Free Stop Here by Beverly Gologorsky Page B

we can eventually stop them.” She’s nearly breathless, her eyes shining.
    â€œOut of the question.”
    â€œDad, I don’t need your permission. I thought I’d have your approval. You believe in peace.”
    â€œI’m not sacrificing you for it.”
    â€œI’m not going to die. Honestly, dad . . .” She gestures impatiently.
    â€œI can’t process this now . . .” His hand flies up to swat it away. The colors of a migraine seem close.
    Her light blue eyes take him in. Her translucent skin tight around that tiny nose, her rosebud mouth. She’s barefoot in jeans and a T-shirt, her costume of the month. But there’s nothing petite about her broad shoulders, her sturdy body, as solid and shapely as Joyce’s ever was.
    â€œLater, then,” her tone upbeat. She’s handling him.
    After a one-two, hurry-up dinner of pass-the-salt talk, he drives to the beach. Sits in the parking lot, a blanket of darkness about to fall. Even if he demands Glory not go, she’ll do what she thinks is right. It’s how kids her age navigate the world, impulsively. It’s his fault and Joyce’s too. They brought her up to believe everything is possible. Glory standing in some no man’s land between tanks? It’s insane, suicidal. Shit.
    A cluster of young drinkers saunter by, beer cans in hand; their voices compete with the buzz in his head. He pulls out his cell phone.
    â€œAva, it’s Nick. I’m tending a headache. Can you cover till I get there?”
    â€œSure. You take it easy,” her voice curious but restrained.
    He could ask what she’d do in his shoes but hangs up instead. Her input might increase his anxiety and he doesn’t have any pills for that.
    He inhales sharply, warns himself not to drive fast. Useless.
    â€¢ • •
    It’s late, but Glory is staring at the computer like it has the last word. Something in him wants to smash the screen.
    â€œHi sweets. We should settle the deal now.” Otherwise it’s farewell to sleep and work and sanity.
    â€œOkay.” She presses a few buttons and the screen is back to saving stars. “Have a seat. You’re looming.”
    He sits on the bed. She rolls her desk chair around to face him. Only one lamp is on and the dresser fan whirs annoyingly. It’s been hot since the last snow melted. He offered her a small A/C but she said it would pollute the air.
    â€œI’m not going to say witness for whatever is a bad thing. Except there’s so much turmoil in that part of the world . . .”
    â€œBut Dad . . .”
    â€œWait.”
    She leans back, stretches out her long legs.
    â€œYour values are no different than mine or your mother’s. But neither of us would put ourselves in jeopardy.”
    â€œBut Dad . . .”
    â€œThere are safer ways to protest. In the chaos of Gaza, the West Bank, or wherever the fuck . . . you’ll be an ant, a tiny bump, an annoyance, and nothing more.”
    Her expression closes down. Her eyes lower, her mouth tightens. “Look, I’m going. I need you not to worry. It’s three months. I’ll e-mail as often as I can.”
    He begins pacing, wonders if he should threaten her, but how? “Glory, you just met these guys. I’m sure they’re sincere, but Christ, who the hell are they? I mean what makes them witnesses? And the money, where’s it coming from?”
    â€œRich people, older people, people who agree with us but can’t participate physically.”
    â€œWonderful. They remain in their cream-colored houses while you sleep in the sand.”
    â€œDad . . . please . . . stop pacing, you’re not in an emergency room. I need to be involved with something bigger than me,” she explains as if he were the child.
    â€œI don’t want you going.” He’s trying to keep the volume down.
    â€œDad, even if I chose this for pleasure, or out of curiosity . .