“Uncle Paul!” Robin, his oldest niece from his sister Georgia’s family, bounded up to him and hugged him. “I’m so glad you came.”
He hugged her back. “Me too,” he said, and he did mean it, even though this day had been difficult.
“Come sit with me!” Robin tugged on his arm, heading toward the picnic tables. “I want to talk to you.”
He followed her, the two of them taking a spot at the end of one of the tables, away from most of the crowd. The smell of barbecue was heavy in the air, and the music and talk floated along the meadow.
His father would have loved this. Laughter. Family. Food. Friends. A celebration of life, of his memory, instead of something somber. He looked over to his mother and smiled, thinking how lucky his dad had been—how lucky his entire family was, to have such a strong and gracious woman as the head of their family.
“So, how’s school?” he asked Robin, grabbing a chip from one of the bowls on the table and dipping it in his sister Faye’s famous nectarine salsa. It was just like he remembered: tart, fruity, with a slow burn of heat. He used to joke that Faye should jar the stuff and sell it—and she had taken him seriously. Now Aunt Faye’s salsa—along with other specialty condiments and the entire soda line—was for sale all over the West Coast in only the finest grocery stores. A few months ago, both Costco and Trader Joe’s had reached out. Expanding had been a lot of work, but Faye thrived in stressful environments. Before she’d become a salsa and soda maven, she’d been an EMT. She still worked for the volunteer fire department in town.
“It’s great,” Robin said. “I got all the AP classes I wanted and I successfully lobbied the school board to let me join the wrestling team.”
“I heard about that,” Paul said. He’d been incredibly impressed with Robin, who, when she signed up for wrestling tryouts, had been rejected by the coach because she was a girl. Considering Robin had been taking mixed martial arts classes since she was a kid, it was a hard blow for her. But not one to be discouraged—she was a lot like her grandmother in that way—she’d taken her fight to the principal and then the school board—and won.
She’d also won three of her first six matches. Turned out she had a real talent for multiple fighting arts.
“The guys on the team aren’t giving you a hard time, are they?” he asked, concerned.
Robin shook her head. “We’re cool,” she said. “A lot of them are in my MMA classes. They respect me. Coach is the only one who thinks I’m weird.”
“You’re not weird,” Paul said firmly, wondering if he had time to swing by the school and have a little talk with Coach Patten. He remembered the guy from his school days. He was a hard-ass who was just getting his start in coaching back then and clearly still had that misogynistic streak that made him complain mightily to the baseball team about being forced to coach the girls’ softball team. “And if Coach Patten gives you any shit, you call me.”
“Uncle Paul!” She laughed at his swearing, and he laughed too. Georgia, her mother, hated cursing. His oldest sister was an absolute sweetie, but she was a little traditional and prim. So, naturally, she ended up with a five-foot-ten daughter with wild hair and a wilder spirit.
She’s got more of Jason than me in her, his sister would say with a smile. And that makes me love her even more.
“I’m really glad you’re enjoying school,” he said. “Your mom start in on you about college yet?”
“That’s actually kind of what I wanted to talk to you about,” Robin said.
“Oh?” he asked. “Are you looking at some colleges in DC or back east? Because I’d love to show you around if you want to tour them.”
“It’s not that,” Robin said. “Though I’d totally love to do that. It’s . . .” She looked over her shoulder, scanning the crowd, and Paul realized she was making sure her mom was out of earshot. His curiosity piqued, he leaned forward.
“I wanted to talk to you. About the FBI.”
“What about it?”
“I know I need a degree before I’m even considered for Quantico,” Robin said. “And I know I have to be twenty-three. But I was curious if there were, like, degrees or schools that would be better for me if the FBI was my end goal.”
Paul’s throat felt tight with emotion. “You want to join the FBI?” he asked. If she knew the requirements she needed to get into Quantico, she’d obviously done some research on this.
“Yes,” Robin said. “I want to help people. Serve my country. I want to be like you, Uncle Paul.”
His heart suddenly felt too big for his body, pride rising inside him.
“Do you . . . do you think they’d want me?” Robin asked, a flash of insecurity playing across her round, freckled face.
“Yes,” Paul said. “You are exactly the kind of young woman that the FBI would want. You’re smart, you’re capable, you think on your feet, and if your mother’s bragging isn’t exaggerated, you have a real gift for languages.”
“I’m taking Spanish and French 4 this year,” Robin said. “And I’m learning Mandarin on the side. Dad found me an online class. We’ve been taking it together.”
“Those are all big assets in the FBI,” Paul said. “And the fact that you’re very physically fit and know how to take care of yourself? Also big plusses. We would need to work on your marksmanship, though.”
“We?” she asked.
“If you want, you can come stay with me next summer for a while. I won’t be able to take you on cases, of course, but we can go to the firing range, you can meet my team, tour Quantico, tour the headquarters, get a feel for the place. See if it’s a good fit. I think it will be.”
Robin’s mouth twisted, unsure. “You think Mom would let me?”
Oh. There was that. Georgia wasn’t exactly a helicopter mom, but Robin was her only child. His big sister had dealt with infertility and then a very difficult birth, and she and Jason hadn’t been able to have more kids. They’d poured their energy into Robin and their extended family. And Robin had cousins her age, which was like having a sibling when you were a Harrison.
Paul was the only one who’d left California. At least, until Robin flew the nest in two years. She was the oldest grandchild, and he knew that it would make Georgia and his mother simultaneously proud and terrified if Robin decided to pursue the FBI as a career.
“I will talk to her,” Paul said.
“She doesn’t know. About the whole FBI thing,” Robin explained. “I think she might freak out a little. She worries about you a lot.”
“Your mom is a worrier,” Paul said, with a smile. “But she does have reason to worry. My job’s not always a safe one.”
He hadn’t told his family about the events nearly a year ago, when he’d made a terrible call and paid the price. Three nights out of seven, he still woke up in a cold sweat, the weight of that bomb vest a phantom memory against his skin. It used to be every night, so he figured he was making some progress. After Grace had confronted him about his PTSD during a difficult case where he kept pulling her back in fear of one of his team getting hurt, he’d made himself return to therapy.
“But the job’s worth it, isn’t it?” Robin asked earnestly. “You wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t.”
“It’s worth it,” Paul said, trying not to think of that weight pressing on his chest.
“What are you two talking about?”
His mother came to sit next to him, putting her arm around him.
“Oh, just thinking maybe Robin might come visit me in DC next summer,” Paul said. “Check out some of the colleges on the East Coast. We gotta ask Georgia and Jason first, though.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” his mom said. “Dear, we’re almost out of the homemade sarsaparilla. Abby was a sweetie, she’s storing all the extra beverages at her place because it’s closer. Will you go get us a few crates? The dolly’s over there.”