But a few hours later, the camp administrator called and said, “I think you should come here. It’s about the man who brought your daughter.”
Dinner at the Diner
True to his word, Luke picked me up on Tuesday evening for dinner at a local diner off State Street—a modest, retro spot with red vinyl booths and neon signs humming against the dusk.
As we slid into a corner booth, the smell of frying onions and roasted coffee beans filled the air. A tired waitress dropped off two heavy glass mugs of water and tossed down sticky laminated menus before shuffling away.
“So,” Luke said, resting his forearms on the table as he looked at me across the laminate surface. “How is the commander-in-chief holding up after her first week back in civilian life?”
“She’s adapting,” I sighed, sliding the newly drafted Family Technology Agreement out of my bag and placing it on the table. “I spent last night putting together a digital contract. No more secret apps, no phones in the bedroom, and absolute transparency.”
Luke picked up the paper, scanning the bullet points with an approving nod. “It’s tough medicine, Rachel, but it’s the right prescription. Kids today have computers in their pockets that possess more processing power than the Apollo spacecraft, yet we hand them over without giving them any navigational training.”
