Blood on My Hands

table in the visitors’ room is Chief Jenkins. “Have a seat, Callie.”
    I slump into a chair, not bothering to hide my disappointment.
    “You were expecting someone else?”
    I shrug, struggling to hold back the tears that unexpectedly threaten to burst forth.
    “Slade Lamont?”
    I look up, surprised, and feel the moisture gathering in my eyes. My emotions are so raw and torn that I can’t muster the strength to hide them anymore. Tears roll down my cheeks. Chief Jenkins nods, as if I’ve just answered his question. “So, I guess you’re wondering why I’m here.”
    I don’t bother to answer or even nod. Obviously he wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t going to tell me. He takes off his hat and places it on the table. The hat leaves a reddish ridge across his forehead. “I came here to tell you a story about your father, Callie. Something I suspect you don’t know.”
    I have absolutely no idea what he’s going to say.
    “A long time ago he and I were friends,” Chief Jenkins says. “Pretty close, actually. You didn’t know that, did you?”
    I shake my head. Dad never said a word about it. I wonder if it’s true or just some new trick they’re playing to get me to admit to other things that aren’t true.
    “I’m not surprised,” Chief Jenkins goes on. “We had a pretty bad falling-out. And after that, we never really spoke to each other again.”
    He pauses as if waiting for me to ask what happened. But I don’t. He’s come here to tell me a story. Be my guest. “We were both on the Soundview High tennis team.”
    I stare at him uncertainly. Tennis? I remember Mom saying something about Dad’s being on the team. I meant to ask him why he quit, but I never did.
    “We were tremendous rivals in high school,” the police chief continues. “At least, he thought we were. I played first singles on the team, and all he wanted to do was beat me and play first singles himself.”
    I’m still not sure whether to believe any of this. But if I do, then obviously I have to believe that my father couldn’t beat Chief Jenkins. Otherwise, what would be the point of his telling me this?
    The police chief goes on: “For some reason I was born with athletic talent coming out of my ears. Great reflexes. Amazing hand-eye coordination. The funny thing was, I couldn’t have cared less. I played on my high-school teams—tennis, baseball, basketball—but I knew I wouldn’t play in college. I had other things in mind. Your father couldn’t have been more different. What he lacked in raw talent he tried to make up for with determination, practice, training, and studying. He would practice and practice, study strategy, read all the books, and then challenge me. But I would always beat him. Well, that’s not really true. Most of the time he would beat himself. Psych himself out. Truth is, he was what we used to call a head case.”
    Well, at least that part rings true. So now I’m becoming curious. “What happened?”
    Chief Jenkins runs his thick fingers back over his thin hair as if checking to make sure those few black strands are still there. “I called a let.”
    “Sorry?” I’m not sure I know what he means.
    “When you serve and the ball nicks the net but still goes in the service box, it’s called a let. You get to do the serve over. Anyway, your dad challenged me to a match. And as usual he acted as if it wasn’t just some dumb tennis game but was practically a matter of life and death. As if his entire future depended on it. So we got into a fight over a ball I thought was a let. And your dad just … went … nuts.”
    I nod. It’s so easy to imagine Dad doing that.
    “Finally, he called me a cheater and walked off the court, quit the team, and never talked to me again. And, as far as I know, he never played tennis again, either.”
    I’m struck by how sincerely sad and filled with regret Chief Jenkins appears to be. As if, while he didn’t care that much about tennis, he really cared about my dad. But I still don’t understand why he’s telling me this.
    He goes on: “After high school, I went into the army for two years and then to the police academy. Even though he wouldn’t talk to me, I kept tabs on your dad, so I know he went to FCC. And then, later, when we’d both gotten married and I’d moved back here, I’d hear stories about him and the troubles he had with your brother. Especially since Sebastian had had a few run-ins with us, as well. I’d see your dad from