And she had heard something similar years ago when people looked at her husband, Marcus Johnson, as though his uniform gave them permission to decide what kind of man he was.
Marcus had been a Marine.
He had also been Malik's father.
He had died when Malik was nine.
Angela still kept his photograph on the living-room shelf.
That evening, she touched the frame while preparing dinner.
"Wish you were here," she whispered.
Outside, Malik continued practicing.
He was sixteen.
Tall for his age.
Lean.
Quick.
He had his father's shoulders and his mother's eyes.
He also had his father's habit of becoming very quiet when someone tried to intimidate him.
At 6:20, Malik's phone vibrated.
It was his basketball coach.
Practice had been moved to the following morning.
Malik smiled and put the phone away.
Then he noticed a gray sedan stopping near the curb.
Two men got out.
The taller man looked toward the house.
He wore a dark polo shirt and carried a small black case.
The second man was older, broad-shouldered, with silver beginning to show at his temples.
Malik didn't recognize either of them.
The taller man approached the front door.
Before he could knock, Angela opened it.
"Mrs. Johnson?"
"Yes?"
"My name is David Cole."
The older man stepped forward.
"Marcus Reed."
Angela's expression changed.
Reed reached into his jacket and carefully removed an old photograph.
"We served with your husband."
Angela stared at the photograph.
It showed three Marines standing beside a military vehicle.
One of them was Marcus.
She pressed a hand against her mouth.
"Where did you get this?"
"Your husband gave it to me," Reed said.
Angela looked at him.
"When?"
"Years ago."
Silence.
Then she stepped aside.
"Please come in."
Malik had stopped dribbling.
He stood near the garage, watching.
Inside, David placed the black case on the dining table.
When he opened it, Malik saw a folded flag, several photographs, and a small metal object mounted on black velvet.
Reed touched it carefully.
"Your father saved my life."
Malik stared at him.
"What?"
Reed nodded.
"There was an explosion. I was exposed. Your father pulled me behind cover."
Malik didn't know what to say.
"My dad never told me that."
"Your father didn't like talking about himself."
Angela smiled sadly.
"That sounds like him."
For the next hour, David and Reed told stories.
Some were funny.
Some were painful.
Some made Angela laugh for the first time in days.
Malik listened to every word.
Then Reed handed him a small coin.
"Your father carried this."