The Letter - Chapter 52

Well, two days in at the Academy for rich kids.  I was back in the limo with good old Henry the Henchman at the wheel.  Actually, Nickerson Academy wasn’t as bad as I had feared.  I felt my education at Bethel was at least on a par with what was being offered there.  And the kids weren’t nearly as snooty as I thought they’d be.  Diana seemed sincere.  She told me she was working on getting my phone to me.  I really hope she can come through.  Surprisingly, I hadn’t seen my mother for more than a few minutes since our talk on Sunday morning.  You’d think she’d want to spend some quality time with her daughter now that she had me as a captive audience.

In her absence, I spent some quality time exploring the mansion.  I enjoyed the billiards room.  Dad had taught me how to play pool at Dave & Buster’s.  He says Mark Twain loved to shoot pool, and Dad’s an ardent fan of that author.  I found that one of the two libraries was Richard’s home office, and the other was my mother’s.  And I discovered that Mrs. Tomlinson was a much better cook than Dad.  All in all, if I had to be in prison, this was not a bad prison to be in.  One interesting feature I discovered was the unintentional intercom system.  I was lying on the plush carpeting in my room next to the heating vent, and I heard voices.  I couldn’t quite make out who was talking or what they were saying, but if I ever do get my phone, I have an app called Ear Spy that might enhance those noises to the point that I could hear what is being said.

Henry activated the electric gate and drove the limo to the mansion’s main entrance.  I waited for him to open my door and got out of the car.  Mr. Hughes met me at the front door. 

“Good evening, Miss.  Mrs. Tomlinson has planned an early dinner at your mother’s request.  May I take your bag up to your room?”

“Sure, Mr. Hughes.”  I handed him my backpack.  “What is my mother planning?”

“I’m sure she will provide you all the details during dinner, Miss.”

“You mean she’s having dinner with me tonight?”  He nodded, and I walked to the dining room.  My mother was seated at the dining room table sipping a cocktail as I walked into the room.  She smiled at me.

“Jennifer, dear.  Come in.  I’m sorry we’ve missed each other the past day or so.  I thought we might take the opportunity to do something special together this evening, so I ordered us an early dinner.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I’m sure it will be quite a surprise.  We’ll have loads of fun.  But now let’s eat.”  She rang a small bell and Mr. Hughes carried in a bowl of mixed greens and served us.  When we had finished our salad, he brought in the main course – chicken cacciatore, with fresh pasta and broccoli.  Then we had ice cream for dessert. 

“I asked Mrs. Tomlinson to keep it simple.  Did you enjoy your meal dear?”

“Mrs. Tomlinson is an amazing cook,” I gushed. 

“Well, let’s go.  Henry is waiting.”

We grabbed our coats and got into the waiting limousine.  It wasn’t long before Henry drove the limo onto a long private drive that looked like the entrance to a country club. 

“So here we are,” said my mother.

“And where might that be?”

“This is Richard’s gun club.  We’re going to do some shooting.  Have you ever shot a gun, Jennifer?”

“Uh, no.  I’ve never really seen a gun except on TV or in the movies.  Other than a BB gun, I guess.  I used to shoot that old one of Dad’s on Indian Princess camp outs.  That probably doesn’t count.”

“Well, I think it’s a good idea for a young woman to know how to handle guns.  You may have to defend yourself someday.”

“Uh, I’m not so sure about this, Mom.”

“We’ll start off at the trap shooting course.  It’s an Olympic sport, you know.”

“Okay?  But how can you see to hit anything in the dark?”

“There are plenty of lights.  At this time of year, it’s dark at 5:30. No one would ever get to practice if we didn’t have lights.”

Henry dropped us off at the main building which also housed a bar and small restaurant.  There was a locker room in the basement.  My mother opened a locker and exchanged her fur coat for a leather jacket and stowed her purse.  I assumed it was her personal locker.  She also took out a pair of safety glasses and hearing protection earmuffs.

“They’ll have some for you up at the shooting range,” she said to me.  

We walked a path that led to the trap shooting area.  A man greeted us and handed my mother a rifle. He gave me a pair of safety glasses and hearing protection.  

My mother held the gun in the air and grinned at me.  “This is a Remington 870.  For my money, it’s the best damned shotgun ever made.  See, it has pump action – a little bit like that old BB gun of your father’s.”  

She walked into the shooting station, put the gun against her shoulder and yelled, “Pull!”  The clay pigeon went flying and my mother shot the gun.  She did about a dozen, hitting more than half.  Then she turned to me and held out the gun.  “Now it’s your turn, Jennifer.”

“Mom.  I really don’t think I want to do it.  I’ll just watch you if you want to shoot some more.”

“Are you sure, dear?  It’s really a lot of fun.”

“No, you go ahead.  I’m happy just to stand here and watch.”

She shot at another dozen and then handed the gun back to the man who had stood to the side watching.

“I’ll put it away for you, Mrs. Zingerman.  Good shooting!”

“Thank you, Bert.  Come along Jennifer, and bring your glasses and hearing protection.  We’re going to the indoor range.”  We went back inside.  My mother opened the locker and took a small handgun out of her purse.

“Geez, Mother.  You carry a gun?”

“Yes, dear.  And if you’re going to carry a gun, you’d better damned well know how to use it.”

I walked with her to the indoor range.  She got into one of the lanes with a target.  I stood well behind her.  My mother shot several rounds, put the safety on and walked over to where I was standing.  

“This is a Sig Sauer P238.  Richard bought it for me as a Christmas present a few years ago.  I like that it is small and fits nicely into my purse.  Would you like to try it?”

I looked at the ground.  “No thank you.  Mom, I’m really glad you thought to invite me to come along with you, but I’m not very big on guns.  I’m sorry.  It’s not that I think they ought to confiscate all the guns in this country.  But guns kill so many people, and handguns especially are made for only one purpose – to kill people.  And that bothers me.”  I looked her face.  “But if you want to carry around a pistol and feel like you could use it if someone comes after you, that’s fine.  I just couldn’t do it knowing that using it could mean taking someone’s life.  So why practice with one if I’d just never use it?”

“That’s all right, Jennifer.  I certainly wouldn’t want to force you to do something that goes against your beliefs.”

“Now you sound sarcastic, Mother.”

“Well, it’s just that I thought this could be a lovely evening of bonding with my daughter.  Instead, I feel like I’m getting a lecture from my ex-husband.”

“Can we go home now?”

My mother started to say something and stopped herself.  Instead, she forced a smile.  “Sure, Jennifer.  We’ll go home and chat over some hot chocolate.”