With Child

'I know what dog tags are. Why are you so interested in dog tags?'

'I'm not.'

'You sound like you are.'

'They're just kind of strange, that's all.'

'How so?'

'Well, what do they do with them when a soldier dies? And could they be faked? How can you check up to see if the number is real? Do they keep records?'

'Um, yes, they certainly do. The Veterans Administration could tell you about that, although they have to preserve confidentiality. I suppose a set of dog tags could be faked - they're only pieces of metal - although the number would have to be backed up by actual identification - for example, if the vet were trying to apply for benefits. They're not like a driver's license. And as for what they do with them, I've always assumed they send them to the next of kin. Why are you interested?'

'I just am, all right? Can't a person be curious? God, you sound like a cop.'

'I am a cop, for heaven's sake.'

'Yeah, well, don't act like one all the time, okay?'

'Sorry,' Kate said to the back of Jules's head.

'Why did you become a cop, Kate?' This time, they were not in the car, but in a pizza parlor near their motel north of Sacramento.

'I thought I could do some good. And I guess… I don't know, I suppose the tight structure of it appealed to me. It does to a lot of the people who join the police. You know where you stand, and who stands with you. At first, anyway; it gets more complicated as time goes on.'

'Sounds like a family.'

'It is, a bit. Tight-knit and squabbling.'

'It's my word for the day.'

'What is, family?'

'You sound surprised.'

'Most of your words for the day are more complicated than that.'

'I'm beginning to think that some of the most basic words are the most difficult. You know what family comes from? The Latin famulus, which means 'servant.' It meant all the relations and servants who lived together under one roof. In my dictionary, it's only the fifth definition that gets around to describing a family as two adults and their kids.'

'Really?'

'Yes. Which would make you and Lee and Jon a family. When you're all together, I mean.'

'That's a terrifying thought, being related to Jon.'

'Ashley Montague says that the mother and child constitute the basic family unit.'

'Well, I'm safe, then. You want that last piece?'

'Can I have the pepperoni off the top?'

'Sure.'

'Dio's family sounds pretty awful, doesn't it?'

'Has he told you anything about them?'

'Just little things, here and there. It's what he doesn't say that makes me think it was pretty bad.'

'You're probably right.'

'You must see a lot of that kind of thing.'

'Too much.'

'Why do parents do that to their kids - ignore them and hurt them and push them out?'

'A lot of them never learned how to be parents. Their own parents abused them, so they never learned the skills, and never had the self-confidence to make their own way.'

'Sounds like those experiments on animals, when they take baby monkeys away from their mothers. It's so sad.'

'It is. But it doesn't excuse them.'

'It explains them.'

'To some degree.'

'Yes.'

'What is your father like?' Jules asked.

'My dad? Oh, he's been dead for ten, eleven years now. He was a good man, honest, hardworking. He ran a store that sold fresh fish and seafood. My grandfather - his father - had a fishing boat out of San Diego, and Dad had all sorts of cousins and uncles who let him have the pick of their catch.'

'He sounds… well, ordinary.'

'He was, I suppose. What they call 'the salt of the earth.' '

'I wonder what that means? I'll have to look it up when I get home.' She took out a slim book with a sunflower on the cover and made a note.

'Do you write everything in your diary?' Kate asked.

'I write a lot. My words for the day, things to remember, ideas.'

'Not so much daily happenings?'

'Sometimes, if I think they're the kinds of things that will interest me in ten years.'

'Ten years, huh?'

'Did you keep a diary?'

'For a while. Just daily things - who did what to whom, tests, teachers. Dull stuff.'

'I like keeping a diary. It helps me think about things.'

'What kind of things?'

'Just… things.'

'You want me to put on a tape?' Jules offered.

'Sure.'

'You have some great music, but some of these people I've never heard of. Who's Bessie Smith?'

'Old-time blues, real old-time.'

'Janis Joplin I know; Al has a couple of her tapes. She's incredible.'

'The woman sings straight from her - she sings with feeling.'

'What were you going to say?'

'A word your mother wouldn't want me to use. I'm afraid I'm not a good influence on you, Jules.'

'I know all the words.'

'I'm sure you do. And their derivation from the original Anglo-Saxon, no doubt.'

'I'm sorry. I must've been showing off again.'

'Showing off? Hell no, I get a kick out of the sorts of things you know.'

There was a brief silence as Jules went through a shoe box full of cassettes.

'Do you want k.d. lang or Bessie Smith?'

'Bessie Smith is a little hard on the ears. Put on k.d.'

'She's supposed to be gay, isn't she?' Jules slid the tape into the player and adjusted the volume.

'So I heard.'

'Did you know you were gay, when you were a kid?'

'No.'

'Sorry. Do you mind talking about it?'

'No, not really.'

'Meaning you do.'

'Meaning I don't. What did you want to know?'

'Just if someone always knows their orientation.'

'Some part of you knows from the beginning. Lee knew from the time she was eight or ten. I was in denial for years.'

'Until you met Lee?'

'Until long after I met her.'