was earlier than he usually went home, especially on a Friday night, but David knew that Jason wouldn't take him anywhere else. And in fact, the car did not pull off until David was in the house. It wasn't very late, and the young man was just going to wait a few minutes, to make sure Jason was gone and wouldn't see him, and then head to one of his night hangouts. But he heard voices from the den down the hall. Two of them were his parents, which made his insides drop, but the third made his heart flutter in his chest.

Slipping off his shoes, which would have thudded on the bare hardwood floors, he slid along in his socks, down the hall towards a door ajar at the end. A sliver of light outlined the opening and sliced through the darkness. Despite David having been out, no light had been left on for his return.

Setting his back lightly against the wall, David stood inches from the opening and listened.

"We bought the tickets today," said his father with excitement in his voice.

"Yes," added his mother, equally riled up. "As soon as this big presentation at work is over, your dad and I will fly out to visit."

"It should be sometime next week," said the man.

"Just you two?" asked the third voice, a male, coming to them over speakerphone.

"Well, your aunt Erika wanted to come, too, but then Uncle Ned threw out his back and can't even stand."

"What about David?" asked the voice.

Outside in the dark, David's throat tightened and he bit his lip.

"What about him?" asked his father, dismissively.

"Does he not want to come visit me, too?" asked the voice, with a mix of hope and disappointment.

David could not see, but he could rightly imagine that his parents exchanged slightly concerned glances. "He'll be busy, sweetheart," said his mother. "It's end of term, he'll have exams. He can't come."

"I'll have exams, too," said the voice. "It's actually not that great a time for you to visit. I can come home for Christmas this year."

"Oh, no, no," said his mother quickly. "Christmas at home is for when you have a family of your own. When you're young you should travel and see the world. Which is why—oh, Fred, you tell him."

"Which is why," continued the man, "we weren't going to tell you until we got there, but for Christmas this year your mom and I are taking you to Egypt!"

"I—" began the voice, but it was talked over by the man and the woman until, after another few failed attempts at being heard, it went silent.

As his parents detailed everything they were going to do in Egypt—without him—David moved away from the door. Leaving the happily chattering couple and the light behind, he took his shoes and, as silently he arrived, departed back into the chilly night air.