Keeping Secrets--Part Three 

4247 Maplewood Dr 

Tuesday, January 22, 2002 

8:10 AM 

Where were they? 

Jenna looked down at the pile on the floor—underwear, socks, undershirts—nightshirts—absolutely nothing. Where could they be?  She blew out her breath in a frustrated whoosh. Her bangs flew up and then settled back down—into her eyes—impatiently she brushed them back and out of her face.

“Great,” Jenna muttered to herself. “Just fantastic.” Of all the days for this to happen—

“Just what is this supposed to be?” 

Grandma’s voice. Jenna turned to see her standing in the doorway, her arms crossed.

“I was—um—just looking for something,” she explained lamely. 

Grandma’s eyebrows lifted. “Looking for something in the middle of this chaos?”

“Well it didn’t start out as chaos,” Jenna indicated the piles on the floor. “I was just going through my drawers and I wasn’t finding what I wanted, and you know how you dump out your purse when you want to find something in there?”

“I see,” Grandma nodded. “So you thought you’d dump all your clothes out on the floor to look through them.”

“Pretty much.”  Said out loud it actually did sound like a very silly idea. 

“Can I ask what it was you were looking for?” 

“Some pantyhose.”  Jenna indicated her lavender shirt and denim skirt. “It’s picture day at school.”

“Picture day this late in the year?”

“Well it’s usually in September but this last September was kind of—” Jenna let the sentence hang and watched as Grandma’s eyes widened in comprehension.

“Believe me, I understand,” she told Jenna.  “But darling, couldn’t you have gotten all of this together last night?”

Jenna felt heat rising in her cheeks. “I could’ve, but I forgot,” she confessed. “Lisa called my cell phone and reminded me.”  She bent down to scoop the clothes up.  “Just let me straighten this up and I’ll—”

“No way missy,” Grandma swooped in and snatched the clothes from her grasp.  “These are not going back into your drawers after you’ve dumped them out on this carpet. I’ll wash these today, and then when you come home you can put them back neatly and straighten out this room a little. All right?” 

“But Grandma, I want to—”

Grandma held up her hand. “I don’t want to hear any more. Now you need to leave before too long—if you still need pantyhose look in your Mother’s drawer—I’m willing to bet she has a few pairs. All right?”

“All right,” Jenna repeated. “I’m sorry—about all this.”

“Don’t worry about it now, Jenna—just get ready before your father has a conniption fit.”

“Okay.”  Jenna looked down at her watch. 8:17—Grandma was right.  She went down the hallway to Mom and Dad’s room. The door was closed. Was someone in there? 

“Dad?”  she knocked on the door, not wanting to intrude. “Dad?” Another tap—nothing.  The sound of the TV downstairs registered in Jenna’s brain—that must be where he was. Slowly she pushed open the door—the hinges squeaked slightly—Mom kept saying that she was going to fix that with WD-40.  The room was empty.

Mom’s drawer was the second drawer. Jenna opened it—there were several pairs of pantyhose—a couple still in packages. She picked one of those—a pair that said ‘nude’ because she always thought that suntan looked weird when you didn’t actually have a tan. These would work perfectly—and she could put them on in the bathroom.  Carefully she shut the drawer. 

That was when she noticed the first drawer—still slightly ajar. Dad must have forgotten to close it all the way, Jenna thought. She took the brass handle in her hand, ready to push it closed—

‘Why don’t you look in the drawer?’ a little voice asked.  ‘See what’s in there?’

No, she couldn’t—it wouldn’t be right—besides there wouldn’t be anything in there anyway—just socks, underwear and ties. Boring stuff.

‘You won’t know, will you? Not until you check. So why don’t you just look—just for a second?’

One second wouldn’t hurt. 

Jenna pulled open the drawer.

Just like she thought.  There were some boxers—mostly blue ones—a stack of ties, belts— a neatly folded stack of white t-shirts. Mom must have folded those, she thought—Dad wasn’t much of a folder.

