Hope and Honor

by Marilee Brothers

  If I paid attention to my budget, we’d be going to McDonalds, but I want privacy so I opt for a pricier place. We’re seated in a booth with high-backed seats. The waitress brings a carafe of coffee, leaves it on the table and takes our order. I order a cheese omelet with hash browns. Suddenly starving, Ziggy has a change of heart and orders strawberry waffles and a side of bacon. I fill both our coffee mugs. I drink mine black. Ziggy loads hers up with sugar and creamer. We sip our coffee in silence.

  Finally, Ziggy can’t handle it. “Why am I here?”

  I sigh. “Think about it, Ziggy. Do you even remember what happened yesterday? How I came to pick you up and you took off with Benny? Surely, you haven’t forgotten. Or, did the fact you were stoned out of your mind wipe out the memory?”

  She looks down at her lap. “I remember.”

  “Good, because the reason we’re here is to talk about it and figure out a solution. Or, if you prefer, we can include your dad.”

  Ziggy knows a threat when she hears one. “This is okay.”

  I don’t say another word. I sip my coffee and let her stew. Our food arrives and we dive in.

  When we’re members of the clean plate club, I begin. “When I was fifteen, I was like you. School bored me. I was more interested in partying and getting high.”

  She looks into my eyes. “What happened?”

  “I had a mother who was a pain in the ass.”

  “My mother gave up on me.”

  I reach across the table and grab her hand. “Well, guess what? My mother is still alive and needs something to do.” I look into her soul and see a flash of fear skitter across it. She snatches her hand away. My plan is working. She covers her fear by rolling her eyes as if she’s supremely disinterested.

  “Here’s what happened to me at age fifteen,” I continue. “I was cutting classes. Getting high. My mother, Sandra, chose a course of action. She drove me to school, walked me inside the building and attended my classes. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was to a teenager?”

  Ziggy shudders. “Oh, my God. What happened?”

  “What do you think happened? I had no choice. I went to class.”

  Ziggy thinks it over. Finally, she says, “Why are you telling me this?’

  I give her a smug smile and hold up my cell phone. My mother’s picture is on the display. “Because Sandra has time on her hands. She really needs something to do. All I have to do is give her a call. My stepfather, Abel, owns a fleet of trucks. She could easily hop on one today and be here by nightfall. There’s nothing she’d like better than to have a new project. By new project, I mean you, Ziggy. Does that sound like fun? You and a forty-five-year-old woman attending class together?”

  “No way. You can’t do that.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  My finger is poised over the call button. “Three…two…one and—”

  “Stop!” There’s a tinge of panic in her voice. “What do you want me to do?”

  “You will not only go to school, you will go to class and pay attention. Do your homework and turn it in. When school is out, you will be waiting for a pickup by your father or me. Is that clear?”

  Her sullen expression returns. “Yeah.”

  I decide to throw in some extras. “In addition, you will stop bitching about your work load. Nick is paying you a fair salary. So, shut the hell up and do your job. Got it?”

  She stares at the table and nods.

  I purposely don’t mention Benny. Even though he’s a creep, I can’t choose her friends. I’ll settle for school and work right now.

  We drive back to Nick’s in silence. When I pull into the parking lot, she bolts from the car.

  I zip the window down and holler, “You’re welcome. So glad you enjoyed breakfast and our little chat.”

  My cell phone vibrates. Riley Rathjen.

  He doesn’t waste time on pleasantries. “When’s your next day off?”

  When I tell him, he says, “How about another trip to New Dawn? You up for it?”

  “Sure, I’ll see if I can set up a shooting lesson. What about you? Won’t they wonder why you’re there?”

  “They’ve got a shooting range and said I could come up any time and use it.”

  After we arrange the time, I steer Buttercup toward my favorite thrift shop. Time to do some serious shopping for the Gunderson twins. While I’m at it, it’s a good time to put Mick, the missing boyfriend, out of my mind.

  ****

  Thankfully, I don’t have to submit to an invasive pat down when we arrive at New Dawn’s gates. Riley let them know we were coming. I’ve arranged a shooting lesson with Jake Gunderson. Apparently he’s not delivering blinds today, so everything seems copacetic.

