“Someone asked whether I actually wanted it.”
Another pause.
“That can be an inconvenient question.”
“Extremely.”
“Do you?”
“The work matters.”
“That was also not the question.”
Apparently everyone in my life had joined the same conspiracy.
I leaned back.
“I don’t know if I want the life around the work.”
“That’s a better answer.”
Harrington had spent nearly four decades in uniform.
He understood what I meant.
“There’s something younger officers rarely believe,” he said.
“A career can be honorable without consuming every available piece of you.”
I looked through the window.
People hurried between buildings carrying folders and coffee.
“What if turning it down closes a door?”
“It might.”
He did not soften it.
“That’s the difficulty of real choices, Claire.
Choosing something usually means not choosing something else.”
I appreciated that answer.
No slogans.
No promise that everything would work perfectly.
Before we ended the call, he said, “For what it’s worth, the Army already knows what you can do.”
