The idiot had pushed his chair back and pulled a ring box from his jacket pocket. My fingers gripped the tray and I sucked in a breath, holding it in while my heart pounded. I wanted to scream Noooo! and run at him in slow motion. Take a dive and whack that thing out of his hand before he made the single biggest mistake of his life—a life I admittedly knew next to nothing about these days, but still. Instead, all I could do was stand there with my mouth shaped into a slackened O while I waited. "Oh yeah, I replied in my head, how come you didn't warn me about not having a vest? Or not carrying a big old relvolver in my slim, trim DEA costume?"I don't read minds, to prevent fools from acting foolish. I only foretell the future. Usually."Foolishness? I'll have you know that I had my black turtle neck shirt all pressed for the occasion. So there.We carried on like this for the thirty five miles to the gunsmith. Mr. Smith – he claimed a direct lineage to the Smith of Smith & Wesson fame. "Are you alright, Rita?" Rohan asked, indeed concerned. The small girllooked frightened at best and all he could see her wearing was a jacketthat couldn't have belonged to her, it was too big and baggy plus shewasn't even wearing it, she just held it against herself."I'm fine," she squeaked then blushed. The concerned lines in Rohan'sforehead only deepened and he took on a careful stance."Are you sure?" he asked gently and even though she nodded to him tearsstarted to well in her eyes.Jacob. Wrestling with my mother and sister for Daddy’s attention, his affection.There was a big, black Chrysler in back. The model with the gansta look. I didn’t recognize the car.I went in through the kitchen, remembering to wipe my feet first. Mom said, “You remember Harvey Simpson, Winter.”I reached out my hand, “Of course, good to see you.”Mom took her old-fashioned blue and white speckled coffeepot off the stove and poured a cup for me. The three of us sat at that kitchen table where I’d had.
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