  The guard waves us through after a thorough visual examination of the Rockin’ R pickup truck. Riley shows the guard his weapon. I’m not gun savvy, but it looks like a rifle one would use to kill a deer. Maybe Bambi. I don’t ask because I really like Riley and there’s no way I could kill Bambi. Remember don’t ask, don’t tell? It’s kind of my mantra.

  Riley pulls in next to the community hall and parks. As we exit the car, Ken Hitchcock appears and descends the stairs. Something in his manner seems faintly menacing.

  Riley says, “Mr. Hitchcock, how are you?”

  He doesn’t acknowledge Riley. His gaze is fixed on me. “Your name is not Melanie Rathjen. In fact, you’re not a Rathjen at all. Their daughter is named Rachel.”

  I open my mouth but no words come out.

  Riley bristles. “You’re right. She’s not my sister. Mel’s a close friend of the family and we asked her to come with us. Her name wasn’t on the list, so my dad thought the easiest way would be to say she was his daughter.”

  Hitchcock is still giving me the stink eye. “I don’t appreciate being lied to.”

  “Actually, I didn’t lie to you.”

  He waves a dismissive hand. “You were complicit.”

  I’m getting a little hot under the collar. “So, what do you want to know, Mr. Hitchcock?”

  “Let’s start with your real name.”

  “I’m Melanie Sullivan and I’m here for a shooting lesson.”

  “With Swede?”

  It takes a moment before I remember Jake Gunderson is also called Swede. “Yes. Is there a problem?”

  He looks me up and down. His icy gaze crawls over me. I want to jump back in Riley’s truck and lock the door. Then, I remember why I’m here. It’s not to learn how to handle firearms.

  He nods to Riley. “Head for the range. I’ll walk Melanie to the Gunderson place.”

  Riley hesitates. I know he’s reluctant to leave me alone with Hitchcock.

  I give him a little push. “I’m fine. Go. Have fun. See you later.”

  He gestures toward the truck. “Don’t forget your stuff.”

  Oh, yeah. The stuff. I go to the truck and gather up two bags of thrift store items. Hitchcock eyes them suspiciously. “Whatcha got there?”

  “Just a few things for the kids.”

  “We don’t accept charity.”

  I try to control my temper. “I recently moved and I’m getting rid of some things from the past. Items from my childhood I no longer need. Feel free to go through the bags if you like. Be sure to check for contraband and hidden weapons.”

  I thrust the bags into his hands, turn and head down the path. Since I don’t actually know where the Gundersons live, I hope I’m going the right way. I sense Hitchcock’s presence behind me but ignore him. Then I hear him chuckle.

  “You don’t know where you’re going, do you? What’s your plan? Knock on all the doors until you find the right place?”

  I turn to face him. “Yes, if I have to.”

  He hands me the thrift shop bags. “Follow me.”

  The Gunderson place is not in the cluster of cabins I was heading for. The main path forks off in two different directions. Hitchcock leads me to the left and points at a cabin nestled against the hill and surrounded b
y towering pines. “That’s Swede’s place.”

  “Thanks, I can find my way back.”

  He doesn’t get the hint and follows me onto the front porch. I double up my fist to knock, but the door flies open and Kimber emerges, Blossom Bunny tucked under one arm. Her face lights up in a delighted smile. Her brother, Gunner, stands, sober faced, in the open doorway.

  “Mel,” Kimber cries. “You came. I told Papa you would.”

  Despite Hitchcock’s presence, I kneel and hold out my arms. She runs into my embrace. As I hold her thin body next to mine, my eyes well up with tears. I’m not sure why. I loosen her arms and stand. Jacob Gunderson looms large behind Gunner. He’s looking over the top of my head at Hitchcock. I know what I have to do. If I want access to the twins, I have to earn the trust of both men.

  Last year, my ditzy female persona worked well on Rick Riley. He now knows it wasn’t the real me. I need to figure out how to deal with Jake Gunderson. I’m pretty sure it will involve lying.

