Though the tension in Mitch’s neck knotted his muscles, inside he was calm. He chose a booth in an isolated corner, out of view from the restaurant. Mitch could see the doorway and counter, but Johnny could not. Pepper approached them. “What’ll ya have, gentlemen?” “Coffee.” Mitch looked at Johnny. “The same.” They were the first words the boy had spoken since his revelation. Mitch respected his privacy; he knew Johnny needed time to get back some of his control. After they were served, Mitch circled his mug with his hands, blew on the coffee and sipped. Johnny still stared out the window. “How old were you when he died?” “Ten.” “It was bad?” Johnny nodded. “You ever tell anybody about this?” “No.” “Not even Cassie?” He shook his head. “She wouldn’t have done this unit if she’d known.” Johnny looked at him then. “About you, either.” “What?” “If she’d known about you being in Vietnam, she wouldn’t have done the unit.” That gave Mitch food for thought.
