“Petty Officer,” the older sailor said, “take one step back.”
Miller turned his head slowly.
The smile was still on his face, but it had started to lose its shape.
“Chief, we’re just—”
“No,” the older sailor said.
He did not yell.
He did not need to.
“We are not just anything.”
One of Miller’s teammates finally looked at George’s lapel for real.
His eyes narrowed.
Then he saw the visitor pass under the napkin, the folded program in George’s jacket pocket, and the small ribbon pin that Miller had mocked without recognizing.
His face went pale.
“Miller,” he whispered. “Stop.”
But pride is a bad driver.
Once it has the wheel, it would rather crash than turn around in front of witnesses.
Miller looked back at George.
“Sir, if you have a pass, show it.”
The older sailor took one more step.
