Red

Part 18

Mallery

Tash and I forgo the packing, and instead, she takes me to her shooting range to get me started on the basics. Steve didn't bat an eye when we told him we were going out, but Bucky seemed suspicious of our sudden outing.

We spent two hours going over the basics of gun safety, proper handling, and getting me comfortable holding the .22 that Tash brought for me. I didn't fire a single bullet, but I felt very comfortable by the time we left the range.

"I'll come into the city and take you to the range I like there. It's woman owned," she tells me as she drives us home. "And that"—she gestures to the backseat where the small gun case is— "is yours. Once your paperwork is filed and approved, you can have it."

"I ... Okay." I nod quickly. "I'll need to tell Bucky."

"Yes, he needs to know where you plan on keeping it and the code to get into the case," she advises. "And he's going to hate it."

"He doesn't have a license?"

"Oh, he does," she confirms. "But he doesn't carry. It's too much for him."

"Trauma; we all carry some," I mutter, looking out the window.

"Have you and Steve ever really talked about your childhood? I know you aren't ready to see a therapist, and while I don't agree with that, I support your decision. But do you think that maybe you and your brother should talk about your shared trauma?" Tash glances my way as we pull into the driveway.

"You know how much I love Steve, right?" She nods, and I exhale. "It's hard to talk to him when he appears to have his life together and mine is so ... so ... not."

"My husband isn't always the calm, collected, gentle giant he appears to be. Think about it, please?" She pats my arm before climbing out of the car, grabbing the case, and walking into the house, leaving me to my thoughts.

When a tap sounds on the passenger window, I jump, hands flying to my chest as I see my brother staring down at me. "You gonna stay in there all night?" He grins, lines wrinkling around his mouth, blue eyes shining.

"Maybe. It's quiet out here," I say as I open the door.

"I'm going to get Thai for dinner. Wanna come along?" I think for a minute, wondering if this is Tash setting us up.

"Sure. Sounds good." I settle back into the car, and he rounds the hood to the driver's side, sliding in, snapping on his belt, and backing out.

He's quiet, the radio's low, and I don't say anything until I realize we're crossing the bridge. "Where are we going for Thai?"

"Tash's favorite place, that one on the Lower East Side," he says as he glides us in the right direction.

"You hate Thai food," I accuse simply.

"But I love my wife." Yeah, I guess he does.

"Do you, um, do you think Dad ever loved Mama? Like really loved her?" Picking at my nails, I steal a glance at my big brother from under my lashes just to gauge his reaction. His jaw clenches before he relaxes ever so slightly.

"I think maybe he did, at one point." He pulls into a parking garage, grabs a ticket, and parks. "But he was a drunk; a mean one to boot. He didn't love her enough not to hit her. He certainly didn't love us enough not to beat her."

"She loved us, didn't she?" My voice barely above a whisper. Steve reaches over and grabs my hand. He's not looking at me, just staring ahead.

"Yeah, she did. We always had clean clothes, a clean house. She made sure we had notes in our lunches. She always did your hair." He laughs a little. "Remember the Heidi braids she used to do for you? You'd sleep in them, and then your hair would be all wavy."