  And if there’s one thing I know about, it’s lying.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Not that I’m proud of it, but I’m very good at lying. It’s a learned skill. Because I’m paid to do so, I’ve become very adept at identifying liars. It’s not simply what I see in their souls, although the flash signaling a lie seals the deal. When people lie, certain physical mannerisms occur. A delayed response to a question is a telling sign. Others include lifting hands to cover mouth or closing eyes tightly. Throat-clearing, obvious swallowing, biting or licking lips, adjusting hair or clothing or even nodding yes when saying no.

  Therefore, I know not to do these things. Goodie for me. Still, I feel some guilt when I lie. Chalk it up to my upbringing. Sandra. Need I say more?

  Now, confronting Jake Gunderson, I have to use everything in my toolbox, so to speak. I take Kimber’s hand and step closer to the Jacobson males. I smile up at Jake. “Thanks for working me into your schedule.”

  He acknowledges my comment with a nod.

  Hitchcock says, “A word, Swede, and then I’ll leave you to it.”

  Jake gestures for me to enter the cabin before he steps out and shuts the door. I hear their voices rising and falling, but can’t make out the words.

  Kimber says, “What’s in the bags? Is it for us?”

  I nod. “Let’s wait for your dad.”

  While we wait, I look around the cabin. The walls are lined with framed, beautifully rendered pen—and-ink sketches. A doe with ears cocked forward, with a speckled fawn at her side, peer out of a thicket. A flock of Canadian geese swoop onto a pond. The largest sketch features the twins. The artist not only captured their physical appearance, but their inner spirit as well. Kimber is a step ahead of Gunner and tugging him down the path. Gunner’s face is solemn. Kimber’s is full of mischief. Each of the sketches is signed with the initials JG.

  Kimber takes my hand and tugs me to an open door leading to a bedroom. She points at a set of wooden bunk beds. “It’s where we sleep.”

  Next, she guides me into another room containing a single bed and a large desk cluttered with bottles of ink, pens and stacks of paper in various sizes. “Papa works here,” Kimber says.

  Acutely uncomfortable at invading Jake’s personal space, I step back into the living room/kitchen.

  A moment later, Jake returns. I point at the sketches. “Your work?”

  He nods.

  “They’re beautiful. Have you tried to sell them?”

  I’m gazing into his eyes. Hope blossoms in his soul, only to be extinguished by a shadow of dark despair. His sadness tears at my heart.

  He says, “Maybe, someday.”

  “Absolutely,” I say. “Just let me know. My dad is into art and knows people who own galleries.” Not a lie.

  Kimber tugs at his sleeve and points at the thrift shop bags. Her eyes are shining with anticipation. “Mel brought stuff for us. Is it okay?”

  His gaze flicks back and forth between my face and the bags I’m toting. “Like what?”

  Game on. I take a big breath and launch into my story. “I think Kimber told you I’m a twin. I called my mom and mentioned your kids. She dug out some things from our childhood and sent them to me via my stepfather’s trucking firm. I got them yesterday. Is it okay if I give them to Kimber and Gunner?”

  When he doesn’t respond, I continue. “You can look them over. If you don’t want me to give them to the kids, no problem. I’ll donate them to a thrift shop.”

  From whence they came.

  He glances at Kimber’s hopeful face and shrugs. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  I set the bags on a rough-hewn table and extract a pink down jacket, similar to my own. Then I root around until I find the canvas camo jacket in Gunner’s size. I set them side-by-side on the table. Kimber quivers with excitement. Gunner’s gaze travels from the camo jacket to my face, like he can’t believe it.

  Jake says, “Judging from the clothes, looks like your twin is a boy.”

  “More like a tomboy,’ I say. “Shall we see if they fit?”

  Both kids grab the jackets and slip them on.

  Kimber is over the moon. “It looks like your coat. Now, you and me are twins!”

  Gunner is more subdued, but he can’t hide his smile. He ducks his head. “Thank you, miss.”

  “You’re welcome, and call me Mel, not miss. Okay?”

  He looks up at his dad for permission. Jake nods.

  After I offload two packs of crayons and a stack of coloring books for the twins, they settle in at one end of the table and get to work. Kimber opts for Cinderella. Gunner goes for Birds of the World.

  Jake clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “Guess we better get started.”

  “Are we going to the range?”

