“How so?” I ask.
You purse your lips, and I watch your hands as you give my question some thought. “Rudy wasn’t happy unless he was hunting and—I find that I am much the same,” you say.
You look away as you speak, and it’s as though you’ve just revealed something to yourself, long forgotten. You look back at me. “I guess I’ve always assumed it came with the occupation—I assumed if one is wired for the high that comes with the thrill of the chase—then it makes it difficult to live any other way…”
“Yeah,” I agree. “But what about your mom?”
“What about her?” you say, and you shrug. You know what about her, but I’m patient, and I don’t press.
“Jean,” you eventually sigh. “I already told you most of what there is to know about my mother…” you say, and you look away, and this is hard for y