What else? Not much of anything, really.  Jenna spotted an orange box way in the back—marked Trojan—she’d seen those in the drugstore in the mall—if those were what she thought they were she just didn’t want to know. 

‘All that snooping for nothing.’

That was when Jenna spotted something—something else near the back—it was light brown—what could that be?  She reached back there—her fingers encountering smooth leather. Another belt? But it was shaped weird. Carefully she pulled it out. Some kind of harness thing—buckles and things just like a belt—it looked adjustable—and it had a pocket for carrying something—a pocket that snapped open and shut.

It looked familiar somehow.  Jenna held it up and that was when it hit her—she’d seen people wearing this on cop shows on TV. It was a shoulder holster. 

But what would Dad be doing with one?  Sure, he had a gun, but this kind of thing was for someone who wore guns on a regular basis—who used them.

“Okay, Johnston—put her down!”

That click, the same click Jenna had heard when Gary had thumbed back the safety on his gun—only Dad’s click had meant safety—her safety, because he’d saved her life that night.

But what had he been doing with a gun in the first place? And what was he doing with a holster?

“Munchkin?” 

Oh crap—Jenna could hear his footsteps in the hall—if Dad caught her with this she didn’t know how she would explain it. Hurriedly Jenna tossed the thing back in the drawer and slammed it shut.

“Coming, Dad—”Jenna fought to keep her voice normal. “I’m just—I’m changing into pantyhose.”

“Oh—okay.  We need to be going soon, you know.” 

“I know.” 

“I’ll be waiting downstairs, munchkin.” 

Jenna listened as he went back the hallway and downstairs.  She sank down onto the bed, closing her eyes, taking deep breaths to compose herself. 

SMK SMK SMK SMK

Kenmore Middle School 

1:30  PM

Number seven on her list.  Jenna wrote down the number 7 and then drew a horizontal line through the seven the way her Math teacher always did. She wasn’t sure why her teacher did that exactly—but Jenna had always liked it—she thought it looked fancier somehow.

7. Dad has a shoulder holster for carrying his weapon—I found it in his drawer.

So what did that mean, exactly? Did it mean anything at all?  Dad had a gun—that was no big secret—she’d known that a long time ago.

Why would Dad need a shoulder holster? She wrote that down and underlined it.

To carry his weapon, of course. After all, if Jenna thought it was uncomfortable to carry a cell phone in her pocket, imagine what a gun would feel like. A holster would probably be more comfortable if you had to carry it.

But that was the whole thing. Why would Dad have to carry it? He was a filmmaker, a director.  Why would he need to carry a weapon on a regular basis? Lisa’s dad had a gun too—Lisa told Jenna that he kept it in a locked cabinet in his bedroom. He certainly didn’t carry it around with him in a holster—most ordinary people didn’t. 

Cops did things like that, though—they needed to carry their guns with them because it was a part of their jobs.

And Dad’s job—

What about Dad’s job? He wasn’t a cop—Jenna was pretty sure of that at least. She’d seen where he worked and it definitely was not a police station. It was a film company—it said that on the front of the building. 

He made films. That’s what he did.

‘Are you really so sure?’  A nagging voice inside her whispered. ‘Have you ever heard Dad talk about his work?  When was the last time you actually saw a movie that he made?’

Well there was the earthworm movie they showed in school—back in third grade—Jenna remembered the pride she’d felt at seeing the name ‘Lee Stetson’ in the credits. Her dad—even if it wasn’t the most fascinating movie she’d been so proud of him.

But there hadn’t been any movies since then, had there?  Not ones that she’d seen anyway. Jenna found that her mind kept going back to cops. Dad didn’t talk a lot about moviemaking, that was for sure. On the other hand though, he seemed to know quite a bit about courts, about trials—cross-examinations, appeals—things that most people didn’t know about. And while Mr. Dutton had been very concerned and worried about her testimony, he never seemed worried about her Dad—or her Mom either, for that matter.

