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  “Hi,” he said.

  Alice turned to face him and briefly smiled, a reflex more than a pleasant response to his presence. She looked at her watch. “What are you doing home at three o’clock on a Wednesday?”

  “Going for a long run with Brad,” said Dave. “He’s off today and called the store to see if I could sneak out for a quick ten miler. I don’t often get to run with Brad, and I’m flattered that he asked me. So here I am.”

  “That’s interesting,” said Alice, half full bags of flour and sugar on the counter, hands on hips. “I can’t remember the last time you left work early to run with me.”

  “Hey,” he said, approaching her, wrapping his arms around her unyielding shoulders.

  Alice backed away from him. “Hey what?”

  Dave looked at his watch. “Look,” he said. “I have to meet Brad in fifteen minutes, so I’ve got to move. But let’s sit down tonight after dinner and come up with a plan. You are absolutely right. I have been neglectful about running with you. And we’ve talked about it a lot. So let’s get something on the calendar.”

  Alice turned away from him. “It doesn’t really matter anymore, Dave.” She put the flour and sugar back in the cupboard, her desire to bake gone.

  “Of course it matters,” he said.

  “No, it doesn’t,” said Alice. “Because I’ve got something else I can run with now.”

  “That’s great!” said Dave. “You found someone to run with?”

  “I said something, not someone.”

  Dave’s forehead wrinkled in incomprehension. “Something?”

  Alice turned around to again face him. “Yes,” she said. “A gun. I’m in the process of buying and learning how to use and carry a gun.”

  The wrinkles on Dave’s forehead moved up, as his eyes widened. “Alice?”

  “Don’t give me that look,” said Alice. “Since you have chosen not to run with me, not to protect me, I’ve got to protect myself.”

  Dave hesitated for a long moment before taking his cell phone out of his back pocket. He entered some data and then held the phone to his ear. “Brad? Yeah, it’s Dave. Hey, something’s come up, and I just can’t make it today. Yeah, I know. I’m disappointed too. But let’s shoot for next week. Wednesdays are typically a pretty good day for me. And I’m open to going early in the morning, if that suits you. Okay, good. Thanks. And have a good run.” He put his phone down on the kitchen table. “Let’s sit down, Alice, and talk about this.” As soon as Alice complied, Dave said, “Start from the beginning.”

  And so Alice told him everything that she had shared with the Well Protected Women—that she had been afraid since the attack, that she was having trouble sleeping, that she was frustrated by the lack of progress made by the Southwood Police Department, that she was hurt by Dave’s lack of interest in her physical and emotional health. “I am over the fact that I had to rely on two friends to meet me at the police station and take me to the hospital,” said Alice. “I know that you often don’t have your cell phone on your person, and that you don’t use it nearly as much as I do. So I have chosen to accept your story that you were on the floor at work that day and that you didn’t get my message until long after I needed you.”

  “It’s true, Alice. You know that. And I have apologized many times for my absence.”

  “That you have,” said Alice. She took a sip of tea. “And you took good care of me when my injuries were fresh.”

  “Well, you’re nice to say that. I think the long weekend that Linda was here caring for you was the most helpful. She is a good caregiver,” said Dave. “She takes after you.”

  Resisting her natural instinct to soften whenever Dave paid her a compliment, Alice said, “What you have to realize—what you have failed to realize—is that this is not over.” Dave’s quizzical look returned. “In fact, it’s just beginning.” Alice went on to explain that her new goal in life was to never feel vulnerable again. And that she had to rely on herself to feel secure.

  “You can rely on me, Alice,” said Dave, leaning forward to take his wife’s hands in his. “I will do whatever you want me to do to help you feel safe.”

  Alice pulled her hands away and shook her head. “You say that, but you don’t really mean it. I’m not saying you’re not trying. On some levels, you are. But it’s not enough—it will never be enough—because you don’t understand how I feel.”

