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the laminate could help him address Bishop’s concerns, until it seemed safe to relax and look up.
    “Bish, no one expects you to stop thinking about Susan.”
    “I’m here, but I’m not here, if you know what I mean.” Bishop looked away to the window and sighed. “I should have gone with her.”
    Eleven. That’s all he got. He looked quickly and caught the liquid crystal eleven. Which was, of course, useless to him, because he knew it wasn’t as late as twelve. But he caught the wrong digits and now he would have to look again.
    “She’s got family in Cincinnati, doesn’t she, Susan?”
    Bishop nodded. “Her sister’s in Cincinnati.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Martha.”
    “I’m sure she’s fine then.” One more glance down would get the second set of digits. He knew the procedure now, it was just a matter of shifting his focus. “Just as long as she has family with her, that’s the important thing.”
    Bishop swallowed, and his expression turned sardonic. “Martha,” he said, “is a hopeless alcoholic. Her husband left heryears ago. The woman is a complete mess. So, you know, for all intents and purposes –” he passed a hand over his face and massaged his eyes “– Susan is down there taking care of
her.”
Fifty-nine. It was 11:59! Gerald was so shocked by the second set of digits that he couldn’t help staring at them. Soon only luck would get him to Trenton on time.
    “Guess I’m keeping you from something, am I?” Bishop was looking at him, one half of his face paled with aqua light, and his eyes had a new heaviness that told Gerald he was offended.
    “I’m sorry, Bish, that was – it’s just I have to pick up Kyle pretty soon.”
    “Oh.”
    “Please. Go on.”
    “No, it’s fine.” Bishop leaned forward and pushed himself out of his chair like a man twenty years older than he was. Gerald rose with him.
    “When do you expect Susan back, end of the week?”
    He was making his way to the door and didn’t turn. “Something like that.” At the entrance to Gerald’s office, Bishop put a hand on the painted metal door frame and looked back. “Your son’s home from Afghanistan, is that right?”
    “Yes.”
    “That’s a hell of a place, Afghanistan. Your son see any trouble over there?”
    Gerald tried to smile. “Not sure, actually.”
    “Guess you’ve been worried about him. Guess you’ll be glad to have him home.”
    Gerald worked hard to return Bishop’s steady gaze. “Yup.” The urge to look at his watch again was almost overpowering; he barely felt man enough to resist it. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help with Susan, okay?”
    Bishop frowned. “What could you do?”
    Gerald hesitated, shrugged, drowned. “I don’t know. Anything.”
    His boss nodded slowly and let his hand drop. “Right.” He rapped a knuckle against the door as he walked away.

5
    D o you know how sometimes you get yourself into a situation, and even as it’s going on you’re thinking, “Huh. This is pretty crazy. How did I get myself into this?”
    I had one knee the size of a pumpkin pressing down on my chest, cutting off my air. That belonged to Lieutenant Jayne. One of my wrists was being pinned down against the nubby carpet of the airplane by Sergeant Leunette (decent guy), the other wrist was being held by the COF-AP deputy project manager, Mike Oberly (asshole). And as you could expect, it was Oberly doing the shouting.
    “You will not be getting up, Woodlore! Not until I see some self-control!”
    One of my legs was jammed against something, but the other one was loose, so I tried to swing it to wrench myself free, but I only ended up hitting the hard plastic corner of one of the seat arms and that hurt like shit. They don’t give you much room for wrestling in the aisle of a CC -150.
    “I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!”
    “Ease off him,” said Leunette. He pushed Jayne back with a forearm.
    As the air started to come back into my chest