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  “That comment out of your mouth surprises me,” said Ellie. “Until now, I thought you didn’t really care about jewelry.”

  “That’s because I have no jewelry worth caring about,” said Alice, laughing. “I really don’t care. Big rings, I’ve learned from the Well Protected Women, are a target for robbers, who know that because a woman has big rings, she probably has a bunch of credit cards and cash, too.”

  “The rings are not being reset,” said Joan. “They were stolen.”

  “What?” said Ellie. “When?”

  “Last month,” said Joan. “Here.”

  “What happened?” asked Alice.

  “I went to the bathroom on the way to my car, and I was accosted by a woman in the bathroom.”

  “What?!” said Alice. “Did she have a weapon?”

  Joan made eye contact with Alice. “Yes,” she said. “She had a gun.”

  Alice ran her fingers through her hair. “God, Joan—this is what I’m talking about!” she said. “This is why I’m doing what I am doing! Because the world is a dangerous place filled with nasty people—and the only way to fight back is to arm yourself!”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Ellie. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

  “Of course she’s not okay,” said Alice, shooting a loaded look at Ellie. “She was robbed at gunpoint. She was defenseless. Joan, if you’d had a gun, you could have fought back.”

  Joan sighed. “Alice, if I’d had a gun, the thief or I could be dead right now.”

  Alice shook her head. “That’s not the way it goes down,” she said. “If you had pulled out your gun, the woman would have realized you were no longer the easy mark she made you out to be, and she would have run from the bathroom.”

  “I’m not sure,” said Joan. “She didn’t look like she had it together. She might have been on drugs.”

  “So then you pull the trigger,” said Alice. “You shoot her in the thigh.”

  “She was pregnant,” said Joan. “Plus, I’m not going to shoot someone over three thousand dollars and my wedding rings and a pair of earrings.”

  Ellie put down her sandwich. “What were you doing with three thousand dollars? Do you always carry that kind of money around with you?”

  Joan reached for her water glass. Here was another chance to tell the truth, to tell her friends that she had been coming to the casino for months to gamble, that she often sipped vodka as she did so. Alice and Ellie both looked at her expectantly. “I had the money in my purse to pay a contractor who only accepts cash.”

  “That’s bad timing,” said Ellie.

  Neither Ellie nor Alice asked Joan about the timing of the robbery, about whether it had occurred on a day they’d had lunch together.

  “Come with me to the meeting next month,” said Alice. “You don’t have to make any promises to me about arming yourself. But at least you will be educated by people who know what they’re talking about.”

  “We’ll see,” said Joan, choosing to table the discussion rather than continue it. Alice had become enamored with the Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, the National Rifle Association, target practice, everything having anything to do with carrying guns. And like most people with a new passion, she needed very little encouragement to talk about it.

  “And, of course, you’re welcome to come, too, Ellie,” said Alice. “It’s an extremely welcoming group.” Joan was tempted to say that she thought the Reverend Jim Jones had probably been pretty damn welcoming as well.

  “You’re nice to ask, Alice,” said Ellie. “Chris is fairly savvy when it comes to firearms. And every year, when he and the boys are getting ready for their hunting trip, I do get a bit of an earful.”

  “Well, you can’t talk about it enough,” said Alice. “People try to sweep the right to bear arms under the rug along with all the other human rights out there. As a member of the Well Protected Women, I need to do whatever I can to educate the general populace.”

  Joan looked at her watch longer than it took her to read the time. “Well, I’ve got to get rolling,” she said. “I promised Stephen a stew for dinner, and if I don’t get it in the oven in the next hour, we’ll be having takeout—which would prompt yet another discussion about how I spend my days.”

  “Oh, I love stew,” said Ellie, pushing back her chair and then standing. “Send me that recipe, will you?”

  “I will when I get home; I’ve got to run an errand first,” said Joan, taking her coat from the back of her chair. “Cassie’s birthday is coming up, and Stephen wants me to get her something special from Tiffany.”

  “Must be nice,” said Alice.

  Joan got a ten and a five out of her wallet and handed them to Ellie, who was calculating the check. “So, I’ll see you two later.”

  “Yes,” said Ellie, setting the check and the bills down on the table. “Wish Stephen good luck on the job front.”

  “I will,” said Joan. “Thanks.”

  Joan walked to the restaurant entrance, turned, and waved at Ellie and Alice, who were still watching her, and then walked out. She would have to remember to e-mail Ellie the recipe for the Howard stew, which had served as an excuse rather than an accounting of how Joan would be spending her afternoon. She hadn’t made the stew in years. Stephen, in fact, didn’t like it very much. Perhaps, she thought on her way to the roulette table, she’d better write a reminder to herself. Alice had recently taught her the benefits of using the notepad feature on her phone.

  * * *

  “I hope she goes with me,” said Alice, standing next to Ellie, who was putting on her coat.

  “She may,” said Ellie. “Keep in mind that you know where Joan stands on gun control. Just because she had this incident—that thankfully resulted in nothing but missing jewelry and money—does not mean that she’ll suddenly want to carry a weapon.”

