Page 38 of Tied Over

“I’m a deputy US marshal,” I said, lifting the Henley I was wearing over my T-shirt so she could see the star on my belt. “So every now and then, I get shot at.”

“Because bad guys.”

“That’s right.”

She appeared skeptical.

“I don’t usually get hit, you understand, and even when I do, I have a vest and the bullets get stopped so they can’t go into my body and make me bleed.”

“Like on TV.”

It was easiest, so I went with that. “Correct,” I agreed, looking out at the lake.

“Does deputy US marshal mean like a police officer?”

“It does. We all catch bad guys.”

“That’s good.”

The question was, why was that good? And yes, to a child, catching bad guys would always be a positive thing, but she didn’t say it offhand, like a throwaway piece of conversation. Her words had more weight and I heard it in her voice. “How old are you?”

“Seven.”

“Where are your folks?”

“My mom is in New York, where I live most of the year, and my dad is in a speedboat on the lake, teaching Vanessa—that’s his girlfriend—how to ski.”

“She doesn’t know how to ski?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t either.”

“My dad could teach you, but you wouldn’t be able to hold the handle ’cause you’re hurt.”

“True. So probably right now isn’t the time for me to learn.”

She nodded.

“You didn’t wanna go with your dad and Vanessa?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Do you know how to water-ski?”

“No, but Vanessa likes to spend time with Dad by herself.”

“Yeah, but I’m thinking this is your time with your dad too, right? I mean, he lives here, and you live in New York.”

“But Vanessa told me this morning she wanted some alone time with him.”

I nodded. “Well, then, that’s very nice of you.”

“Thanks.”

We were quiet for a bit.

“How long’ve you been here?” I prodded her.