Saving Brielle
I push back from the desk and follow him to the kitchen.
We fill our plates and take seats around the kitchen table, with Pete setting a mini tablet next to him.
"This is the remote control for your system," he tells me as he points to it. "I'll walk you through all the bells and whistles after we eat."
Dinner talk is kept carefully devoid of my current situation, because I make a point of asking Pete about himself.
"Well, let's see," he says with a grin. "I'm originally from Orlando, joined the Navy right out of high school, retired after twenty years, and here I am."
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