  Alice shrugged her coat onto her shoulders. “How can you say that jewelry and money are nothing? They were Joan’s property, taken from her without consent simply because one person had a gun and the other one didn’t.”

  Ellie nodded her head as she slipped her fingers into her gloves. “I hear what you’re saying, Alice. Joan certainly knows your offer is genuine.”

  Alice looked into Ellie’s eyes, searching for signs of derision. Seeing none, she said, “Thanks, Ellie. Anything you can do to encourage Joan to take action would certainly be appreciated.”

  Ellie patted Alice’s shoulder with her hand and said, “Have a good afternoon now,” before walking out of the restaurant. They had driven in separate cars to the casino, as Alice had come directly from target practice.

  Alice picked up her phone from the table. She texted her friend Jamie from WPW.

  My friend Joan was robbed at gunpoint at the casino last month.

  Jamie, who, like Alice, thought anyone with a cell phone had an obligation to check it frequently and respond to messages immediately, texted back.

  OMG! Do you need an intervention? Can we get her to a meeting?

  Working on it.

  Let me know what I can do to help!

  I knew you’d say that. I appreciate your support.

  I’ve got your back, girl. So does the rest of the organization.

  Alice sent Jamie a smiley face emoticon, and then slipped her phone into her pants pocket.

  CHAPTER 31

  Alice didn’t tell anyone about the march on the state capitol, not Dave, not her daughters, not Joan, not Ellie, no one. She drove herself to Hartford and met Jamie and Cindy from Well Protected Women in a commuter parking lot. When she drove her car into the lot, Jamie and Cindy, recognizing Alice’s Subaru from the picture of it Alice had sent in a text earlier that morning, broke away from the WPW crowd gathered and approached the car. As soon as Alice turned off the ignition and unlocked her doors, Jamie, who had been hovering outside the driver’s side, opened the door and leaned in. “Good to see you, Alice,” she said, giving her a hug.

  “It’s great to be here,”
said Alice. “I had no idea that this many of us were going to show up.”

  “Oh yes,” said Cindy. “As you are probably beginning to learn, we are a motivated group. It doesn’t take much to get these women out of their houses and offices for some First and Second Amendment exercises at the state capitol.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Well, we’re impressed you’re here,” said Jamie. “You never know who’s really committed until the activism starts. It’s one thing to attend civilized meetings, discuss policy, and pay dues. It’s another matter altogether to participate, to effect change. Unfortunately our president is out of the country on business, or she would be leading the charge. She asked Cindy and me to organize the march.”

  “So,” said Alice, grabbing her purse from the passenger seat before getting out of the car. “What’s the plan?”

  “It’s an ambitious one,” said Cindy. “We’re going to march to the state capitol and attempt to walk into the building with our concealed weapons.”

  Alice hesitated a moment. “I thought weapons aren’t allowed in the capitol.”

  “That’s correct,” said Jamie.

  Alice wrinkled her forehead. “Then why are we walking in with them?”

  “Because we think they should be allowed everywhere in Connecticut—in the state capitol, on college campuses, in municipal buildings, wherever,” said Cindy. “That’s the very point we want to make today!”

  “But . . .” Alice started.

  “No time for talking right now,” said Jamie. “We’ve got to get moving.”

  The three women walked from Alice’s car to the other side of the lot, where fifty or so women were standing. On this mild morning, most were dressed in jeans and brightly colored Well Protected Women T-shirts, free to all members. Some held disposable cardboard cups of coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts and Starbucks. Others held plastic bottles of water. When Jamie and Cindy approached the group with Alice, every set of eyes in the group was upon them.

  “Okay, ladies,” Cindy said in an outdoor voice. “Jamie and I want to thank you all for being here on this beautiful morning. We know you could be doing a million other things—but you are here. And that tells us a lot!” A number of women applauded. Cindy held up her hand, and they immediately quieted down, like second graders practicing good behavior in exchange for extra recess. Cindy waited a dramatic moment and then looked at her watch. “In a minute or so, we are going to start our walk to the capitol.” She took a revolver from her belly belt and held it in the air. “For those of you with weapons, please carry them in the place you normally carry them—in your purse, in your bra, wherever. The point is not to show anyone our weapons. The point is to be able to walk into the state capitol with our weapons. Our intention is to go through the front doors and proceed to the governor’s office.”

  “Any last-minute questions?” shouted Jamie.

  “Aren’t there metal detectors?” called a woman from the group.

  “Good question,” said Cindy. “Yes, there are metal detectors. We are going to attempt to walk through the metal detectors and to the governor’s office.”

  “Won’t they stop us?” asked another woman.

  “They can try,” said Cindy. “But I would encourage you to keep going. Jamie and I will go first and try to talk some sense into the state police.”

  Alice had an unsettled feeling in her stomach. She was not sure if she had misinterpreted Cindy’s e-mail announcing the rally, or if she had simply chosen to read what she wanted to read because she was so excited about the prospect of participating in something that mattered to her. But it had been her understanding that the women were simply going to march to the capitol and hold an awareness rally outside the west visitor entrance for maximum visibility. How could they get into the capitol building with guns when it was illegal to do so?

