Page 10 of Just George

“No family. There’s nobody.”

He nodded.

“Oh, that tells you something, does it? The fact that I was raised in foster care?”

“Why are you so combative?”

“Because you’re making assumptions about me based on your training when you know shit about me as a person,” I growled, turning to walk away from him and find another spot on the periphery of the crowd.

“I know about you,” he stressed, taking hold of my bicep so tight that if I wanted to leave, I’d have to peel his fingers off me. “You were kind when you didn’t have to be. You saw that I was struggling, recognized it, and came to my rescue.”

Anything I said would sound lame, so I stayed quiet.

“You’re very attuned to others, and you notice things most would miss, probably from years of having to keep yourself safe. It probably began when you were a child and was honed during your military service.”

“I really have no interest in you standing here, working me out in your head.”

His smile, after a moment of silence, was a surprise. “I am doing that, aren’t I? Shit.”

“Doc?”

He laughed softly. “I do that. I try and figure out everyone I meet. I break them down into a set of personality traits I can understand, and then once I have them sorted, I can gauge how to interact with them.”

“That sounds like a lotta work.”

He nodded. “It does and it is.”

“Why can’t you just talk to people?”

“Because once you turn around in a space where you’re supposed to be safe and have someone there, in front of you, with a knife that they shove into your side—it’s hard not to be forever on the lookout for something you might have missed.”

We were both quiet, standing there, side by side, checking the room, sharing space, watching Hannah get up to dance with David Chan and hearing that low hum of many conversations going on at the same time.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“What happened to the guy?”

He cleared his throat. “He’s spending the next fifteen years or so in a psychiatric hospital.”

“And they have to tell you when he’s released, right?”

“I’ll keep tabs on him myself. Law enforcement can’t stay on top of everything.”

“But they should.”

“In a perfect world, yes. But I’ve had colleagues who had no idea the person who hurt them was out until they showed up at their favorite coffee place one day. I don’t plan to have that happen to me, though I do think my ex-patient will be well by then. His issues are all chemical. He was off his meds when the attack occurred.”

“Still,” I added, “make sure you let me know when this guy gets out so I can help keep an eye on you, all right?”

He smiled, and I caught it when I turned. “Will I still know you by then?”

“Why wouldn’t we? I’m likeable; people always say that. Why would you dump me as a friend?”

“We’re friends now?” He sounded surprised.

“Why not? Can’t you use more friends?”