I arrived in uniform.
I did not do it for drama. I did it because that morning I had decided I would no longer shrink myself to make anyone else comfortable.
Linda was on the front porch when I stepped out of the car.
She wore a cream cardigan and pearl earrings, the costume of innocence. But her face changed when she saw me. Her eyes went first to my uniform, then to my shaved scalp beneath my service cap, then to the agents behind me.
“You brought strangers into my son’s home,” she said.
“My home,” I replied. “And they have a warrant.”
Her lips pressed together.
Special Agent Price approached. “Linda Carroway?”
“Linda Carroway,” Price repeated, “we have legal authorization to search the premises.”
“This is harassment.”
“No, ma’am. This is procedure.”
Linda looked at me with contempt so pure it felt almost peaceful.
“You always needed an audience.”
