Part 29 (1/2)

His intern was getting too close to the truth for his comfort.

'How old are you?'

She smiled and sipped her coffee. She seemed at home, as Book was on the Harley.

'I want to cook all day and make people happy,' she said.

'You want to make people happy so you went to law school?'

'I went to law school to make my dad happy.'

'That's his dream, Ms. Honeywell. Chase your own dream. Live your own life.'

'I'm too afraid.'

'Of what?'

'Everything. Germs. Heights. Mosquitoes. Melanoma. Cavities. Gum disease. Failure. My dad.'

'You want to live life with a net.'

'What net?'

'Like acrobats in a circus. They have a net beneath them, so they don't get hurt if they fall.'

'What's wrong with that?'

'Nothing ... if you're in a circus. In life, it's fatal.'

'But I won't get hurt.'

'You won't live. Life hurts, Ms. Honeywell. That's the price of admission.'

'You're not afraid of getting hurt?'

'I'm living without a net.'

'That's dangerous.'

'I don't live with fear-of failing, getting hurt, dying. I live every day as if it's my last, because it might be.'

'You're not afraid of dying?'

'I'm afraid of not living.'

'What's the difference?'

'Not living is worse than dying. Death is inevitable. So I'm going out on my own terms, while I can still make the choice. But I can't accept not doing something with my life. With the time I have. I'm going to matter. Not just be matter.'

'My therapist says I'm afraid of life because my sister died, and I don't want to die.' She studied her coffee. 'Do you know why?'

'Why you don't want to die?'

'Why you need to be a hero.'

'I don't have a therapist.'

'What do you have?'

'Regrets.'

John Bookman had always wanted to be a cop like his dad. Wear the uniform. Carry a gun. Ben Bookman had left home that morning in his blue uniform with his holster on his waist and his gun on his hip. He wore a bulletproof vest that protected him against a gunshot to the chest.

But not to his head.

Book rode his bike to school that day, as he did every day. And he rode it home, past Mary Elizabeth's house; she was practicing her cheers in her front yard, so he stopped and flirted a bit. She was cute and perky and acted interested in him. He felt manly when he pedaled away. He didn't know that he was about to become a man in the worst way possible. He turned the corner onto his street and saw the police cars out front of his house. He saw the officers at the front door talking to his mother. He saw her hands go to her face. He saw her collapse on the porch.

He was fourteen years old, and life as he knew it ended that day.

'Professor?'

Book returned to the moment.

'My dad was a cop. He died in the line of duty. Shot in the head by the man he was trying to help.'

'OMG. How old were you?'

'Fourteen.'

'Not fair.'

'No. Not fair at all. As you well know.'

They pondered their losses-his father, her sister-for a quiet moment in the elegant restaurant in Marfa, Texas. Book knew from her expression that she was wondering what her life would have been like if her sister had survived the cancer, just as he always wondered what his life would have been like if his father had survived the bullet. The moment ended, and their eyes met.

'So you're helping people because he can't?'

'He made me proud, being a cop. I want to make him proud, being a lawyer.'

'Professor, your dad would be proud of you.'

Book fought back his emotions and stuck a finger in the air to attract their waiter's attention. When he arrived, Book asked for the bill.

'Your bill's already been paid, sir.'

'By whom?'