"It was great until I was nine years old. That's when my father filed a complaint against the food-processing plant that employed sixty percent of the residents of Millbrook. After that, our family was basically shunned by the locals. No one would talk to us. Kids were beating me up in school. My grandmother's quilt store was getting vandalized, and my grandfather had to go out and arrest people who hated his family. My mother was furious with my dad for ruining everything."
"But he was just doing his job, which was to protect food safety, right?"
"Exactly. He was being responsible. There were a lot of safety violations at the plant, and the company had been polluting the local rivers and streams. Even though people understood why my father did what he did, their lives got worse, and they needed someone to blame. That was him."
"They should have blamed their employer."
"The plant was shut down for almost a year. Thirty percent of the population was gone within six months, including my family. My parents separated. My mom moved to San Francisco. My father took me to San Diego. My grandparents stayed in Millbrook another few years, but my grandmother's shop eventually shut down because she didn't have enough business. Then they moved to San Diego to be near me and my dad. By then, my parents were divorced, and I shuttled back and forth on a plane between them far too many times to count."
"That's rough."
"It was what it was," he said with a shrug. "After a few years, they both remarried. My mother had another baby, a son. My father had twin girls with his new wife. So, the family got bigger but also further apart."
"How did you feel about it all?" she asked curiously. "You're giving me a lot of facts but not feelings."
"It didn't matter how I felt. They couldn't stay together, and I couldn't change that."
"It should have mattered how you felt."
"Well, it didn't. And that's that."
"Are you really that pragmatic?"
"I really am," he said.
"Okay, fine. What about your stepparents? Did you like them? Are you close to your half- siblings?"
"Not really. I'm eleven years older than my half-brother, who is twenty-three, and thirteen years older than my half-sisters, who are just turning twenty-one. Frankly, after I got out of high school, I barely saw any of them. Once I was eighteen, and it wasn't court mandated that I spend time with my parents, it was easy not to."
Despite his matter-of-fact tone, she suspected his feelings about his family were more painful than he wanted to say, maybe even wanted to admit to himself. But the picture he'd painted of a life lived between two families that were growing without him made her feel for the lonely little boy whose happy life had been completely upended by circumstances beyond his control.
"Anyway, that's my story," he finished. "I told you it wasn't that interesting."
"I think it's very interesting. You said your grandfather passed away. What about your grandmother."
"She died a few years before he did."
"I'm sorry. What did your grandfather think of you being an FBI agent?"
For the first time since he'd started talking about his family, a smile lifted the corner of his lips. "He used to rag on me for not being a cop, thinking the feds were better, but he was proud, and he set high standards. I always wanted to live up to them."
"Like opening a door for a woman."
He tipped his head. "Like that."
"He sounds like a great grandfather. Did you ever think about being a cop instead of an FBI agent?"
"No. I didn't have a clue what I wanted to do when I went to college. I majored in business and accounting and went into finance after graduation. I thought money meant security and stability, but three years in that field was three years too many. It was dull, and I didn't feel like I was accomplishing anything. But with my expertise in corporate accounting and knowing how to follow money, I was a good candidate for the FBI."
"And you've worked with whistleblowers like your father. Having lived that experience as a family member, that must make it easier for you to understand the mindset, the fear of speaking truth to power."
"I do have a better understanding and appreciation for my father's bravery in telling the truth," he admitted. "I didn't always appreciate it, but time gave me perspective."
"It must have felt a little lonely to have one foot in your dad's world and another foot in your mom's world. Did you feel like a wishbone, each one trying to pull you in their direction?"
"Only in the beginning, when they were fighting to keep me. After they moved on with their lives, it didn't feel like either one of them was trying to pull me in their direction. Not that they didn't love me. They just had a lot of other people to love. Anyway, I made peace with it all a long time ago."
She wondered if that was true, or if he'd just buried his feelings so deep, he didn't think they were there anymore. "Making peace is not easy," she murmured.
