Her small hand clutches in my mine. Without her daddy’s coarse thick hands to guide her, she’s safer in mine. She leaps her steps trying to keep up with mine, but she finds herself scrambling. She whines at her aching feet, but she knows to never give in.

 

“Are we almost there, Mama?” she asks, yanking on my arm.

 

We stop on the side walk, letting other pedestrians and bikers pass by. I crouch in front of her, noticing her anchor pin is askew. “Just a few more steps. You can make it. What does daddy always say?” I realign her pin. A soft smile escapes my lips.

 

She sighs and looks to sky. “If I quit now, I’ll never know what could be.” She looks at me. “What does he mean?”

 

I stand and take her hand in mine. “Someday you’ll understand.”

 

We continue down the sidewalk, until we reach a four way stop.

 

On each corner is a small shop. Ms. Marcy’s postal office, Mr. Fenwich’s barber shop, Mr. and Mrs. Moresani’s coffee shop, and Mr. Johnson and Son’s BBQ restaurant with the best barbeque in Alabama. Jay and I had our first date at Johnson and Son’s BBQ. Fancy folk go to the Olive Garden for fine dates, but Jay and I chowed down on BBQ ribs. By the end of our date, we didn’t know who ate more. But, Jay wiped a little drop of BBQ from my lip. I had to take a whole napkin to his smothered lips. You’d swore he had a BBQ lipstick on.

 

At the four way stop, cars take their turns, and eventually it’s Haley’s and I’s turn to cross.

 

I clutch her hand, and we make it to other side. We stop in front Ms. Marcy’s postal office. Getting the mail is mundane a chore to others, but for Halley and I, there’s a special letter waiting for us.

 

Jay had to leave us over a year ago. He left without a warning, and barely had time to say goodbye. Before he left, he used to say, "Now don’t make a fuss with the guys at the range. They don’t the only female shooter in town to outshoot them. Don’t need Haley getting involved in shoot out." Jay loves to patronize, but I know it’s for the best.

 

I pull open the front door and a bell chimes above us. A few other locals crowd the small office waiting to send out their packages or collect money orders. Mr. Morseani and Mr. Fenwich stand in lane, chatting it up about the recent Alabama football game. If I didn’t see two of them in church on Sundays, I’d swear they’d be praising in front their televisions for a touchdown. But honey, football is more than a game. It’s an escape for men after a long hard day of work. Cold beer and a good game. That’s all a man needs. Jay always had the games on. We eventually needed two TV sets just so Haley and I had something to watch besides sports.

 

The first man in line is no older than twenty and hides beneath is ball cap with a weary expression.

 

A familiar fat and wrinkly face looks up from behind the counter and smiles a toothy grin. “Mornin’, Yvette,” Ms. Marcy says, stamping a package and throwing it into a nearby bin. “Hold on right there, I have something for ya’ll.” She leaves the counter for another room and comes back with a bin of envelopes. She digs through, and pulls out a tan one. “Here we are, came in early this morning.”

 

I pass the line of waiting customers and grab the envelope. “Thanks, Ms. Marcy. Sorry, ya’ll, for cutting.”

 

The line of men shake their heads and bashfully admit they didn’t mind. Except for the young man in the front who grimaces.

 

Halley rushes to my side. “Mama, can I open it first? Please, please, please!”

 

Halley yanks on my arm, and I feel a pop in my shoulder. “Halley, what did I say about pulling on things you shouldn’t?’

 

Halley frowns. “To not to.”

 

I nod and begin tearing open the envelope.

 

The next man in line steps up to the counter. “I have a package that should have arrived here. I want it.”

 

“What’s the name?” She asks.

 

“Just get the damn package.” The young man slams a fist on the counter.

 

“Now, I know you ain’t using that attitude in here. I need a name.”

 

He takes a step back, and looks to floor. “Bishop.”

​

Ms. Marcy raises a brow. “Let me check in the back,” She leaves for another room.

 

A phone chimes, and Bishop pulls it from his pocket. He reads the screen, and his weary face changes to a demeaning frown.

 

“Let’s go, Halley,” I say, leaving with the half open envelope. Halley humbly follows, skipping along.

 

I can’t seem to forget the young man. His character is not like the folks in this small town. What could be troubling him?

 

I eye Bishop once more. He tucks his phone in his pocket, and with the other hand pulls out a Glock from behind his sweatshirt. The bashful mean jump back.

 

“Halley, get out now!” I say, pushing her the front doors.

 

“Mama!” Halley says, scrambling back to me.

