I Shall Not Want by Julia Spencer-Fleming

who’ve had too much to drink, walking into houses where the husband and wife have been beating up on each other. You’ll be shorter and lighter than any other officer here. How do you deal with that?”
    That
was
a question she had prepped for. “Just like I did as corrections officer. The trick is to never, ever, let them think you’re vulnerable. That means controlling the situation, and that starts right up here.” She tapped her temple. “It doesn’t matter how big you are if you can’t project control. And if it comes down to using force, I have an advantage your other officers don’t. The drunk guys see these”—she thrust her forearm beneath her breasts and hoisted them, and sure enough, his eyes followed—“and they don’t see me coming in with this.” She touched the side of his head lightly with the magazine she had picked up with her free hand.
    He let out a short laugh. “It’s not always that simple.”
    “Nope. But men still tend to underestimate women.”
    His smile changed to something wistful. “Yeah. I know—I
knew
—a woman who used to take advantage of that fact.”
    “Did it work for her?”
    “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it did.…” He shook himself. “Okay.” His voice was once again no-nonsense. “If you want it, you’ve got the job.”
    “I do? I mean, great! Yes! I do want it.”
    “You’ll be on probation until you’ve completed the Basic course. I don’t want to throw away the time and money we’re going to spend training you, so I expect you to pass. With high marks.”
    “I will. I’ll be in the top ten percent. You won’t be disappointed.”
    “Plus, you’ll have to put in some serious time on the firing range.” He tapped the folder, which he still hadn’t opened. “The scores from your shooting test are way too low.”
    “Absolutely,” she said. “That won’t be a problem.”
    Van Alstyne stood up. Hadley stood up. He held out his hand and she took it. “Welcome to the Millers Kill Police Department, Officer Knox.”
    A rap on his door kept her from gushing her thanks. The dispatcher, a square stack of a woman with an iron-gray perm, stuck her head in. “If you’re all finished, Ms. Knox has a phone call.”
    “Me?” She looked at Van Alstyne. He waved her off.
    “Go ahead. Harlene here can set you up with the paperwork.”
    Harlene closed the door behind them and surprised Hadley by dragging her past the dispatch room into the hallway. “You don’t actually have a call. It’s a message. From St. Alban’s.” As she said this, she glanced around, as if ensuring no one could hear her. “It’s your grandfather. He’s been taken to the Glens Falls Hospital with a heart attack. Reverend Fergusson’s going to fetch your kids over to the church.”
    Hadley stood there. “I’m sorry. Did you say—” and then her mind caught up to Harlene’s words and her eyes flooded. “Oh, shit,” she said. “Oh, shit.”
    Harlene was saying something about Glens Falls not necessarily meaning it was bad, and that she wasn’t to worry about her children, and all Hadley could think was that she had uprooted their lives and come three thousand miles and now her granddad was going to die and she’d be on her own again. All on her own. Again.
     
     
     
III
     
     
    “Don’t take your coat off. We’re going to your sister’s for dinner.”
    Russ paused by the coat hooks in his mom’s kitchen, halfway out of his jacket. “That’s okay,” he said. “I don’t feel much like socializing.”
    Margy Van Alstyne marched out of the tiny dining room. Cousin Nane must have been over with the home perming kit—her white hair was curled so tightly it looked as if it could power the entire North Country electrical grid if you could figure out a way to release its chemical energy. She braced her hands on her hips, increasing her resemblance to a fireplug. “It in’t socializing when it’s family.”
    “I’m tired. It’s been a long day. Give Janet