The butter was already sizzling in the cast-iron skillet before the yellow microwave timer hit seven minutes.

Matty sat at the kitchen table, fogging up his round plastic wire-rimmed glasses with his breath and wiping them on the hem of his blue shirt for the third time.

He talked fast, his fingers smudging the edge of the cardboard presentation sheet.

“Mr. Davis said every parent gets ten minutes at the microphone in the gym Friday,” Matty said, pushing up his frames.

“I put down that you jump out of planes and work with the Navy SEAL teams.”

I flipped the eggs with a flat wooden spoon.

“I work alongside them, Matty.

Navy EOD clears the explosive hazards before anybody sets foot on the beach.”

“It sounds way cooler the other way.”

“The truth doesn’t need to shout, Matty.”

He said the line back to me in a soft whisper, cleaning his round lenses one more time before sliding them back up his nose.

My black EOD pager buzzed against my hip, rattling against the heavy brass buckle on my service uniform belt.

The little screen flashed an 0630 base alert.

“You’ll be at school by eleven-thirty, right?” Matty asked.

“The assembly starts at eleven sharp, but Mr.

Davis said the Navy display table goes second.”

“I’ll be standing in that gym by eleven-thirty,” I said.