Page 33 of Carter

“Hole in the wall,” I comment.

“Literally.” He chuckles.

We get in line, and he looks up at the wall that has the menu hanging from it. Every option is handwritten in chalk. I already know what I’m getting, so I don’t bother looking. I get the same thing every time I’m here.

If music is playing in the background, I can’t hear it over all the clanking and shouting coming from the kitchen.

“What’s good?” he asks, eyes flicking over the options.

“What do you like?”

“I’m not picky.”

“Well, I don’t think you could get something bad from this place. Their chicken parm sub is good. Somehow, even with the sauce and cheese, the chicken stays crunchy.”

“Is that what you’re getting?” he looks at me, and for the first time, I see something in his eyes other than pain and sadness. He looks like a normal guy, in a sub shop, trying to figure out what to eat for lunch.

“No, I always get the BLT, add turkey, with extra mayo.”

“That actually sounds really good. I’ll do that too.”

When we get to the counter, Howard, the owner, smiles at me. “Ah, Mister Nash. How are you today? Oh, you brought a friend.”

“I’m great, Howard. Hope you’re staying busy.”

“Always, my friend.” He grins. “Would you like your usual?”

“Yes, but make it two.”

“Select your chips,” he says, gesturing to the rack with individual bags of chips hanging from metal clips. I grab the regular flavor, but Carter reaches for the sour cream and onion. When we get the total, Carter tries to slip Howard his card but I quickly step in to pay, giving Carter a look thatnicelytells him to back off. Howard reminds us to grab our drinks while we wait for our food to be made.

The coolers are to our right. Carter grabs an iced tea and I get a Coke. We move over to the area designated for waiting for our food so we’re out of the way of others trying to order.

I watch Carter as he takes in the place, seemingly awed by something so simple. Just a sandwich shop stuffed into a small building.

The walls are red brick with not much hanging on them. Exposed beams are on the ceiling, and there are cracks along the cement floor that give it a charm you can’t fake.

Carter has so much interest in his gaze, like he’s never seen such a place before. But he’s lived here his whole life and buildings like this are common around here. Maybe he’s seeing it in a different view today. The moment feels important in some way. Just a bit of healing. A small amount, but it’s something.

“I’ve never seen this place not busy,” I comment.

“I like seeing small places making money. Better than all the chain restaurants.”

“Agree.”

The line grows until it’s out the door. Good thing we got here when we did. Howard takes orders. The people before us get their food. Before long, we’re grabbing ours and heading back out into the cold. Carter hunches his shoulders, shoving his hands into his pockets. The wind blows, feeling like little needles across my exposed skin. I’m used to the cold. Learned to get used to it when I spent my days doing traffic detail in Chicago.

When we’re back in my office, Carter pulls everything out of the bag while I go to the break room to get plates, napkins, cups, straws, even knives and forks, just in case.

“Wow. Fancy,” Carter comments when I put everything down on my desk.

“I do my best.” I pile up the case files and put them into my drawer so we don’t mess them up.

“Worried I’ll see something?” he asks.

I huff a laugh. “No, not at all. I’m known for making a mess while eating. Specifically spilling drinks. I swear my elbows have a mind of their own.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Ryan was really clumsy.”