“Knives?” she squeaked.
Is she afraid of everything? Well, I’m going to help her get over her fear of guns.
“Tools of my trade,” he said. “Like scuba gear, night vision googles. Guns and knives are just tools to get a job done.”
“I guess for you, they are,” she said.
“Let’s start from the beginning,” he said. “What do you know about handguns?”
“Not a thing other than I shot a bunch of guns yesterday.” She winced. “It’s kind of a blur in my head except for the bruise on my shoulder from that big gun.”
“The shotgun,” he nodded. “It has a kick.”
“Yeah, I didn’t like that one,” she said.
He picked up one of the guns. “This is the 1911. I’m going to show you how to take it apart and then explain how it works. Then put it back together so you can shoot it.”
“Okay,” she said.
She watched him take the bullets out. He laid them on a plastic tray on the table. The range had a white plastic bucket on the ground for “used rounds” as Hank had explained. She supposed that made less work for George, the maintenance man.
And people should pick up after themselves. Even in kindergarten she tried to teach the children to put their things away.
Some children would just drop things when they were done playing with them, or anything they were done using. She would tell them, “We don’t have any school elves or house elves from your home to clean up after us, so we must each put our own things away.”
Travis was taking the gun apart now, naming each part and explaining what it did and how they worked together to fire the gun. Then he stopped. “Pick them up, handle them,” he said. “they’re just parts.”
She reached for one and lifted it, feeling the weight of it in her hand. Then she did this with each part.
This isn’t so bad. I like to know how things work and their history.
“The 1911 has been around a long time,” he said. “Though modern guns have improved upon it, a lot of guys still carry one. It’s still one of the favored guns to carry. Some of us carry more than one gun.”
Ellen’s eyes widened in surprise. “More than one?”
Why would anyone ever need more than one gun on their person at a time?
“Guns are machines,” Travis explained, “made by man, and anything on Earth made by man is flawed, somehow. There’s no such thing as mechanical perfection. Someday, somewhere, no matter how much attention to detail, cleaning, or sweet nothings I whisper to it at night, some part of this gun is going to break.”
Travis shrugged as Ellen wrestled with the distraction of the thought of Travis whispering sweet nothings in her ear late at night.
The idea of listening to his voice all night, as he whispered into her ears, was whispering into her mind in a deliciously enticing way which made it hard to pay attention.
Focus. On. The gun.
She forced her gaze to the gun, away from his eyes. As if that would help.
“Of course, when it does happen, it’ll probably be on the practice range,” he said. “At least, Ihopethat’s where it’ll be, but if it isn’t, I might like to have another weapon on me. Or heck, there have been times when I’m out with a buddy who isn’t carrying, and I like to offer him his own weapon for the night or something.”
“Do guns break often?” Ellen asked, forcing herself to focus on the lesson.
Travis waved a hand. “Nah, not the good ones. Most quality guns will outlast our grandchildren, especially when properly cared for.”
Ellen’s breath caught at the mention of grandchildren, particularly his use of “our.”
Had he meant it intentionally?
The thought of having grandchildren with him dove deep as his voice and his words went swirling into her ears, and then her thoughts, before reaching down to her deepest longing for a family of her own complete with children and grandchildren.
