Maya reached for an apron anyway.
“You are short staffed.”
“You are a consultant.”
“Today, yes.”
Denise laughed and surrendered the apron.
During the lunch rush, a young sailor approached with his right hand wrapped in a light support brace. He looked embarrassed when the person beside him asked about it.
“Reported it yesterday,” he said. “Medical says two weeks modified duty.”
His friend grimaced. “Bad timing.”
“Better than making it worse.”
Maya looked up.
The sailor did not know who she was.
That made the sentence sweeter.
Later, Denise handed Maya an envelope.
Inside was a small laminated card from the return-to-duty program. On one side, it listed early warning signs for hand and nerve problems. On the other was a line suggested by an officer participant during the pilot:
READINESS IS NOT HIDING DAMAGE.
No name appeared on the card.
Denise raised an eyebrow. “Guess who wrote the line.”
Maya knew.
She reached beneath her collar and touched the silver ring hanging from the chain.
David would have liked it.
Near the coffee station, someone dropped a cup. It hit the counter, rolled once, and was caught by a sailor before it reached the floor.
Nobody laughed.
The sailor flexed his hand, accepted help from the person beside him, and kept moving through the line.
Maya poured the next cup of coffee, warm this time, and watched the room return to ordinary noise.
For once, ordinary felt like a victory.
