“You were married, Kim. What happened?”
“More therapy?”
“I’d like to know. This is for me.”
Kimball shrugged. “It didn’t work. She was a fine girl—but she finally told me it was no go. ‘You don’t live here’ was the way she put it.”
“She knew you were a career officer; what did she expect——?”
“That isn’t what she meant. You know that.”
“Yes,” the psych said slowly. “I know that.”
They rode in silence, across the dark Base, between the concrete sheds and the wooden barracks. Overhead, the stars like dust across the sky. Kimball, swathed in plastic, a fantastic figure not of earth, watched them wheel across the clear, deep night.
“I wish you luck, Kim,” Steinhart said. “I mean that.”