Cash gave her a long look. “You almost got killed a time or two.”
She swallowed. “The important point is that we got you out of the bunker.”
“But not your friend Phil,” Cash reminded everyone.
Frank Decorah’s expression turned grave. “We’re all mourning him. He wasn’t with our organization long, but we knew he was a good man. However, there’s something he didn’t want us to tell Sophia before they left for the cavern. He had inoperable cancer.”
“What?” Sophia gasped.
“That’s why he volunteered for the mission. He didn’t have long to live. And he was prepared to go out with his boots on—if that’s what it took to get you out of there.”
Cash tried to cope with the shock of this new knowledge. “So that was why he was so insistent on holding off the guards while we went down the tunnel.”
“That sounds right.”
Kathryn turned to Sophia. “I’m sorry we kept you in the dark about his condition. He was afraid you wouldn’t go with him if you thought he was unreliable.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, obviously reevaluating everything she’d known about the man.
“I was starting to think he was a drug addict,” she whispered.
Frank Decorah nodded, then said, “After what you’ve been through, you need some R and R. Let’s start with food.”
The thought of food and sleep made Cash realize how hungry and tired he was. “Yeah,” he answered.
“We’ve got a spread set out down the hall.”
They kept walking and came to a comfortable lounge with sofas, chairs, and tables. Plates and dishes of food were arrayed on a long sideboard at the back of the room.
Cash wandered over and looked at the selections—which included steak, baked potatoes with all the trimmings, roast turkey with gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and candied sweet potatoes. There were also homemade desserts—pumpkin and apple pie.
“How did you get all this together on short notice?”
“We’ve been waiting for you to arrive,” Lily Wardman said. She laughed. “Some of us filled the time by cooking. Plus, we wanted to make it a festive meal.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Everybody helped themselves to food. Cash opted for the turkey and trimmings, thinking how much it was like the Thanksgiving meals he’d seen on television—and better than anything his mom had been able to scrape together.
He brought his food to a sofa and leaned back with a plate on his lap.
Sophia sat beside him and forked up some baked potato with sour cream, bacon, and chives.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he answered automatically as he ate and watched how the other men and women interacted. They had obviously been together for awhile, and they were all perfectly comfortable with each other.
He could dimly remember a time like that—when he’d been close to the guys in his unit. But that seemed like a dream that he only half remembered.
As they were nearing the end of the meal, Cash glanced up to find Frank Decorah looking at him. “So—why were they holding you in the bunker?” he asked.
“That’s a pretty direct question,” Cash countered.
“We want to find out how much you understand about the situation.”
Well, here it was. He was going to explain what a mess he was. He took a sip of the Coke he’d gotten from the sideboard, and then he told them about the memories of Thailand and about Afghanistan and about the nightmares.
As he spoke, he could feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck.