Fifteen minutes later, the stew was done and ready to be served when Daniel walked into the kitchen. Apparently, he had at least a change of clothing in his backpack. He wore an old white T-shirt that molded to his sleek chest, sweatpants that hung from his hips, and his lovely, large feet were bare. Daniel’s hair was wet and combed. He definitely cleaned up well, though he still looked like the walking wounded. Definitely needs someone to take care of him, I thought. Out loud, I said, “Have a seat, Daniel.”
“Thanks,” he replied quietly. “And you can call me Danny, if you like.” He sat in the chair next to Ret. I placed some pain pills beside his bowl, along with a bottle of water. He gave me a tired smile as a thank you. Roscoe introduced himself and they shook hands across the table. Da
