every advantage in life privileges other people actually had to work
for and took it all for granted. When my tirade finally ended, he went
outside, finished up the last coat of stain on the deck, and walked
out. I didn't see him again for six years.
I'd heard he'd joined the bureau, of course. I'd actually considered
turning down the job at the DA's office because of it. But I had no
interest in the alternatives I'd been given at the city's big firms,
and Roger knew it. There's no good way to tell your husband that
you're making employment decisions based on an old boyfriend, even if
it is to avoid him. So, instead, I'd played the odds that I could
avoid one of the county's two thousand cops, at least for a while.
When I saw his name on the police reports for my first trial, I tried
to ready myself. I prepared the speech in my head and went over it
again and again in the shower that morning, the way I should have been
rehearsing my opening statement. I was going to apologize for all the
venom that came out of me that day. Then I would laugh as I said it
all worked out for the best in the end, since he'd accomplished what he
wanted, and I was so happy with Roger.
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."
I said what I could to relieve the anxiety. In the end, there's
nothing you can say to comfort a victim who senses the system's
potential to fail.
I raised the phone message from Haley with caution. "Grace mentioned
that Haley is trying to get in touch with you. I didn't realize you
had stayed in contact with her."
"I haven't. She called, that's all."
"She give you any idea what she wanted?" I said.
The distinctively teenage sulk came through loud and clear over the
phone. "Will you please, like, not freak out? She was just wondering