  Dave nodded his head. “I do,” he said. “I do understand how you feel because you’ve explained it to me. You are afraid. You feel vulnerable. You feel alone in this. What I don’t understand is how a gun will alleviate your feelings of fear.”

  Alice sat back in her chair. “Because having a gun will negate my feelings of fear, of being inadequately protected. And once I feel sufficiently protected, I will be able to handle my vulnerability. When I carry a gun, I will never be alone.”

  Dave stood and walked to the sink. He took a glass from the cupboard and, after testing the temperature of the water with his index finger, filled it. He drank all the water right there and then set the glass down in the sink. He gazed out the window to the backyard, where the half inch of snow that had fallen last night was gone except for underneath the large pine trees that served as a natural boundary between their yard and their neighbor’s property. He turned around and, pinning his hands with his back, leaned against the counter. “You may not be alone, but you will be in danger.”

  Alice gave him a tight smile. “You’re going to have to explain that statement.”

  “The mere fact that you’ve asked me to explain it tells me you haven’t thought about this gun ownership from anyone’s angle other than your own.”

  “Meaning what?”

  Dave removed his hands from behind his back and crossed them over his chest. “I’m guessing you’ve done all your homework on how to handle, shoot, acquire, and carry a gun. But I’ll bet you haven’t done all your homework on what the National Rifle Association sponsored Web sites don’t mention. What about accidental discharges that could injure you or someone else? What about getting shot and killed by someone you’ve pulled your gun on who happens to subscribe to the adage of shooting first and asking questions later? And how are you going to feel if you shoot someone—either on purpose or by accident? If there’s one thing that can ruin your life in an instant, it’s taking the life of another.”

  Alice put her feet up on the chair Dave had vacated. “That won’t happen.”

  “Are you kidding?” asked Dave. “It happens all the time.”

  “But it won’t happen to me.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I won’t let it happen.”

  Dave raised his hands into the air. “Until it does.”

  Alice took her feet off the chair and stood. She pointed her right index finger at Dave. “That’s a bullshit argument. That’s like saying you shouldn’t drive a car because you could get into an accident. Or that you shouldn’t take a walk because you could fall and break your wrist. Or that you shouldn’t eat steak because you could choke on a piece and die. You don’t live your life that way, so I have no idea why you expect me to.”

  Dave ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead, holding it for a moment at the peak of his scalp before releasing it. He had Raggedy Andy hair, brown instead of red, that flew when he ran and gave women aged twenty-five to sixty-five a reason for a second look. “It’s a bad idea, Alice. In your heart, you know this is a bad idea.”

  “It’s the only idea I have as a way to feel safe again,” said Alice. “You let me know when you come up with a better one.”

  CHAPTER 26

  “I know you think I’m crazy to be doing this,” said Alice, setting her chopsticks down on her plate of Drunken Noodles and looking at Joan. “But I’m a really good shot.”

  Joan gave Alice a half smile. “Yes, I do think you’re crazy to be doing this, but I am pleased to know you are a really good shot.”

  Ellie lo
oked at Joan. “I do believe you’re softening.”

  Alice laughed. “Oh yeah, she’s getting soft all right. The next step will be going to a Well Protected Women’s meeting with me.”

  “That,” said Joan, “would indicate an unprecedented level of softness.”

  “Thank you,” said Alice, serious now, “for not berating me today.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “So, Joan,” said Ellie, spearing a piece of chicken in her pad Thai with her fork and lifting it to her mouth. “The last time we were together, when you paid for my lunch, we agreed to talk about you.”

  “We did?” asked Joan, straightening her back.

  “We did.”

  “Yes, let’s definitely talk about Joan’s life,” said Alice. “God knows I’ve been in the spotlight long enough.”

  Ellie picked up her water glass. “Alice is working on becoming a sharpshooter. I am growing my bookkeeping business. What are you up to, other than trying to impress your mother-in-law?”

  Joan laughed. “I’ve actually booked a trip to visit my mother.”

  “In Detroit?” asked Alice.

