Alfred was a bit surprised by her reaction, and it took him a second to relax into the hug. He felt he should say something, but he wasn't sure what. Any kind of platitude would have rung hollow. He could have said it was a long time ago; it was. But that didn't mean anything. It didn't stop him from thinking about that period of his life. It didn't stop him from factoring in the lessons he'd learned then into every subsequent decision. He could have said it's alright, but it wasn't. Not for the twenty-two men who were dead, or for their families who would never see them returned to them or even have the closure of being able to bury a body.

The most he could really say was that he'd survived it, but that wasn't profound enough to waste the breath it took to speak it. Maybe he could have claimed to be better for it — but maybe he could've improved just as much through time without having killed anyone at all.

"My brother can't understand why I didn't give up sailing when I finally made it home," he said after a long pause. "But you get it, don't you?"