None of it was ever said. He walked into my office with his patrol
partner, handed me a cup of coffee, and said, 'Jason Hillard, meet
Samantha Kincaid. Kincaid and I went to Grant High together. So
what's the game plan?'
I'd prepped them for the trial, but the case turned into a bench
warrant when the defendant no-showed. Two years later, looking at
Chuck with my father, I realized I'd still never apologized to him for
how I behaved that summer, nor had I thanked him for saving me from
having to do it when I wasn't ready that day in my office two years
ago.
They came back into the kitchen with the steaks, and Dad started
heaping mass quantities of food onto three plates. I set the table,
blinking away tears before any could roll down.
'I was just telling Chuck about the damage you did last weekend at the
target range,' Dad said.
My entire life, my father has enjoyed gun collecting and target
shooting. Cursed with having a daughter as his only child, he had
tried repeatedly to spark some interest from me, but to no avail.
To his initial chagrin, I eventually learned to use a gun only when my
ex-husband insisted on keeping one in our New York apartment. If he
was going to keep a loaded handgun in an unlocked nightstand, I figured
I sure as hell better know how to use it. So some of the agents took
me to the aTF. firing range and taught me how to load, aim, fire, and
reload just about every weapon available, legally and otherwise, in the
United States. As irrational as gun ownership is as practiced by the
most hard-core of American gun lovers, I'm a good enough shot and get
sufficient shooting practice that I find a sense of security in the .25
caliber automatic that I keep taped to the underside of my nightstand
drawer.
Chuck took his attention away from his steak long enough to say, 'I
never would've believed it if someone had told me back in high school
that Sam would grow up to be a beef-eating gun toter who likes to put
bad guys in prison.'
'Remember when she decided to be a vegetarian her junior year?' Dad
was laughing so hard I thought he was going to choke. 'God, she tried.
Decided eating meat was so barbaric.'
Chuck was nodding his head in agreement. 'Right. But, in the end, she
hated the idea of being hypocritical even more, and, try as she could,
she couldn't live a one-hundred-percent animal-friendly lifestyle.'
That's why I've always felt so at home with Chuck. He got me. He
could take the traits that other people see as so inconsistent and
understand that they make me who I am. I eat like a pig, but I run
thirty miles a week. I despise criminals, but I call myself a liberal.
I'm smart as hell, but I love TV. And I hate the beauty myth, but I
also want good hair.
To Chuck, it somehow all made sense, so I never felt like I was faking
anything. Dad has never quite figured me out, but he sure enjoys
making fun of me. 'Poor girl drove me and her mother crazy trying to
avoid leather, animal fat, anything that might make her seem like a
hypocrite for telling everyone else how mean we were for eating
meat.'
I had to laugh too, remembering my mother's face when she opened her
Christmas gift one year to find the hideous macrame purse I'd
triumphantly presented as an alternative to her tried-and-true tasteful
brown leather handbag.
'Does rubbing my face in my youthful attempts to be a good person make
you guys feel good?' I said. 'OK, you win. I love the smell of
leather. I like being at the top of the food chain. I eat thick slabs
of beef, still pink in the middle. Vegetables are what my food eats.
Are you happy now? Maybe we should talk about the time Chuck joined
the feminist center in college so he could scam on women. Or how
about, Dad, when you got a CB radio and grew a mustache after you saw
Smokey and the Bandit? What was your handle again, the Rocking
Ranger?'
We continued like that, recalling our most embarrassing moments at
least the ones clean enough to tell in front of my dad until the
high-pitched beeping of a pager broke through our laughter. By
instinct, Chuck and I both immediately hit the 'stop making that
wretched noise' button on the right side of our waists and looked down
at the digital display. 'It's me,' I said. 'Grace. I better get
it.'
Grace was calling to let me know that she'd dropped off Kendra and to
wish me luck with trial the next day. She also told me that when she
went inside with Kendra, Kendra had played the answering machine in
front of her. Apparently, her old friend Haley was looking to get back
in touch with her, had heard that she was living at home again, was
wondering what she was up to, that sort of thing. It was hard not to
be furious as I remembered my only encounter with the girl.
I tried to keep cool as I dialed Kendra's number.
'Hey there. How you holding up?'
'Alright, I guess. I just want the trial to be over with.'
