A Time to Heal(18)

A woman in Plain clothing walked over to take their orders.Chris had spied an open-faced roast beef sandwich, with a huge mound of mashed potatoes and gravy atop it, carried by a waitress on a tray. He'd debated about ordering it or the pile of crispy fried chicken that he saw served to a teen at the next table. He spent several minutes deliberating on his choices and decided on the roast beef. That and a big hunk of pie and the trip would be worth it.

By the time he worked through most of the sandwich, though, he realized he felt pleasantly full. When he glanced at a nearby table, the teen who looked like a football player had set down a piece of fried chicken and taken a break from eating.

"How can people eat like this—Plain people, I mean—and not have a weight problem?"

"Hard work," Hannah said simply.

He noticed that she hadn't chosen a salad and picked at it the way some women did. Yet the modest dress she wore didn't hide extra weight. It had been obvious when he'd lifted her up to the loft that day that she didn't weigh much.

Hannah had been suspicious that he'd come here to steal her sister-in-law, Jenny, but the more time he spent with her, the more attractive Hannah seemed to him.

If only she would stop trying to draw him out. He'd grown used to keeping his own counsel for years. After all, talking wasn't encouraged on the battlefield, and it was difficult to establish any kind of relationship in a hospital where patients came and went quickly.

Well, many of them did. Those who were forced to stay long-term sometimes found it difficult to hang out together.It became hard to keep their spirits up and not sound like Pollyanna—harder still not to drag others down into depression when it covered him like a black cloud.

The place between his shoulders itched. Chris had felt it before on the battlefield but never in civilian life. Never in a restaurant. Had it happened because he'd been thinking about his counselor's teacher friend who didn't want to turn his back on his students?

Glancing around, Chris saw that several tourists stared in their direction. No, not in their direction, he corrected himself.They watched Hannah as though she were an exhibit in a zoo.

"It's all right," she said quietly.

He dragged his glance back to her. "What?"

"We're used to being stared at. Don't let it concern you."

"But it's not right that—"

"People are people," she told him and shrugged. "They're curious about the way we live. And you know, sometimes I'm curious about them. Besides, they're being respectful and not taking pictures."

She smiled as the waitress came to take her empty plates."So, Fannie Mae, how is your mother doing?"

The two women chatted about their families while Chris resumed eating his meal.

But the itch wouldn't go away.

A surreptitious glance showed people sitting at tables around them, eating and talking with their friends and family.One man, who looked to be in his fifties or sixties, sat alone at a table eating and not looking up. Everything seemed very benign.

Chris told himself that what they called "situational awareness" might be in overdrive for some reason. Out on the battlefield you had to pay attention to your intuition, to play your hunches. Some of his buddies at the hospital told him the feeling of being watched became hard to shake stateside, maybe because at a hospital the staff watched you for symptoms— physical and mental.

But he was here on vacation. He needed to relax and enjoy himself.

Gradually, he became aware that Hannah and her friend had stopped talking and were watching him. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"Fannie Mae's mother made her famous peanut butter pie.Would you like a slice?"

"Can't. Peanut allergy. I saw some peach pie go past that looked really good. I'll take a piece of that."

"Warm, with ice cream?" Fannie Mae asked him.

He grinned. "Now you're talking."

The waitress left and Hannah frowned. "Maybe I shouldn't have ordered that pie."

"Too full?"

She shook her head. "I wouldn't want it to cause you a problem."

It took him a few moments to get her meaning. "We'll only have a problem if you kiss me."

Color flamed in her cheeks. "I assure you I won't be doing that."

Chris tried to school his features but failed miserably. He laughed, and her eyes shot daggers at him.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist," he said.

He stared at her mouth and his grin faded. Silence stretched between them, a charged moment in time where the people around them, the noise they created, faded.

"Here you go," announced Fannie Mae, as she placed their pie before them. "One peanut butter and one peach with ice cream."

"So what will you do after today?" she asked him. "How long will you stay in the area?"