  “We’ll start here. You’re not ready for the range.”

  I’m not?

  He points at the unoccupied end of the table. “Have a seat.”

  Kimber, still wearing her new jacket, chirps, “She can use my gun, Papa. Okay?”

  He nods, unlocks a metal gun safe and removes a black handgun. He sets the gun on the table, the muzzle pointing away from the twins and me.

  “This is a Glock19. It’s a nine millimeter pistol with a customized grip to fit smaller hands. It’s the gun Kimber uses and, since you’re, um, well, petite, I think it will work for you too.”

  “Okay. So, now are we going to the range so I can shoot it?”

  Kimber giggles. Gunner rolls his eyes. Apparently I’m funny and don’t know it.

  I lift my hands “What?”

  Kimber says, “First you gotta know the rules. Then, you gotta learn the parts of the gun. Then, you get to shoot. Right, Papa?”

  I pinch my lips together to keep the words from leaking out. Words like, “Aw, shit, what have I gotten myself into?”

  Jake says, “Kimber’s right. First things first. What does she need to learn, kids?”

  Kimber and Gunner chorus, “The twelve golden rules for safe gun handling.”

  They take turns rattling off the twelve rules starting with Kimber who begins with number one. “Always treat the gun as loaded.”

  Gunner finishes with last one. “Be aware of your surroundings when handling guns, so you don’t trip or lose your balance and accidentally point or fire the gun at anyone or anything.”

  “Wow,” I say. “I’m impressed you guys know all the rules.”

  Jake says. “Now, it’s your turn.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you.”

  Not to be outdone by a pair of five-year-olds, I tear a page from the Cinderella coloring book, snag a black crayon and ask the kids to recite the rules again. I take notes and pace the floor while I memorize. Jake Gunderson looks annoyed and offers coffee, which I gratefully accept. After thirty minutes, I’m ready. I manage to regurgitate all the rules, even though they are out of order. At least, I thought I covered them all.

  Kimber says, “Pretty good but you forgot numb
er eight.”

  I search my brain for number eight and come up blank.

  Gunner looks disgusted. “Geez, it’s only the easiest one. What goes in the gun so you can shoot it?”

  The light bulb in my brain flickers on. “Number eight. Always use proper ammunition.”

  Kimber and Gunner clap for me. Jake is unimpressed, but mutters. “I guess it’ll do.”

  “Now, do I get to shoot?”

  Gunner says. “Now you gotta learn to field strip the Glock and clean it.”

  This time, I can’t stifle my groan. I pick up the gun by its grip, taking care to point it at the wall. Rule number two—always keep the gun pointed in a safe direction. I run my finger over the barrel. “It looks pretty clean to me. No dust or anything.”

  The kids try to hide their amusement.

  Jake Gunderson crosses his arms and sighs. “Inside, not outside.”

  Kimber abandons her coloring book. “Want me to teach you?”

  “Sure.”

  Jake fetches the cleaning kit and hands it to Kimber. She chatters non-stop as her little hands disassemble the gun, pointing out the major parts, which I discover are the slide, the barrel, spring recoil receiver and frame. I try to focus, knowing I’ll be tested later.

  After she gives it a thorough cleaning, she pops it back together and grins up at me. “Now, you do it.”

  An hour passes before I’m able to accomplish the task a small child did with such ease. The embarrassment factor looms large. I’m itching to know when I’ll get to fire the gun I’ve become intimately acquainted with, but hesitate. Jake Gunderson is not a man to be hurried. It’s possible I may have more to learn before I actually pull the trigger.

  Fortunately, I’m not above manipulating a child to gain information. When Jake leaves the table to put the cleaning kit away, I whisper to Kimber, “Ask your dad if I get to go to the range now?”

  She gives me a thumbs’ up, scampers over to Jake and tugs at his pant leg. In a loud whisper, she says, “Mel wants to know if she can go to the range now?”

  Busted. Serves me right for using a five-year-old.

  Jake places a hand on Kimber’s head and levels his gaze at me. “Oh, she does, huh?”

  My cheeks heat up. “Um, unless you don’t think I’m ready. Or, maybe you don’t have time.” I know I’m babbling but can’t seem to stop.