Of course that could’ve had something to do with the fact that they were adults and she was a child—and a child with PTSD to boot.

But even so—

Dad had told her that he knew about this stuff because he’d had experience testifying in breach-of-contract cases with the film company.

Had he been telling the truth about that?

At the time Jenna had believed him. Now—

“I’ve dealt with tougher men than Baylor.”  That was what he said at the courthouse. When had he?

A lot of little things, Jenna mused. Small things—the way that he acted—that he reacted to things. It all just seemed—different, somehow.

‘Different how?’ 

Up at the front of the class Ms. Pace droned on—writing something on the blackboard. Jenna knew that she should probably be paying attention and taking notes, but her mind kept going back to the list.

Things that were different. Like what things?

How about the one time when they’d come home from the store to find the front door partly open. Jenna had only been six at the time but the memory was still pretty clear:

“But Daddy I want to go in with you—please?”

“Not now, munchkin. I want you to stay in the car while Daddy checks this out, okay? And keep your head down.” 

“But—” 

“No!” the sudden harshness of his voice had surprised and frightened her—Jenna’s eyes had filled with tears and he’d enfolded her in a hug. She could smell his leather jacket against her cheek, her tears soaking the material.

“I just want you to be safe, munchkin,” he’d told her. “So please—just stay here and stay down. I’ll be right out. I promise.” 

“Okay.”  She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “I’ll do it.”

“Good girl.” he’d kissed her forehead and left her in the car. Jenna had kept her head down but she could still see a little—the way he’d approached the house, this sort of sideways walk.

That had all turned out okay, of course, Jenna remembered. It had just been Grandma and Captain Curt and they had simply forgotten to shut the front door. But Dad had been afraid, worried that it was something else—she’d seen it in his eyes….

Or the time with that weird preacher guy who had grabbed her outside the community center and wouldn’t let go, even when she stomped on his foot—Dad had done some sort of karate chop on his arm, making him let her go…

So many things—so many little, random things that when put together added up to—what?  That was the problem, Jena mused—she really didn’t know. All of the stuff on this list and nothing substantial—nothing to prove anything beyond just a feeling—a sense that more was going on—more than she knew about.

“Jenna?”  Ms. Pace’s voice startled her.  Hastily Jenna slammed her notebook shut, looking up at the teacher standing beside her.

“I hope those were class notes,” the teacher said.

“It was—they were.”  Someone—probably Terri—snickered. A warm flush rose up through Jenna’s neck into her cheeks.  If the English teacher noticed her discomfort she gave no sign.

“Well that’s very good, Jenna—that must have been why you didn’t hear me calling your name.”

“I’m sorry Ms. Pace.” 

The teacher smiled kindly. “Well that’s all right. I was wondering if you could answer the question I have on the board about The Scarlet Pimpernel.”

The Scarlet Pimpernel—oh gosh—she was supposed to have started reading that on Sunday and hadn’t even made it past the first chapter. Jenna’s heart thudded in her ears as she looked up at the chalkboard.

‘Why did Sir Percy Blakeney feel that he needed to maintain his secret identity as The Scarlet Pimpernel?  Why didn’t he tell Marguerite?’

Marguerite. That was the name of Percy’s wife, wasn’t it?  So at least she wasn’t totally clueless.  Everyone in the class was silent, looking at her—waiting.

“Well,”  she cleared her throat. “He was—um—rescuing people from the guillotine in France—if anyone had found out, he probably would’ve been in trouble.”

“Very true,” Ms. Pace nodded approvingly. “He would’ve been in trouble with Robespierre and with Chauvelin as well.  What about the second part of the question?”

The second part. “Well if Marguerite found out she could give him away,” Jenna replied. “That would put him in danger—and it probably would put her in danger too.” 