  “Very close to Detroit,” said Joan. “She lives in Livonia.”

  “Is your brother still there?” asked Ellie. “What’s his name again?”

  “Carl,” said Joan. “No, Carl got the hell out of Livonia when he turned eighteen. He lives in Sedona with his partner, Aaron. Stephen and I try to get out there every couple years. I routinely invite Carl to Southwood, which he calls Mayberry, but he’d much rather have us come there. And I can certainly see why. Once you spend any time in Sedona, you never want to leave.”

  “Your brother has a partner?”

  “He does,” said Joan. “He and Aaron met at the University of California at San Diego. They broke up before leaving college, but got back together after running into each other—oh, ten years or so ago—at a grocery store in Sedona. They are both outdoor enthusiasts, spending every minute of their nonworking, nonsleeping time in the pursuit of physical excellence.” Joan laughed. “When Carl sees me he just shakes his head.”

  “How come you never said anything?” asked Ellie.

  “About Carl’s being an outdoor enthusiast?” asked Joan, looking amused.

  “That he was gay,” said Ellie. “I had no idea he was gay.”

  “Well, when I first mentioned him a minute ago, you were hard pressed to even remember my brother’s name,” said Joan. “I don’t talk about him a lot, but I am close to him. We try to talk on the phone every few weeks.”

  “Is he married?”

  “They are thinking about getting married. Arizona is a tough state to be gay in,” said Joan. “But Sedona is very different. They love it there.”

  Ellie sat back in her seat and stared at Joan. Finally she said, “I just can’t believe I didn’t know that.”

  Joan laughed. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me!”

  Ellie gave Joan a confused look, before saying, “But isn’t this kind of a big deal?”

  Joan shrugged her shoulders. “Not to me, I guess.”

  “Wow,” said Ellie.

  “Wow, what?” asked Alice, who set her cell phone back on the table after sending a text to Hilary, whom she routinely referred to as her middle daughter rather than by name.

  “It’s a big deal in my family,” said Ellie. “Either we’re not talking about it, or we’re talking about it big time. The Kilcullen family has a strong opinion about homosexuals.”

  “Which is . . .” said Joan.

  “That it’s a sin,” said Ellie. “That homosexuality is a sin, and that homosexuals should repent.”

  “Is that what you think?” asked Joan.

  “God no,” said Ellie. “But I still go to a Catholic church.”

  Joan shook her head. “The Catholic Church is going to have to get its head in the game on this one,” she said. “Gay rights have exploded in this country. And if justice has its way, things will only get better—as Obama used to say.”

  “I’m blown away,” said Ellie.

  “Why?” asked Alice.

  “Because I just assumed most people felt the same way as my family members.”

  “Do you read the newspapers? Do you listen to NPR?” asked Joan.

  Alice said nothing.

  “Yes and yes!” said Ellie, laughing. “I’m just so pleased that a regular person like you feels this way.”

  Joan said, “There is nothing regular about me, dear.”

  “You can say that again,” said Alice. “But we got sidetracked—tell us about your upcoming visit with your mom.”

  Joan took a sip of her tea. “She will run me around like she always does. The woman is nearly eighty years old and has a social calendar that rivals that of the Kardashians. We’ll go shopping. We’ll have lunch. We’ll play euchre with her friends.”

  “Euchre?” asked Alice.

  “It’s a card game,” said Joan. “If you live in Michigan, you play euchre. We might even go bowling.”

  “Your mother does not bowl!” said Ellie.

  “Oh yes, she does,” said Joan. “She’s in the Sweet Seventies league.”

  Alice and Ellie both laughed. “It must have been fun growing up in your house,” said Alice.

  Joan cocked her head. “Not really,” she said. “I mean, it was okay. But my mother didn’t really come alive until after my father died. Their marriage was much more functional than blissful. And my mother functioned well: She kept the house, prepared the food, worked full-time in the school system, and raised my brother and me. My father was the provider, but he didn’t provide much outside of his paycheck. He didn’t pay much attention to my mom, my brother, or me. One day was much the same as the next. We did as we were told. We kept to ourselves. When my father died of a massive heart attack, work friends and family gathered to mark his passing. But the women in the group that day were quietly celebratory, about my mother’s opportunity to live life on her terms. And she has been making every day count since.”

