With the morning’s obligation completed, Tom took advantage of the rest of the day to laze like a slug. He spent his time racked, or staring bemusedly at what the cable had to offer. He studiously avoided anything that smacked of news or commentary. Gram’s dinner was an exercise in overeating. Since she’d made most of his childhood favorites, he had to have seconds of everything. In the evening after dinner, he helped the General clean and oil his gun collection. Those venerable weapons were the first Tom had ever been allowed to touch, and cleaning them had become a ritual with him and his grandfather. They sat and worked, the smell of well-oiled steel and the faint tang of old powder filling his nose and bringing an echo of older, simpler times. The calmness that had been a part of those sessions came back to him.