“That is certainly a good point,” Ms. Pace contended. “But let’s not forget—there’s also the fact that he didn’t completely trust her because he thought that she’d betrayed St. Cyr and sent him and his entire family to the guillotine out of spite.” 

“That’s true too.” 

“Very good answer, Jenna.”  The teacher patted her on the shoulder.  “And now we should move on to some of the other themes—”

A secret identity. Jenna stared at the blackboard, her thoughts racing wildly. Was that what dad had?  A public identity as a plain old filmmaker and then a secret identity as—what? Something requiring the use of the gun? An undercover policeman of some kind?  Or something else—maybe even higher than a policeman? 

No. Jenna shook her head reflexively. Lisa was right—it was all just a product of her wild imagination—her trouble with accepting normality.

But all the stuff on her list—all the things that didn’t add up—

It was impossible. Because if Dad had a secret identity that would mean that Mom did too, because she worked with him.

‘Is that so hard to believe?’ the little voice asked her. ‘You already think she’s leading a double life in the mansion next door.’  Jenna had made a point of checking out the mansion when they’d driven up to school and that same limo had been there, just like it had been on Monday.

If that had been Mom—if Mom was in that house, what was she doing there?  Was she undercover?

And if Mom and Dad had secret identities, then logically that would mean that Francine did as well, because she was Dad’s boss, and Billy too, because he was the head of the film company, along with Beaman— even Leatherneck. And that would mean that the whole film company was—what? Just some sort of a front for something else? Jenna remembered that book she’d seen back in the cabin on twenty-first century weaponry—the book with notes penciled in the margins. Dad had snatched the book from her hands and when Jenna had come out of her room after unpacking the book was nowhere to be found. 

Dad really hadn’t wanted her to see it. Why? Because it would give something away, maybe? Something they didn’t want her to find out about?

This was insane—she was imagining things—she was crazy for even thinking this way. The bell rang and Jenna gathered up her things to go to the next class.

There had to be a way to investigate this—to find out once and for all what was actually going on.

SMK SMK SMK SMK

3:40 PM 

“Have a good day?” Dad asked Jenna as they pulled out of the parking lot.

Had it been a good day? Jenna honestly didn’t know how to answer. Most of the day she’d spent on automatic pilot—her head too full of thoughts to do too much else—things she couldn’t talk about—not with Lisa or Christy—certainly not with Dad.  But he was looking at her now, she realized—he’d expect some sort of answer.

“It was all right,” she managed finally.

“How did picture day go?”

“You know—they line you up, take your photo—that’s basically it.”

“Sounds almost like a mug shot or something.”

“No, it wasn’t that bad.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.”

Mug shot—ordinarily Jenna might’ve just found that funny—but now she wondered. Why did he use that word? Did he have personal experience in that field or was it just a funny comparison?

‘I have to stop this—to relax—I can’t start seeing shadows everywhere.’ 

But wasn’t that exactly what she was doing?  After all, the first thing she’d done after leaving the school building was check out the mansion next door. The limo was still parked in the drive—the same place it had been that morning. No one going in or out—not that she could see, anyway. And certainly no Mom—if that had been her Mom to start with.

Seeing shadows—and everything that had seemed so innocent had suddenly taken on another meaning. She glanced over at dad—at his profile—graying hair—eyes watching the road intently as he steered the ‘Vette towards home. Nice eyes—that’s what everyone said. Her dad was nice, she knew that—and he loved her—protected her.

Just a regular guy, though—wasn’t he?  Or was he hiding something from her?  And if he was, what was it?

What was everybody hiding?

“So, munchkin—what do you want to do for your birthday?”

Of all the questions he could’ve asked— “I guess I haven’t really thought much about it.” Jenna confessed. “What could I do?”

“Anything you want—well, within reason, obviously.”

“So no amusement park at the house, right?”

Lame joke, but Dad still grinned. “Right. But whatever we do, we should start planning it soon.”

