Tariq focuses all his attention on the plumbing job. Tries not to hear the explosion; tries not to see what it did to his family. He knows he should ask Harry about his grandson, about what happened, because this is something the old man remembers. Although it is painful, it is a clear, true thing among the broken remnants in his mind. But Tariq does not want to hear the answer. He does not want to hear that the grandson who does not visit Harry was blown up by an IED or driven mad or killed by friendly fire. “I’m sorry,” he says, testing the tap. “Thanks for your help with the job, Mr. Mitchell.”
“Harry.” The old man lifts a hand to wipe his eyes.
Tariq keeps a clean handkerchief in his own pocket; many of the old folk weep when he stops to talk to them. He passes the handkerchief to Ha
