"Yeah, sure," I said, almost offhand, and maybe once, it would've been a lie. In that moment, I wasn't completely convinced it wasn't one still. But I felt oddly responsible for him, despite owing him nothing. "I'll teach you how to use the phone, later, when they've turned the drip down." I gestured to the machine chugging along beside him. Every so often, it clicked and a little drip of medicine dropped down into his IV.

"Right," I said, not because any of what he said sounded familiar, but because I'd heard the waver in his voice, yesterday. The desperation. It didn't sound like he was calling to just a fellow soldier, or a friend. That was the voice of a man calling out to somebody he loved. "Figured as much."