That was true—there really wasn’t a whole lot of time left.  “Do you think that maybe I could have a slumber party?”

“A slumber party?”  They were stopped at a light now—Dad turned to look at her. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” 

Was she sure? Jenna could hear the unspoken anxiety behind that question—she knew what he was thinking. She had wanted a slumber party for her twelfth birthday too—and they had planned it—she and Mom and Grandma—everything down to the last detail.

But then life—and Gary Johnston—turned out to have other ideas—and Jenna had spent her actual birthday in a hospital, hooked up to machines. Just thinking about it—about him, his cold eyes—the way his hands had felt on her skin—Jenna shivered slightly—wrapping her arms around herself.

That was then, though—it was in the past—and this was now. Determinedly Jenna pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind. Gary Johnston was gone—hopefully for good—and she didn’t want to dwell on the past—not anymore.

“Yeah, I would like to do that,” she told him. She wanted to make new birthday memories now—happy ones. “A slumber party would be fun.”

“Even though you probably won’t slumbering, right?”

Jenna sighed. “Da-ad.”

“Okay, okay. If a slumber party is what you want we can do that. How many girls are we talking about here? Less than twenty, I hope.”

“Probably just six girls—or maybe seven.”

“That sounds reasonable. What else do we need to do for this?” 

“Well we’ll need—um—pizza, some sodas and snacks—paper plates and cups—and some streamers and balloons,” Jenna replied. “Oh, and Mom usually makes a cake of course.”

At the mention of Mom, Dad’s hands suddenly tightened on the wheel—he looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Right, of course.”

“Mom will be home then—won’t she?” Dad didn’t say anything at first.  “Won’t she?”

“Jenna—”

“You said she’d be back this week.”

“She’s going to do her best, munchkin.” 

”So she might not be back this week? Is that what you’re saying?”

Dad turned onto Maplewood. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” a little voice was warning her to drop this—just let it go, but for some reason Jenna persisted.

“I’m saying that your Mom would never want to miss your birthday,” Dad said. “Never. But sometimes things come up—things she might not be able to help. And you’re old enough to realize that.”

Old enough. Sure, she was supposed to be old enough to understand these things—to ‘be grown up’ about things—but not old enough for makeup—to choose her own shirts and jeans—

Or to know what was really going on.

“So what kind of things might come up?”  Jenna asked. 

Another sigh. “I really—I don’t know.”

“Do you know where Mom is?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you.”

“Would you?”

He looked at her sharply as they turned into the drive. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing,” Jenna replied. “It’s nothing, really.” 

‘Except I keep getting the feeling that there’s something you’re not telling me—something that no one’s telling me.’ But she couldn’t say that out loud—not yet.

Dad just stared at her. For a minute he looked like he might say something—then his cell phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and looked at the number. 

“Just one minute.”  He told her, flipping the phone open. “Stetson here.”  A long silence—Jenna saw his hand clench, a knot forming in his jaw.  “No, no—” he looked over at Jenna. “Het is lastig. Vaarwel.”

That same strange language again—the one he’d been talking with that man. Dad closed his cell phone.

“Who was that?” Jenna asked.

“Business—it was film business, that’s all. Nothing very exciting.”

Did she believe him?   Was it really film business? Or some other kind of business? He’d looked angry just now—the same way he’d looked when he’d met that man in Kohl’s. Somehow she didn’t think that filmmaking would get him that upset.

“Okay,” Jenna said finally, not meeting his eyes. “We should probably go in—I’ve got stuff to do and I want to finish my homework before dinner.”

“Hey,” Dad’s arms suddenly enfolded her in a hug.  “If I know your Mom, she’s going to move hell and high water to get here for your birthday. All right?”

Jenna tried to smile. “All right,” she repeated. Dad kissed her forehead.

“Good.”  He said, obviously relieved. “Let’s get inside, huh? Get out of the cold.”

