Page 22 of Protecting What Is Mine

Hank nods. “Yeah. I mean, no. He’s not still around—not really. He’s here because of Chet.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Not really. Not if you knew their relationship.” Hank laughs. “But anyway, he stopped by and we got to talking, about life and what not. He’s a little younger than you, but I thought he might know you.”

“Uh. Okay?” I’m not sure I like where this is going.

“Well, he said the same thing you did—minus the marching band.” Hank chuckles again. “God, I’d pay good money to see that boy dressed up in a band costume, hefting a tuba up and down the field. But anyway, the thing is, when he didn’t know you, I thought he might know Sam, seeing as they’re a little closer in age. Only he didn’t.”

I stir the potatoes around and crack the eggs into a bowl. “And that was a bad thing?”

Hank looks up, confused. “Huh? No, that’s not bad. But, he did know a thing or two about your other cousin, Clint.”

I freeze when I hear his name.

Hank continues, “From what Leo said, it sounds like he’s had a long history of trouble.”

I beat the eggs and pour them into another pan and bite my lip as I try to decide the best response. “What did he say?”

Hank shakes his head. “Only rumors. You know, things he heard people talking about, or whatever. I guess the two of them never ran in the same circles. But he did say something...” Hank stops, gets up from the chair and walks over to me, then turns me to face him. “Honestly Mollie, I don’t mean to pry, so if you’re not comfortable talking about this we’ll drop it. Okay?”

I nod.

“Well, he said your family was involved in some pretty bad stuff. But he didn’t really elaborate. It didn’t sit well with me. I mean, I just can’t picture you and Sam running amok.”

I have to turn away. I can’t bear the thought of looking in his eyes and watching as the way he sees me changes. “It’s not quite like that, but your brother isn’t exactly wrong, either.”

Hank lifts my chin with his index finger. “Hey, beautiful. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. No judgement, I’m just trying to make sense of it.”

“No. It’s fine. Why don’t you have a seat while I finish this up. It’s kind of a long story.” When the potatoes are brown and the edges crispy, I turn off the heat and scoop them onto a plate with a few paper towels to soak up any residual oil. I finish cooking the omelets and carry two plates over to the table.

We sit and talk for almost an hour after we’ve eaten. I share the entire, godawful history of my dad and his brother—Uncle Roger—and their vision of becoming the crime kingpins of northern Colorado. I share the stories I remember as a child, as well as some I only learned about later, as an adult. Specifically, how my dad ended up sentenced to life in prison for a break-in gone wrong. A break-in that led to the homeowner being killed. I explain how my skeevy Uncle Roger was really the mastermind behind it all. And how he may have been the one who actually pulled the trigger, but sat back in the court room with his mouth shut while my dad took the fall.

For his part, Hank attentively listens and nods as I bare every awful detail. When I’ve shared everything with him, Hank slides his hand across the table and rests it on mine. “Mol, I don’t really know what to say. You’ve been through so much. I can’t even begin to imagine.”

Oh great. Here comes the sympathy, inexorably followed by polite excuses and then, finally, the silent treatment.

Hank clears his throat and continues, “I mean, I can’t imagine how you came through all of that and ended up so perfect. You must be some kind of miracle.”

“Ha.” His words catch me off guard and a laugh slips out before I realize. “I’m not perfect. Not by a long stretch.”

Hank lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses each finger. “I don’t know. You seem pretty perfect to me.”

“Really? You’re not bothered by my family history?” I ask in earnest.

Hank sets my hand back on the table and stiffens his back. “I know better than most, you can’t control the family you’re born into. Best you can hope for in this world is to grow up and become your own person. Set your own path. You know?”

I nod. “I do.” How does this man continue to surprise me?

“Your family doesn’t define you. In fact, seems to me you’ve gone out of your way to make sure you didn’t fall into whatever chaos your dad…err…others in your family got swallowed up in.” Hank lets out a big yawn, reminding me that the plan was for him to be fed and then crawl into bed.

I smile. “Thank you for being so understanding. Now, you need your rest. Let me clean these dishes and I’ll get out of here so you can sleep.”

Hank slides his chair back and stands, towering over me. “You’ll do no such thing. The cook doesn’t do the dishes. No, ma’am.” He yawns again. “Thank you so much for this. And thank you for being comfortable sharing things that maybe you aren’t really comfortable sharing. That means a lot.”

Hank walks me to my car, careful to make sure he gets there first to open my door. He kisses me goodbye and rubs his thumb along my cheek. “Mollie, our lives are no more constrained by the mistakes of our family than our grandchildren will be by mistakes of ours.”

I know what he means, but I can’t let the opportunity pass. “So, you’re thinking about us having grandchildren?” I smile and slide into the drivers’ seat as Hank’s cheeks turn bright red.

He stutters and stumbles when he replies. “Um, no. Uh…that’s not what…what I meant was...”

I wink as I start the car. “Easy, tiger. Just messing with ya.” I pull the door closed and wink again as I put the car in drive. “Get some rest,” I call through the window.

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