  “Ladies!” cried Cindy. “Grab your signs, and let’s march!” As the crowd started moving, Alice could see the signs leaning against the chain link fence behind them. Some of the women stopped and picked up a sign. Most of the signs looked handmade, constructed from white poster board, taped or stapled to wood yardsticks or broom handles. The signs, Alice could see as they were lifted above the heads of the marchers, featured large letters written in colored markers: GUNS PROTECT US! ALLOW GUNS EVERYWHERE IN CT! WE ARE NOT AFRAID! WE HEART THE 2ND AMENDMENT! Alice fell into step with the other marchers. Not asking Alice to join them, Cindy and Jamie had moved to the front of the crowd to lead the way.

  It was a very short march, just over a mile, Alice calculated with her runner’s brain. Along the way, the women walked on the sidewalks. Some of the people in cars along the same route sounded their horns in allegiance, resulting in bursts of applause and shouts of approval from the group. Alice was silent, wondering if what she was doing, if what all of them were doing, was an idea with merit. She believed that most causes needed leaders willing to make personal sacrifices—but she was not sure she was a leader. Hadn’t she made her sacrifice when the man attacked her on the running trails? Hadn’t she taken action by applying for a permit and learning how to shoot a gun? Was she now expected to further the political goals of the Well Protected Women? Did she really care if guns were allowed in the legislative buildings? As she was formulating the answers to these and other questions in her mind, Cindy and Jamie were suddenly again in her presence. They linked their elbows with her and brought her to the front of the group. Cindy yelled “Onward!” and they marched through the doors of the Connecticut State Capitol. Within seconds, the metal detector alarms sounded, the state police were upon them, and Alice was quickly facedown on the floor with her hands cuffed behind her back, feeling not like a hero but instead like a victim, like she had felt that day she was attacked on the running trail. Cindy, who had called an officer a “fucking pig” before spitting in his face, had been hauled off the floor and into an adjoining room.

  * * *

  Four hours later, Alice drove home. She had been frisked, questioned, and released because she was not carrying a weapon, and, therefore, was doing nothing illegal. But she had been given a stern warning by a member of the state police, who told her that guns in the capitol building were perceived as a threat to the governor and the legislative process. And that if he, or any other member of the state police, found her again amid a group of armed women in the capitol, she would be treated in the same manner as the others and arrested.

  Alice’s only other brush with police had been in college. Before she had started dating her husband, she had a brief romantic involvement with a student political activist named Rodd Hamilton. Rodd had come from an affluent California family and had enjoyed a privileged upbringing that included private schooling, lavish vacations, pretty girlfriends, popularity, and the self-entitlement and hubris that can accompany such economic and social status. At Reed College, Rodd did what people later referred to as a one-eighty. He severed all ties with his family, renounced what he called the entrapments of wealth, and emptied his substantial bank account with a single check to Greenpeace. In fact, caught up in the controversy about commercial whaling, he not only joined the organization, but he also volunteered to be their Reed College representative. Alice, looking for something other than a keg party to pass one Saturday night, walked into one of his meetings—and was immediately taken in. It was not the Greenpeace mission that necessarily spoke to Alice, although she was concerned about what her biology professor had called the deterioration of the planet; but, rather, it was Rodd himself. He was a strikingly handsome young man, with the clear complexion, full head of wavy hair, brilliant eyes, and towering stature of American nobility. There were fifteen or so people in the room, sitting on couches and in stuffed armchairs, listening, raptly it appeared to Alice, to Rodd talk about Russian whaling vessels. Encouraged by Rodd with a hand motion to join the group, Alice sat in a vacant seat and spent the next hour staring at his made-for-the-movies face and listening to his plan to end the slaughter of innocent cr
eatures. When the meeting ended, Alice chose to walk out of the room rather than approach him like the other, mostly female, members of his audience. Twenty minutes later, he found her drinking coffee in a booth at the student union and asked her if he could sit down.

  Their subsequent four-month relationship was much more superficial than Rodd’s cause. He was two years her senior and, in Alice’s opinion, the best-looking guy she had ever seen; he thought she looked like Joni Mitchell. The sex was frequent and fantastic, as was their conversation, because Alice, like many lovers at first, was enamored with everything Rodd said, and he was impressed by her quick grasp of his theories and strategies. It was one of those strategies—the idea to place himself in a Zodiac inflatable boat, physically between a Russian whaling vessel and its prey—that drew the attention of the local and state authorities. And since Alice was on the beach with Rodd and two other Greenpeace activists the designated day of the intervention, she, too, was transported to the state police headquarters. It was then that she decided she was either not a natural born leader like Rodd, or that she was simply not interested enough in the cause to risk arrest and a disruption of her studies, her student life. Rodd, who was disappointed in her lack of conviction, broke off their relationship. A month or so later, Alice’s romance with Dave heated up, and she soon after forgot about Rodd, as well as Russian whaling—until now. Her stake in the Second Amendment was much more personal than had been her interest in whales. But the two activist events in her life were linked, by her initial attraction to people and ideals, and, in the end, by her unwillingness in each instance to commit to the all in, fervently felt, against the law if necessary ideology and tactics required to further a cause.

  MAY

  CHAPTER 32