‘I have to find out,’ Jenna thought. Because if dad thought she was just going to let this go—as she followed him up the front walk her mind was already busy, formulating a plan.

SMK SMK SMK SMK

4247 Maplewood Dr.

4:30 PM

What in the world…?

Lee stood there, tie in hand, staring down in confusion at the mess of his drawer. Correction—what had once been his drawer. T-shirts and boxers in lay together in a rumpled disarray—like someone had rifled through them—or simply shoved the once neatly-folded stacks aside. But why? He wondered. For what purpose? 

Looking for something, maybe?  Looking for what?

“I swear, I never want to see another stack of laundry again,” Dotty said as she came into the bedroom, laundry basket in hand. She sat on the edge of the bed, putting the basket on the floor beside her.  “I must have done about eleven loads today.”

“Why so many?” Lee asked.

“Your daughter,” Dotty replied. “She decided it would be best to look through her clothes by dumping them on her floor.”

Lee grinned—that definitely sounded like something Jenna would do. “Did she find what she was looking for?”  He asked.

“Not in her room, no. I sent her in here to find some pantyhose—Amanda usually keeps some in her drawer.”

“Oh yeah.” Lee remembered now. He stared down at the mess of his drawer, his mind racing. Could Jenna have—?

He had to know for sure.

“Dotty?” He said aloud.

“Hmm?”  His mother-in-law’s eyes were closed now, fingertips rubbing at the center of her forehead.

“You didn’t—um—you didn’t go looking through my drawer, by any chance?”

“No,” Dotty’s eyes opened. “Although I was planning on putting your things away in a moment. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Lee said quickly. “Look, why don’t I put everything away?”

“You sure?” Dotty asked.

“Sure—it’s no trouble at all.”

Dotty smiled as she rose from the bed. “Bless you, Lee—dinner will be ready in about an hour and half.”

After Dotty left, Lee stood there, staring down at his drawer—running his hand back through his hair.

Jenna and Dotty—the only other people in the household. And if Dotty hadn’t looked through his drawer, then it must have been—

“I’m just—I’m changing into pantyhose.” That was what she’d told him. Had there been a touch of furtiveness in her voice or had he just imagined it?

She knew which drawer was her mother’s, Lee thought. So why on earth would she ever—?

At that moment his eyes fell on the box of Trojans—the box that sat just behind his spare shoulder holster. It had been tipped over on its side, packets spilling out. He picked up a packet, looking at it—

‘She wouldn’t—she couldn’t have possibly—’ The very thought caused a giant lump to rise in his throat.

‘Couldn’t she?  She’s been moody recently—you thought something was wrong.’

‘Not this—she’s too young, she’s still a little girl and barely a—’

‘You can’t even think the word, can you, Stetson?’

Teenager. Lee stared down at the orange foil packet he held in his hand before coming to a decision.

He had to know for sure.  Placing the packet back in the drawer he went down the hallway to Jenna’s room. His daughter lay on her bed on her stomach, feet in the air—her face a mask of concentration as she wrote in her notebook.

“Munchkin?”

At the sound of his voice she startled visibly, shutting her notebook and putting it under her pillow.

“Oh—hey Dad.”

“Hey yourself.” He sat down next to her on the edge of her bed. “You busy?”

“Just homework—that’s all. I put my clothes away and now I’m trying to finish this before dinner.”

“Good idea,” Lee told her. And for a moment he just stared at her—straight, dark blond hair which now fell past her shoulders, hair which Jenna habitually tucked behind her ears—large dark eyes—expressive eyes—so much like her mother’s.  Growing up—he could still see the child in her along with the woman she would be in only a few years.

Growing up so fast—Lee thought back to his drawer—to the condom packets. The lump in his throat seemed to grow even larger.

‘Please don’t let her grow up too fast.’

“Dad, did you want something?”  Jenna asked.

“Not really,” Lee replied.  “I just thought that maybe we should have a little talk—you know, just between the two of us.”

