With his eyes open, however, the man suddenly looked ten years younger. Pouring the mineral water over the ice cubes in the glass, he fixed his gaze on Peter. "It isn't easy walking away from something you've given birth to, is it?" He squeezed some juice from the lime slice floating in the glass.
"No. It sure isn't," Peter said. Except for Kate's weekend trips away from Los Angeles, Peter had been completely alone for the past three months in Maine. During this period he had spoken with hardly anyone, except when necessary - ordering food in restaurants, paying for goods at the general store, or collecting his bundles of forwarded mail at the post office. He had forgotten how good it could feel to talk to someone, even a stranger. Especially a stranger. But Peter sensed that this wasn't just any stranger.
"Yep. Same thing happened to me. Gave them fifty years. Started when I was twenty, not that different from you. Yes sir, I remember how it felt."
"How?"
"Like someone ripped my heart out and chopped a chunk off it." For a few moments the man's gaze turned introspective as he poked at the lime in his drink. "Sound about right?" His lively blue eyes revealed sympathy, understanding.
This man knows, Peter thought. He managed a small smile and a nod.
"Son, you're a bright boy. I know all about you. How old can you be, thirty?"
"Thirty-two."
"Hell," the man said with a guffaw, "when I was that age I'd just got going."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Peter considered the man with curiosity and puzzlement. What had the waitress called him?