 

“No, you stay where you are,” I say.

 

Mr. Moresani and Mr. Fenwich motion for Haley to come to them. With my nod of approval, Haley scurries to them and cowers in their arms.

 

I turn back to Bishop.

 

He raises the gun and points it at anyone that moves. “Ya’ll just stand down. This is business. Don’t need nobody getting hurt.”

 

Ms. Marcy returns but without the package in hand. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have anything for a Bishop.” She realizes what’s going on and raises her hands.

 

Bishop snaps arounds and raises the gun to her. He motions the gun from the register then to her. “Money, now!”

 

Ms. Marcy whimpers and does as he says.

 

With his back to me, I slowly move in on him. Like a predator stalking its prey, be stealth and never give the enemy a chance. Jay wouldn’t leave his wife and child behind without proper training. I walk on my toes to keep the rubbery heal from squeaking. Mr. Morseani and Mr. Fenwich shake their heads and wave their arms informing me to abort mission.

 

I’m inches away from pouncing on Bishop. I drop my heel and it squeaks against the tile floor.

Bishop snaps around, and I dive under his swing. Hold tight, like a cowboy on a bull. I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze as hard as I can. Bishop bangs the butt of his gun against my spine. Each blow is harder and stronger than the one before. Don’t ever let the enemy pull the trigger, if they do you only have seconds to fight back. When I hear the click of the slide, I use all my might to swing him around and pin him to the floor. He clutches the gun and holds it firmly, not letting it slip from his possession.

 

Behind the glass door, Halley calls out to me. The terror in her voice fuels my motive to keep fighting.

 

“Let go of me, bitch!” Bishop shouts. He swings his body around and kicks me across the floor. My gut cringes as I let out a thick huff. Halley screams and yanks on the door, but it doesn’t open.

 

The bashful men cower, huddling with one another. Ms. Marcy hides under the counter closing her eyes and ears.

 

Bishop stands over me. He points the gun straight at my head as he moves to the counter. “Give me the money.” He doesn’t look away from me. “Now!”

 

Ms. Marcy cries dreadful tears and manages to shove the money into an envelope. She waddles to her feet and hands Bishop the money. When her hands are free, she raises them in surrender.

Bishop snickers and cradles the envelope under his armpit. He moves the gun from me to the cowering men. “Ya’ll have a nice day now.” He leaves for the door.

 

If you have the chance, take it, and finish the job. I gather what’s left of my strength and bolt to Bishop. In a moment of terror, your mind and body will work as one to save itself. Find an opening and go for it. I punch the back of head and aim my teeth for his neck. Bishop let’s out a piercing scream, but it only encourages me to bite harder. Bishop pulls the trigger, but the bullet crumbles the ceiling tile. He punches the butt of the gun on my skull, but I don’t release my tension. He swivels his waist and knees me in the stomach. I lock my legs in his and continue biting. My teeth pierce even harder until blood oozes in my mouth and down my cheeks. Bishop loses grip and drops the gun. A gun is only dangerous in the hands of the wrong person. It’s useless without rounds.

 

I release my bite and drop to the gun. Bishop stumbles back, dropping the envelope and cradling his bleeding neck.

 

I clutch the gun and aim it at Bishop. When the enemy is defenseless, you’ll have the urge to what he would have done to you. No murder is justified. Killing is killing. You don’t want to be like me and have that on your soul forever.

 

A wicked smile forms on his flawless face. “Go ahead, be the hero.”

I wince and press the magazine release button. The magazine slips out and I catch it. I throw the empty gun back to him. “I’m not the hero.”

 

Bishop frowns.

 

The cowering men lunge for Bishop and hold him down. Bishop doesn’t put up a fight.

 

Halley leaps Mr. Morsenai’s grasp and runs to me. I hold my stomach and stand. Halley will never forget this moment. She could have gone her whole childhood without witnessing such fear. I tuck the magazine in my back pocket and wipe the blood from my cheeks.

 

Ms. Marcy covers a hand to her mouth and immediately reaches for the phone, dialing 911.

Halley and I embrace each other in a thick hug. Her small grip is painful, but one I’m happy to protect. Halley will always be safe with you as her mother. I let her go and hold her at arm’s length. “So, what’s in the envelope?”

 

Halley can no longer fight back tears and hands the envelope to me.

I open it, and inside is a letter.

 

Dear Yvette and Halley,

This is my last letter to you because I’m coming home. Be strong till’ I get there.

Love,

Your favorite sailer.