  “Why didn’t she get divorced?” asked Ellie.

  “Because it wasn’t done back then, except in dire circumstances—and even then, it happened without official comment; it wasn’t talked about. But to divorce because you were unhappy in your marriage was unheard of, mostly because it was regarded as incredibly selfish. What about the children? What about their happiness? I think a lot of my mother’s friends had the same kind of marriage she had. They all married young, as they were expected to, and didn’t have a good idea of what they were getting into. And if they did decide that marriage was nothing like what their mothers told them—the same mothers who were trying to get them paired up and out of the house, off their financial books—it was too late, meaning the young housewives had two or three small children and no income. They were reliant upon their husbands for financial support. Because my mother was able to talk my father into paying the bills while she raised us, she didn’t get a job until we were in school. He wanted her to work, but he approved only of what he called “invisible” work, meaning whatever she chose to do had to be done without inconveniencing him. He wanted her to make money and to continue doing everything else as well.”

  “It sounds like he was tough on her,” said Alice.

  “He was a whole lot better than some of her friends’ husbands,” said Joan.

  “Well, then she sounds like an amazing woman,” said Alice, moving her focus to her phone, which had just buzzed.

  “She is, indeed.”

  “So, when are you going?” asked Ellie.

  “Next week,” said Joan. “I’m flying out next Thursday morning, and I will be back on Sunday night—thoroughly exhausted!” Alice again reached for her phone. “What’s happening, Alice? You’ve been looking at your phone for half of the last hour.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Alice, who rarely apologized for paying as much or more attention to her phone than to Ellie and Joan. “My girls all seem to need me today. Linda wi
ll be getting out of a test in”—Alice again looked at her phone—“five minutes. Hilary is stewing about upcoming vacation plans, and Cathy is displeased with the erratic behavior of a work colleague.”

  Somebody has an ingrown toenail, Joan thought in response, or a bad haircut. Alice had trained her daughters to call her any time of the day or night. She would pick up immediately, and she would pause whatever was happening in her life, so she could jump into theirs. “What’s the vacation drama?” asked Joan, half kidding, half annoyed.

  “Oh, it’s typical middle daughter,” said Alice. “Hilary and a bunch of girls are going to Florida for their first official vacation from their jobs, and middle daughter is not happy with the hotel room assignments.”

  “Aren’t they all friends?” asked Ellie, more tolerant of Alice’s phone habit than Joan.

  “Well, sure they are,” said Alice. “But you know how you can be closer to some people than to others.” And the story was launched. The topic of conversation had moved away from Joan and back to Alice. Joan was thankful, actually, that Alice was talking about something other than pistols. Like the beginning of most love affairs, Alice’s relationship with guns was intense. And Joan, for the moment, had stopped trying to break them up.

  CHAPTER 27

  Joan walked away from the cashier’s window, grinning as she recounted the thirty-six hundred-dollar bills that had just been pushed her way underneath the glass that separated the patrons from the money. It was not enough to replenish her vacation account, but it was a good start, a very good start. It was almost noon, and the effects of the double vodka and soda she had consumed at ten thirty were fading, leaving her with a slight headache and very hungry. She thought about getting something to eat in one of the casino food court restaurants, but opted instead to go home for a grilled cheese followed by a short nap. She had promised Stephen her mother’s meatloaf that night for dinner. It was one of his favorite comfort foods, which he routinely sought to combat the pressures and stress of his job. There had been talks at the bank about cost cutting, in an effort to counterbalance the price tag associated with stricter federal regulations. And even though Stephen thought his position was secure, it was an uneasy time at the office. He knew already that two of his colleagues would be let go at the end of the month.