At one o’clock, I met my father at a quiet diner three miles outside the main gate.

Arthur sat in a booth near the register and took his gold pocket watch out of his vest twice before I had even unbuttoned my rain jacket.

“Your mother stayed in the car,” my father said, clearing his throat hard behind his folded paper napkin.

“She still thinks you should have asked for a corporate leave of absence before you turned in those transfer forms.”

“I’m an active-duty Army officer, Dad,” I said, sitting down across from him on the vinyl bench.