20
GRAY
I came out of the shower and went into my walk-in closet to get dressed and couldn’t help but listen to Emory on the phone.
“I’m fine. Everything is good here, so you don’t have to worry about me.”
All was quiet as she listened, and I pulled on some boxers.
“Really? You have to memorize the entire meal and yell it in the hallway? What on earth does that have to do with the Navy?”
Her son. Chris. I was glad she was talking to him. She was a mother, and she’d mentioned him often enough, even saw pictures of him around her house, read his name in that f*****g text, but having him be on the phone made him real. The sound of her voice changed when she talked to him; it brightened and softened. She laughed at something he said and was obviously reassured he was fine. “How many push
