It took a lot for Leah to even bother asking such a thing of a relative stranger. A year ago, two years ago, Leah either would’ve ignored the drunkard entirely or bitched about him being in the way. That woman had held little sympathy for anyone who wasn’t family.
This man wasn’t a complete stranger. Johnson was a medic in the infirmary, one of Charlie’s brothers, and, as far as she knew, not as obnoxious as his younger troublemaking sister. It was mostly the medic part that earned him her acknowledgment. As one of the more competent medics, Johnson had done a lot to help, not just her, but dozens of other people.
He wasn’t the first drunk medic she’d seen. Past encounters had taught her to recognize the look of someone who’d lost a loved one. Or, as a medic, lost a patient. No deaths had been reported that day, but that didn’t mean anything. Maybe the person had just died.
Leah felt her gut clench at the thought that they might have lost someone she knew. She tried to stave off her worry. If it was someone she knew, she would’ve heard news. Right? The possibility of pending doom kept her from stepping over him and continuing on her way to the cafeteria.
“Usually when people are drunk, they’re either in the bar or somewhere more comfortable.”