He was an unimposing, but very interesting figure.

“My name is James O’Donnell. I wanted to come in person to express gratitude for interposing last night and make sure you’re okay.”

“I should be thanking you,” Elizabeth said. “You had everything handled and saved me after I tried to play hero.”

“Yet I doubt you had any idea of that when you chose to act, did you? You stood up to save a foolish old man running his mouth, even though there was considerable danger presented to you. That bravery is something to be commended,” Mr. O’Donnell said, firm to his point.

“Well, I tried to help you, but you actually helped me. If not for you, that man would’ve shot me. Thank you,” Elizabeth said with conviction.

Mr. O’Donnell bowed his head slightly in reverence. “You are most welcome.” Then he hesitated, his smile faded as he began turning the ring with his thumb. “May I ask you a question, Ms. Brown?”

Elizabeth nodded; she had a feeling she knew what was coming.

“Why did you intervene?”

There it was: the question she still had no real answer for, not one that satisfied her. She didn’t know what had come over her. She’d wrestled with the question every time she thought about what happened, but could find no concrete reason. They sat in silence for a moment as she contemplated her answer.

Finally, she spoke. “Because someone had to. And who else would have done it but me? Even if I got it wrong.”

Mr. O’Donnell’s smile returned, but it wasn’t the same one he’d worn earlier. His eyes weren’t joyful, or proud, or happy. There was a somberness behind them now.

“Spoken like a true altruist. You are a good person, Ms. Brown. I am glad to have met you.” He placed extra weight on the end of his statement.

Was it grief? Pity? What emotion was shown in his eyes? Something strong enough to glass them over.

Elizabeth accepted the compliment with a downward glance, though she didn’t fully understand it. Jules shifted in her seat, and the old man finally seemed to notice her after so intently focusing on Elizabeth.

“Where are my manners? You’re Jules Ortega, right? It is my pleasure to meet you as well. You were incredibly composed in the face of such danger. Not every adult could handle that pressure, let alone a college student. You must be a very good friend,” Mr. O’Donnell said.

Jules looked surprised when he addressed her. Her eyes narrowed, and she grabbed Elizabeth’s hand. She mumbled some humble thanks and said it was nothing, but she never looked away from him. Mr. O’Donnell turned back to Elizabeth.

“I’m sure you’re not in the mood to talk to an old man, so I’ll hit the road. However, I’d like to reward you properly for your courage. May I treat you to a meal sometime when you are recovered? I have a table at the Menton if you like French cuisine,” he said. “My mother always said that saying thank you is different from knowing someone is grateful. I’d like to show that I am just that.”

“That’s so funny! My mom used to say the same thing,” Elizabeth said.

Mr. O’Donnell laughed. The contagious sound made her smile; it reminded her of her dad’s laugh. More of a deep chortle than anything.

“She must be a wise woman, then.”

He pulled out his wallet, walked over to the bed, and handed Elizabeth a cream-colored card. It had his name on it, along with a phone number and address. As he approached, Jules squeezed her hand tight.

“Here. You needn’t decide now, but if you’d like to take me up on my offer, give me a call. I’d love to learn more about someone with no experience fighting brave enough to stand up to an armed ruffian.”

He stepped back and bowed his head towards them as he put his hand on the doorknob.

“It has been an absolute pleasure to meet you. And you, Ms. Ortega. I hope to hear from you soon.”

He smiled, then turned and walked out the door. Elizabeth waited until she heard the click to speak.

“Did a senior citizen just ask me on a date? Maybe you were right about my type,” she grinned.

Jules did not smile back. She gripped Elizabeth’s hand with shattered nerves.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” She stroked her fingers. Jules was clearly freaked out.

“How did he know my name?” she asked Elizabeth. “No one called me ‘Jules’ while we were in the diner, and even if they did, he wouldn’t have heard my last name. So how did he know?”

“Maybe the nurse told him, or a cop,” Elizabeth said. “There are plenty of explanations.”

“I didn’t say ‘Ortega’ to any of them,” Jules retorted.

“I don’t know; he had to have heard it somewhere.” Elizabeth said, “I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. Besides, he was nice.”

Jules was unconvinced and spent the next hour with her brow furrowed and face scrunched up, her trademark expression when she was stressed and overthinking.

Elizabeth mulled over the encounter. She hadn’t noticed in the moment, but once Jules brought it up, she realized some of the things Mr. O’Donnell said sounded weird, like he knew more than he let on. She hadn’t said anything about her lack of combat experience to him, though maybe he had just noticed. It had to be a coincidence that his mom told him the same thing as hers about the difference between gratitude and thankfulness. But there was something she couldn’t shake: how did he know to come to Mass General to find her? The more she thought, the less likely it seemed that a police officer would give out her information like that. Unless maybe Mr. O’Donnell had friends in the BPD? Elizabeth spent the rest of the day wondering about it.

Editor: Shannon Hensley