—Cream? Sugar?
—Black is fine.
He nodded approvingly and poured two mugs. The coffee was strong and bitter, the kind that leaves a film on your teeth. I wrapped my cold hands around the warm ceramic and took a sip. It burned going down, but it was real. Grounding.
We sat in silence for a while. The clock on the wall ticked. Max snored softly. Somewhere in the house, a furnace kicked on with a low rumble.
—I was in country for eighteen months, Mr. Briggs said finally. His voice was distant, like he was reading from a book written in a language he was still trying to forget. Saw things. Did things. Came home and couldn’t figure out how to be a person anymore.
I didn’t say anything. I just listened.
—My wife left. Can’t blame her. I wasn’t the man she married. I was something else. Something broken. Spent a lot of years drinking. Spent a lot of nights with a gun in my mouth, trying to work up the courage to pull the trigger.
Max lifted his head and whined softly. Mr. Briggs reached down and rubbed the dog’s ears.
—Then I got Max. Through a program. Wounded Warriors. They gave me a dog who’d seen combat too, who’d been retired after taking shrapnel in his shoulder. He knew. The moment we met, he knew. He climbed into my lap and put his head on my chest and just… breathed. Like he was showing me how.
He looked at me then, and his eyes were wet.
—That dog taught me how to breathe again. And tonight, when those cans fell, I was back there. I was back in the sand, hearing mortars, hearing screams. I couldn’t find my way out. But Max found me. He always finds me.
—And that manager was going to hurt him.
—He was going to try. Max would’ve let him. He’s trained not to react. He would’ve taken that kick and stayed right where he was, protecting me. Because that’s what he does. That’s who he is.
Mr. Briggs set down his coffee mug and leaned forward. His hands were steady now.
—And you—you saw that. You saw a man who was going to hurt a dog who couldn’t fight back, and you threw yourself in front of him. You didn’t know me. You didn’t know Max. You just knew what was right.
I swallowed hard. My throat felt tight.
—My mom used to say that courage isn’t about not being scared. It’s about being scared and doing the thing anyway.
—Your mom sounds like a smart woman.
—She was.
The past tense hung in the air between us. Mr. Briggs nodded slowly. He understood. He understood loss in a way most people my age couldn’t comprehend.
—She’d be proud of you tonight.
I looked down at my coffee. The surface was still, dark, reflecting the dim kitchen light.
—I hope so.
We talked for another hour. About nothing. About everything. About his time in the service and my time at community college. About Max’s favorite treats and the way the sunrise looked over the mountains in the fall. About the price of groceries and the weight of student loans and the quiet desperation of being young and broke in a world that didn’t seem to have room for either.
When I finally stood to leave, my back protested sharply. I winced, and Mr. Briggs noticed.
—Let me see.
—It’s fine.
—That’s not what I asked.
I hesitated, then lifted my shirt. Mr. Briggs sucked in a breath through his teeth. Even in the dim light, I could see the reflection of the bruise in his eyes. It was already turning purple and black, spreading across my shoulder blade like spilled ink.
—You need ice. And ibuprofen. And probably a doctor.
—Can’t afford a doctor.
He was quiet for a moment. Then he disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a bottle of pills and a frozen bag of peas wrapped in a dish towel.
—Sit.
I sat. He pressed the cold pack against my shoulder, and I hissed at the contact. Max got up from his bed and walked over, resting his head on my knee. His brown eyes looked up at me with something that felt like understanding.
—You’re a good kid, Ryan Holloway.
—I’m not a kid.
—You’re nineteen. That makes you a kid. But it also makes you a man. The two things aren’t mutually exclusive.
He stepped back and looked at me for a long moment.
—What are you going to do now?
—I don’t know. Find another job. Figure out how to pay rent. Try not to flunk out of school.
—That’s a lot for anyone to carry.
