Page 19 of Jackson's Redemption

I had to stop myself from gulping.

He turned and resumed walking. I followed him quietly because I really didn’t have anything to say. Mostly because I was afraid he was right.

* * *

Kate

“Knock, knock.”

“I’m not doing this, Kate.”

“Come on. How am I going to make you laugh if you don’t play along?”

We were about two hours into our hike over rough enough terrain that I could feel it in my legs. Jackson did his lift-me thing two more times, but for the most part, if I had to get over a hurdle, he just offered a hand to steady my descent.

We had seen animal leavings but no actual animals I could get a picture of. I didn’t mind. The sun was up, the temperature was pretty mild. I was alone in the woods where nobody knew who I was or what my father did.

“Knock, knock,” I tried again.

He grunted but relented. “Who’s there?”

“To.” I smiled.

“To who?”

“It’s to whom.” I waited. Nothing. “Okay you’re not into literary humor. Knock, knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Pecan.”

“Pecan who?” He sighed.

“Pecan somebody your own size.”

He grunted. I interpreted that as his mildly funny grunt. “How do you know all these?”

“My partner, sorry, ex-partner, has a daughter who has a book of them. I was tight with his family. They would have me over for barbecues and stuff. Celia loved to play knock, knock.”

“You guys still close?”

I swallowed as the loss hit me like a gut punch. I was taking a lot of gut punches lately. “Not really.”

“Just because you’re not a cop, you can’t be friends with cops?”

“I told you. It’s complicated.”

He grunted. Translated: he thought I was making something complicated that really wasn’t. Maybe he was right. It was actually pretty simple.

“He thinks I’m a dirty cop,” I admitted. “And when you’re a good cop—and he is the one of the best—then you can’t stand to be around a dirty cop.”

Jackson stopped walking and I stopped, too. I could hear birds cawing to each other. The rustle of the wind against the brush. So peaceful all around me except inside my own head.

“Were you? Dirty?”

“No,” I said and, for the first time, I thought someone might actually believe me. He didn’t know me, had no preconceived notions of me. There was no reason for me to lie to him. It felt good to say the truth and be believed.

“Good to know.” It was all he said. Then he started moving, and I followed him, wondering what he was thinking.