“Dad didn’t talk to me about his job,” I say. Dad always had various white-collar jobs, but his real love was being outside, doing things with his hands. No, when Dad and I spent time together, we talked about nature, about astronomy, we talked about the weather and the types of clouds, we went bird-watching, clamming—we did all the things Dad couldn’t do when he was at work. “And I think we should also stop talking about it. I don’t think he’d want us sitting around speculating about it.”
“Dammit!” Uncle Nate slams his fist on the table. The silverware jumps; the glasses rattle. The people seated closest to us stop talking and look. “Why am I the only one who is not going to rest until this has been resolved? Until this family gets the justice it deserves?”
“Because you don’t know when to just leave something alone?” I ask, which is something Dad himself would say—though in a much fonder tone—about Uncle Nate from time to time.
“You people just want to try to go on with what’s left of your lives while whoever did this is out there probably doing more of the same twisted shit. I can’t just sit back and not take action. It’s not in my blood.” He looks at me. “Your father and I might have very different ways of going about things, but essentially, it’s the same thing: We will not let an injustice slip through the cracks. We will not allow those who have committed crimes, for Christ’s sake, to get off scot-free.”
“So what?” I say, annoyed that the conversation has once again turned into this. “Are you saying you’re some vigilante now? That you’re going to go out and seek justice for us in your own way since you’ve basically got nothing to go on?”
“What if I told you I was working on a way to get the person who I believe is responsible for this to come forward? To finally own up to it? Would it matter to you the WAY in which I went about it?”
“Actually, yes.”
Uncle Nate stares. “Is that so?”
“Well, it seems a little hypocritical of you to go off and do something illegal in order to prove that someone else is guilty of doing something illegal.”
“Even if it meant getting some measure of justice for your father?” He looks at Mom. “For your mother?”
“Is justice going to bring Dad back? Is justice going to magically fix Mom’s spinal cord?”
Uncle Nate waves a hand at me dismissively. “You know I love you, Jill. But you’re shaming this family right now. If it was you who had been killed or injured, your father wouldn’t rest until he found out who did it. I can guarantee you that.”
“The only guarantee I’d like from you is that you won’t bring this up anymore. Because I’m sick of hearing about it. Do I wish Dad hadn’t died? Of course. More than you probably know, Uncle Nate. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s dead, and you making me crazy with these ridiculous conspiracy theories of yours is not how I want to spend the rest of my life.”
We stare at each other. He’s a man used to winning these sorts of stare downs, but not this time. He finally looks away and picks up his water glass again, takes a sip.
“Please . . . can we just enjoy our time out?” Mom says. “I’d just like to enjoy the three of us being here together and not talk about that other stuff right now.”
“You never want to talk about it,” Uncle Nate says huffily. He takes a deep breath. “But fine. Tell me more about this young man, Jill. He’s a love interest of yours?”
“Definitely not,” I say. I take a sip of orange juice even though I’m not thirsty. “We actually don’t get along. I’m hoping he’ll be leaving soon, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.” As if I could be so lucky.
*
After we get Mom back home and settled, Uncle Nate acts like he’s going to leave, but instead asks me to walk with him out to his car.
He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and extracts a check from it, which he hands to me. “If you need more, let me know,” he says.
I grit my teeth and fold the check without looking at the sum, which I know contains a lot of zeros. “Thank you,” I manage to say.
He rubs his hand across the lower part of his face and then folds his arms across his chest. “Jill,” he says.
I look at him. “I know you think I can’t let things go,” he continues, “and maybe you’re right, but I know this wasn’t an accident. I just know it. As much as I know how much your father loved you and your mother, and how proud of you he was.”
I stuff the check into the pocket of my jeans and take a step toward him. He is only a few inches taller than I am. “You are free to do what you want,” I tell him. “But neither Mom nor I need to hear any more about your conspiracy theories, or whatever illegal activities you’ve decided to do to try to get justice. Do you understand me? And this has nothing to do with how much I love my father or how very much I wish that none of this shit happened to begin with.”
He uncrosses his arms and for a second I think he’s going to hit me, because people just don’t talk like that to Uncle Nate, but instead he just holds his hands up as though admitting defeat.
“I guess it’s just something I don’t understand. Maybe it’s because you’re women. Maybe women process things differently.”
“It has nothing to do with that.”
“Well, what is it, then? You don’t want me to talk about this stuff in front of your mother because it upsets her—okay, I won’t. But I’d appreciate it if you would enlighten me as to why you are so content to just sit back and do nothing. YOUR FATHER IS DEAD.”
“I FUCKING KNOW THAT!” I scream back. The neighbors across the street had been sitting on their front porch, but they quickly get up and move inside.
“Well, if you know that then I don’t understand why you don’t want to DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT! It was no accident, Jill, mark my words. What kind of sign are you waiting for? What the hell needs to happen to make you realize that there is something more going on here?”
I pull the check from my pocket and rip it up into tiny pieces and throw them in his face where they flutter down like confetti. “We don’t need your money. We don’t need you coming around here trying to tell us that we don’t care when in fact we do. Just because we don’t happen to deal with things the same way you do doesn’t mean it doesn’t bother us. Don’t you get that? Or have you just got it all figured out? Go off and do whatever it is that you think is going to prove something that’s un-provable. Go ahead. We don’t need to hear about it.”