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It was finally spring, and with it came pouring rain, or allergies, or a uniform soaked with mud back when th-- His knee hurt something fierce, and he knew the weather would get worse that day. He didn’t know why, but the pattern was unmistakable. For all he knew, it was something only he experienced, so it made him weaker, inferior, so he had to compensate with a ruse of a maid. But she was gone. He wouldn’t be seeing the love of his life outside of prison for a year. He opened the door, and met someone’s eyes.
He was looking through him.
That milkman—he seems familiar, Garrideb thought.
The man was standing there with a blank expression, not unlike his war buddies used to wear shortly before being discharged from service. He was fine until Garrideb made eye contact with the stranger in brown, now holding the small crate to his chest like a shield or lifeline. He put most of the weight on his right arm.
“Sir.” He said carefully, but not quietly, and internally kicked himself when the milkman almost dropped his delivery.
“Is everything alright?”
He replied almost instantly “Yes.” The sound was short and stilted… and filled with fear. “…I’m fine.” His palms were sweating. I wouldn’t linger outside if I were you, it might rain later today.”
He wasn’t going to try pulling the sob story out of this man, for he couldn’t forget that court case if he tried. He would gleefully deny any coincidences with the thief if he could. Garrideb understood they were similar, but in ways he didn’t have the words to describe. Graydon had nightmares, much like himself, about fears they cannot change; that are ingrained too deeply to be untangled from themselves. He doesn't need to wonder of the whys or hows, but an explanation for it seems impossible at this moment.
“You’re staring.”
Garrideb was brought back into himself in turn.
“Ah, right. It’s just… I think I’ll need a hand bringing it up to my lodgings. They’re on the third floor, you see, and my knee hasn’t been the same after a bullet struck it.” He was able to walk without issues for some time, and was not foolish enough to risk an accident from carrying the crate and his own cane. Any loneliness from the missus’s time in prison went unsaid.
There was an expression in the young man’s eyes he couldn’t pin down. At least, not in the moment before he pulled his cap over his eyes.
“I’d be happy to oblige ……..after you, sir.”
He opens the door and guides Graydon to the third floor over the course of a most challenging trek up the stairs. Garrideb can’t hear his footsteps in the silence. Just the rhythmic thunk of his cane and his own footsteps against the wooden stairs. He couldn't not pay attention to his surroundings, even after all those years. Before he could single out the right key from his pocket, The milkman made a suggestion.
“Would you prefer I deliver directly to your lodgings?” He didn’t have to offer such a service, and even did so unprompted.
“That’s quite kind of you.” Garrideb understood the lad across from him had his own share of combat, and wasn’t going to leave a fellow soldier to fend for himself.
Once a week, Garrideb brews enough tea for two people. And Graydon makes that house his last stop, or brings a thermos along.