Stand by Becky Johnson Read Free Book Online

Skeet gave me a questioning look. He could tell something was going on, but I hadn’t shared my Georgia experience. It was selfish of me to say nothing, especially after spilling my thoughts to him every day. But Moshe was listening too. I really didn’t want to deal with their concern.
    Denial, it’s a friend of mine.
    Now with Jack standing there I realized my silence was ending. Especially when Jack started talking.
    He asked Skeet, “How are her gun defense moves coming along?”
    Uh, excuse me. I am right here .
    Skeet glanced from me to Jack, assessing us. He addressed his sentence to Jack. Traitor .
    “Why?”
    Jack just arched one brow at me and folded both arms over his broad chest. I got the message. He expected me to tell them what was going on. But honestly what was going on? I got an e-mail. No big deal, right? While I debated to myself about what to say, all three men were watching me. Great. Three sets of eyes waited for me to explain.
    When I started a torrent came out. I talked for a minute and half straight. Included with my explanation was several “it probably is nothing” and “it doesn’t mean anyone is after me,” but those three men were in less denial than I. Moshe looked stern and serious, and Skeet’s grunt seemed concerned. We switched to gun defense immediately and Moshe demanded I come back tomorrow. I protested, but deep down I can admit to feeling relieved. I was scared, but determined to remain strong. Doing something to stand up against Georgia made me feel better. Plus, they made it so I could blame them for practicing harder and not that I was giving into my fear. Perfect. Yes, denial is a wonderful place to live. Shut up.
    ______
    Jack and I drove together in his dark blue sedan to the indoor/outdoor range north of Philadelphia in Bucks county. I had my .38 and Jack had a 9mm and a .45.
    The drive over was focused. We talked mostly about training and Jack questioned me about the last time I had been to the shooting range. What distance I was shooting at. If I used my gun or rented other guns. It was an FBI inquisition.
    When we got to the range my stomach was in knots. I carried my .38 and shooting gear in while Jack carried his. He had a lot more.
    There was an older guy, tall and skinny with a hunting cap, sitting behind the counter as we approached to pay for a lane. It was far too cold to shoot outside. We would have to use the indoor range.
    “One bay or two?” he rasped.
    “One.” Jack answered.
    The attendant smirked. “Going to teach the little lady how to shoot?”
    I felt my spine stiffen and cheeks flush. This was why I hated the gun range. The automatic assumption that I was incompetent.
    Jack’s tone was lazy. “She doesn’t need teaching. Just practice. She’s a great shot. I keep trying to get her to enter a competition with me.” He grinned at me over his shoulder as he paid.
    I felt my outrage bleed away. The attendant laughed, but I didn’t hear what he said. All I could hear was Jack’s quiet confidence.
    Once inside there was no time for conversation. The loud retorts of gunshots and the smell of hot lead filled the air. With our ear protection on we couldn’t hear each other unless we were shouting.
    Jack mostly had me practice with close range shooting. The kind you would have to do if someone was in your home or attacking you. He also made me practice with every gun we had.
    “You did well.” Jack’s words startled me. We were in his car heading back toward the gym where my SUV was parked.
    “Thanks.”
    “I’d like you to go with me again, though.”
    Jack laughed as I slumped in my seat and groaned.
    ______
    I drove home from the gun range starving. It was after one in the afternoon and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The very fact that I had an appetite struck me as a good thing. Despite the fear that lingered at the edges of my new reality, I was moving on, moving past. At the time though, I wasn’t really focused on all that.