The Poacher's Son (Mike Bowditch 1)

cleaning habits.”
    “All right. I thought you were going to offer me a beer.”
    I opened a bottle for her, then excused myself to go change clothes. She called after me: “You’re really strict about that, aren’t you? Not drinking in uniform, I mean.”
    “It’s the law.”
    “You’re in your own house!”
    I came back, barefoot, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. “How’s summer school?”
    “They’re little monsters, but I love them.”
    Sitting across the table, she studied me as she sipped her beer. “You look tired.”
    “Yesterday was a long day.”
    “When I saw your dad’s face on the news I felt like somebody had punched me. It still doesn’t seem real.” She leaned forward across the table. “Mike, what the hell is going on?”
    Sarah never made a secret of her curiosity; she thought nothing of asking total strangers the most direct, personal questions. Usually, during our conversations, she acted the role of irresistible force. I was the immovable object.
    “A deputy named Twombley went out to Rum Pond yesterday morning to talk to my dad. I don’t know what information he had, but there was a fight, and Twombley arrested him. On the way back to Skowhegan, the cruiser went off the road and my dad escaped.”
    “The search—what they showed of it on TV—looked like a military operation.”
    “I was up there last night until late, but they sent me home.”
    “What for?”
    “Because I’m the fugitive’s son and they don’t want me fucking up the investigation.”
    “But you’re a game warden.”
    “I’ve also been telling people my dad’s innocent.”
    “Oh.” She began chewing on a troublesome cuticle. “Why do you think that?”
    “My dad’s no terrorist. You met him. Can you picture him getting involved in some plot to murder a police officer and intimidate Wendigo Timber?”
    She looked doubtful. “You have to admit he’s violent.”
    “He’s a bar brawler. He doesn’t care about politics. All he cares about is drinking and hunting and getting laid.”
    “Do you have any idea where he is?”
    “None whatsoever. And I don’t really care, either.” I felt my face warm with blood. “I’m just trying to do my job and go on with my life.”
    “I don’t believe that for a second.”
    “So don’t. I don’t even know why you came over here. It’s hard enough seeing you again.”
    “How do you think I feel?”
    “You’re the one who left, Sarah.”
    She took a breath and put her palms flat on the table. “I didn’t come over here to fight with you.”
    “So why did you then? Morbid curiosity?”
    “Maybe I was lonely,” she said. “Did that ever occur to you? I was thinking a lot about you even before this. And with your dad in the news now—it made me scared for you.”
    “Scared?”
    “It’s your dad, Mike. You can pretend like he’s just some stranger, but you can’t fool me. I know what that man did to you.”
    “What are you talking about? He didn’t do anything to me.”
    She made a face. “He abandoned you. He broke up your family.”
    “My mom did that.”
    “But you blame him.” Sarah wasn’t crazy about my mom—she thought she was way too concerned about appearances and material possessions, ironically enough, considering her own tastes in shoes—but she liked my dad even less. After Sarah met him, she was convinced he was responsible for everything bad that had happened in their marriage.
    “I think I’d rather fight with you than have you psychoanalyze me.”
    “Do you want me to go?”
    “If you’re going to lecture me, yes.”
    From the tightness of her jaw, I could see she was fighting to keep her emotions in check. After a long silence she said, “Do you mind if I use your bathroom first?”
    “You know where it is.”
    After she left, I noticed how dusk was seeping into the house. The kitchen was practically dark. I got up and snapped on the light, but it was too bright, so I shut it off again. I didn’t really want her to leave, but I didn’t want her to think she could just breeze back like nothing had changed.
    When she came back from the bathroom she said, “I’m sorry, Mike. I don’t know why I’m lecturing you. It’s just really weird being back here. It feels familiar and strange at the same time.”
    “I know what you mean.”
    She lifted her beer bottle, but it was empty. “Do you want to go get some dinner? We could go to the Square Deal.”
    “I’ll cook something.”
    She grinned, a