The sun is behind us, and we’re shaded by forest overgrowth. It’s light but not bright. My range is lined with trees, and I’ve hung a target on an old dead stump at the end.
I demonstrate, then talk her through imitating my movements. By the time our lesson is over, she’s become a crack shot. I could have her move back a few yards and keep going, but the air has chilled and the sky has turned hazy.
I instruct her on how to make sure the weapon is empty and clean it with gun oil before closing it back in its box.
She snaps the case shut and tilts her chin up at me proudly, lips pressed together in a wide smile. “How do I compare to your other students?”
“Well …” I study her but imagine having Gemma ask such a question. While I compare Gemma to my ex, I compare everyone else to Gemma. Even Bree, who is the whole package. I refocus to answer her question. “Considering that my other student is in elementary school and shoots Airsoft guns, I think you might beat him in marksmanship.”
Her shoulders bunch and her smile slips. “You have a son?”
I pause as the hitch in her voice indicates she considers the thought of my being a dad a negative thing. I’d never thought of it that way before. “Nephew.”
“Oh, that’s sweet.” Her posture relaxes. “For a moment I thought maybe you’d been married.”
NowthatI definitely understand as a negative thing. But more so for me than her. “I was.”
Pause. “Did she die?” How does she make such a question sound hopeful?
Amber’s dead to me, but I’m not going to get into that. “No.”
“Oh.” Her tone is both light and definitive at the same time. Like I’m also dead to her, but she wants to lower me into my grave gently.
In a weird way, I’m relieved. Now I don’t have to tell her I’m not interested. And I don’t have to try to come up with an excuse to give my grandmother about why I’m not dating Bree. Plus, my choice not to date at all has been confirmed yet again.
“I’ve … uh …” She looks down to avoid eye contact. “I’ve heard it said that in a romantic relationship, people who’ve never been married before struggle to connect with people who have been. They feel like they have to compete with the former spouse.”
I cross my arms. How would Gemma react to the fact that I’m a divorcé? If what Bree says is true, then Gemma’s better off without me. Even if I decided to take another chance on love, my ex has ruined that as well.
“I can see how that would be hard,” I finally allow.
Though Bree is talking about herself and the things she wants, not what I have to offer Gemma.
I stoop to pick up used shells I can refill later. I don’t waste brass. “Good thing we’re not on a date.”
Bree squats in front of me as if to help, but she’s looking at me instead of the ground. “This isn’t personal. I really do like you.”
“It’s fine.” How do I tactfully say I’m not upset about her rejection but about what her rejection implies for my chances with someone else? Even though I know better than to take the chance. “You’re great, Bree, and I want you to find a spouse who is everything you deserve.” I look down at the empty casings in my palm. “Not all of us are that lucky.”
We stay like that for another few moments. She’s probably trying to figure out what to say about my divorce, while I hope she says nothing.
I finally stand. “Now you have all the basics for handling your weapon.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Bree stands too. “I feel confident.”
That makes one of us. “Do you have a gun safe?”
She picks up her black, plastic case and hugs it to her chest like a teddy bear. Which it’s not. “No.”
“I’d recommend trigger locks then.” Especially if she’s got juvies around. She may not be as naive as some of the other women my grandparents have sent my way, but I don’t want her ever to have to carry unnecessary guilt from her career choice.
“Good to know. I will.” She studies me. “Can I take you out for dinner to repay you for the bullets and everything?”
I suppose we could be friends. She kind of had that sisterly feel until everything got awkward. But not tonight. “You don’t owe me anything. This is what I do.”
She nods and takes a few steps backward toward my house. “Are you staying out here?”
“Yeah. It’s my turn to shoot.” I don’t need the practice the way she did. I need to take out some frustration.