For a moment a strange expression flitted over Jenna’s face—so quickly that Lee almost wondered if he’d imagined it.

“Sure,” Jenna said. “What would you like to talk about?”

Deep breath in and out—Lee fought to keep his voice as calm as possible.

“You went looking in my drawer in my bedroom, didn’t you?”

A slight flush rose up in his daughter’s face.  “Well—yeah, I did this morning.”

“And you saw something in there?” Lee prompted. “You found something?” Jenna didn’t reply. She looked away from him and stared fixedly down at her hands. Lee placed a finger gently under her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his own.

“Hey—whatever you found,” he told her. “It’s okay, we can—” Christ, how he wished Amanda was here right now. She was much better at this than he was. “We can talk about it. Really.”

A long silence. “We can?” Jenna asked. “Really?”

“Sure—we can talk about anything you want.”

“Okay,” Jenna began.  “I guess—the whole thing just surprised me—that’s all. I didn’t expect to see it.”

It was a surprise—meaning that she probably didn’t have a lot of experience or knowledge in the subject. Maybe she’d just been curious—that was probably natural. The lump in his throat loosened slightly.  “Do you have any questions?” 

“Not really,” Jenna replied. “I mean, I know you use one for protection but you have to admit it was a weird thing to find.”

“It’s really not that weird, munchkin.” Lee said.

“Well it was to me. I just didn’t realize that you carried it on you like that.”

On him like that? That was a strange choice of words.  “Well, I do sometimes—I use it when I need it.”

“Really? What do you use it for?”

He had to answer her—be simple, honest and direct, that’s what Amanda had told him when Jenna was four. In his mind’s eye Lee could see his wife, arms crossed, standing over him.

“Stetson, did you honestly tell our daughter that she came from a cabbage patch?”

“I didn’t know what else to say,” he’d told her—and at the time he hadn’t.  How did you tell a four-year-old where babies came from? 

Of course Amanda had made him go back to Jenna and explain—tell her the truth. Lee could recall the way he’d held her in his lap, her dark eyes looking quizzically into his—pretty much the way they were right now.

“Munchkin—daddy has something to tell you.”

“It’s pretty much like you said,” he told her. “I carry it for protection.”

“Is it really that dangerous?” Jenna asked.

“Well—it can be sometimes,” Lee explained. “And—um,” he loosened the top button on his collar. “That’s why you use one—just to be careful.”

“Okay. I still don’t understand, though—” Jenna said. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before? I’m old enough. Did you think I was going to do something?”

God forbid, Lee thought.  Out loud he said. “You know—your Mother and I are married—we love each other very much and it’s really—”

“Dad—”

“Listen to me, Jenna,” Lee held up his hand. “Just listen because I know, okay?  I know how nice boys can seem—I used be one. But believe me—it’s best when if you wait until—” his voice broke off—Jenna stared at him as if he’d just flown in from Mars.

“What is it?”  He asked her.

“What does marriage have to do with it?”

“That’s what I was trying to explain.”

“But I wasn’t asking about marriage. I just wanted to know why you carry that.”

Not asking about marriage—Lee was beginning to get the feeling they were talking about two completely different things.  “Why I carry what?” he asked his daughter. “What are you talking about?”

“Well what are you talking about?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

Jenna shook her head.

“I was talking about protection,” Lee began. “You know the kind you use when people—”

“Oh Dad, yuck—” Jenna’s face was as red as a beet.  “Please—I don’t want to talk about that—that’s way too embarrassing.”

“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you—I was just—”

But Jenna had her hands over her ears.

“Darling?”  Dotty stood in Jenna’s doorway. “I was wondering if you could help me set the table.” 

“Sure,” Jenna practically leapt to her feet, not looking at him. “I’m coming right now—bye Dad.” 

It wasn’t until she’d gone downstairs that Lee realized—she’d never told him why she’d been searching in his drawer in the first place.