He gave that stiff little nod.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“No,” I said. “Are you really all right?”
He looked down at his thermos.
For a moment I thought he wouldn’t answer.
Then he said, “Been called worse by better people.”
That broke my heart in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
“Silas.”
“It’s fine.”
“It is not fine.”
He shrugged one massive shoulder.
“People see what they want.”
“That doesn’t mean we let them.”
He looked at me then.
Really looked.
And for the first time, I saw something behind the intimidating silence.
Not anger.
Not hardness.
Exhaustion.
The exhaustion of a man who had spent his whole life being judged before he opened his mouth.
“Meeting’s in ten,” he said.
“I’ll be there.”
“I know.”
“How?”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
“You drive a bus full of teenagers every day. Figured you weren’t scared of much.”
