Free Silencing Sam by Julie Kramer Page B

answer.
    â€œI’d probably be the first one shot,” she continued.
    I really thought it best not to answer that. But I felt like I ought to speak up about Clay. And it wasn’t like he’d made mepromise to keep his gun secret. He seemed to enjoy showing it off.
    â€œThe way the law’s written,” I said, “we could be armed, and you wouldn’t know. Clay is.”
    Noreen’s eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward over her desk. “What did you say, Riley?”
    Okay, so I ratted him out.
    â€œClay carries a gun. He showed me. He says everyone in Texas does.”
    â€œNot in my newsroom he doesn’t.”
    She told me to talk to Miles about what legal steps it would take to access the gun permit information. Then she picked up her phone and paged, “Clay Burrel to the newsroom.”
    Clay was plenty mad. He probably knew some folksy Texas saying, like being “as mad as a wet cat,” except he wasn’t speaking to me.
    I tried to apologize. After all, I was more fascinated by his Glock than fearful. But he wasn’t buying my regret. He turned his back and stomped away, so loudly my eyes were drawn to his tan snakeskin cowboy boots.
    I figured that would be our last newsroom encounter for a while. But later that night, I heard the same stomping noise, looked up from my desk, and saw him standing in my doorway.
    â€œHappy now?” He pulled open both sides of his suit jacket. No gun. “You’re just jealous,” he said. “That’s why you’re trying to get me into trouble.”
    He was right about the jealous but wrong about the trouble.
    â€œI’m sorry, Clay.”
    â€œYou’re mad because I’m leading the newscasts and all you’ve been able to come up with is that stupid windmill story.”
    Ouch. “I’m not jealous.” I said it with a straight face even.
    â€œTexas outranks Minnesota in wind anyway.”
    He was right about that, too. While most of us think of Texas as an oil and natural gas state, it leads the nation in wind power.
    His voice pitch was leveling off and he was starting to seem more confused than angry about my betrayal.
    â€œMaybe you’re just one of those crazy gun haters,” he said. “You like the First Amendment; well, I like the second.”
    So that’s when I denied hating guns and told him about how my dead cop husband always wanted to teach me to shoot, but it was one of those things we never got around to.
    That’s when Clay shaped his hand like a gun and offered to take me to the firing range sometime.
    For the first time, I noticed his wedding ring and asked how his wife liked him working so many hours.
    â€œMy wife left me. So I have no personal life.”
    Once again, I was apologizing for putting my big foot in my big mouth. This time I meant it. I tried to change the subject, but Clay apparently wanted to talk about his struggling marriage. And I knew what it was like to have personal demons and how hard it is to remove a wedding ring.
    He explained that he wanted to accept the Minneapolis TV job and his wife wanted to stay in Texas.
    â€œI told her this was a better news market and would really help my career.” I nodded. Quite true. For numerous reporters and producers, Minneapolis–St. Paul is a network farm camp. “She told me Texas was a better weather market and would help her tan.”
    Also true, I thought, but still, Minnesota has tanning booths.
    â€œI asked her, don’t you love me?” he continued. “But she said, ‘I love the sun more.’”
    Clay’s Texas swagger seemed gone, and he appeared almost humble. I told him to pull up a chair and sit for a minute. And he did. Neither of us said anything right away. But resting there together felt sort of comfortable in an unexpected way. It made me grateful my spouse had been able to stomach the desperateworld of TV news without going all crazy on