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“As God is my witness, I have never missed anything I have put in my sights, Child.   I have been told some have a gift.   And Joe, it would do you well to remember that she is the cat’s mother.”
    You would have to know my mother to know that not only has she never hit the target, she has never held a gun.   Not only has she never held a gun, but if you brought a gun into her house, she’d probably use it on you.   With my family, you have to listen carefully and not make a single assumption.   Mom said that she’d never missed anything she shot at.   She hadn’t missed, ‘cause she hadn’t shot.   Wonder about the whole sin of omission thing with that statement, always a concern in the home of an Irish Catholic.
    I was thinking about that as we walked out the door.
    We got half way down the driveway before Joe simply couldn’t hold it back any more.   “She is the cat’s mother?   What the hell does that mean?”
    “As long as I can remember, whenever anyone referred to my mother as ‘ she ’, my mom would come back with ‘I am not she , she is the cat’s mother’.   I’m not sure exactly what it means, but my guess is that using the word ‘she’ indicates a lack of respect and it is not acceptable.   My mother is anything but generic.”
    “I’ve yet to meet anyone in your family, or associated with your family, that is the least bit generic.”
    “Okay Joe, so why are we out here?   What is so important that you need to talk to me, but not in front of my mother, a person that has more integrity than you can aspire to?”
    “It isn’t that I don’t trust your mother, it’s that I choose not to include your mother.   What I’m going to tell you is confidential.   The fewer people that know it, the fewer people will be in a very small group when it is done.”
    “I have no idea what that means, but I’m not in the mood to play twenty questions, and I’m not the super hero type, and I, the person who has more patience than Job, has lost her patience, so either tell me what you’re going to tell me, or I’m going back in the house.”
    “Cara, I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
    “No shit Sherlock.   I’m not a rocket scientist, but even I figured that much out.”
    “I need you to trust me.”
    “Great approach.   Tell me you’re a liar, then, tell me to trust you.   You aren’t really good at this stuff are you?”
    “I didn’t lie to you, I just didn’t tell you the whole truth.”
    “You’re talking to a multi-generational Irish Catholic, don’t make me explain the whole sin of omission thing.”
    “Cara, I’m not going to argue, and I’m not going to play games.   I had a very good reason not to tell you everything.   You need to shut-up and listen, because you could be in danger, and you could be putting everyone you care about in danger too, especially that sister of yours, Teagan.”
    “You have my attention.”
    “It’s a long story.   Can we go somewhere a little less conspicuous than standing in the middle of your driveway?”
    “Sure.   Wait here, I’ll be back in thirty seconds.”
    I ran in the house.   Told my mom I was still alive, no need to panic yet.   Grabbed two Pepsis out of the fridge, wondered, not for the first time, why my mother didn’t keep Pepsi in the fridge when I was younger, ran through the living room, down the hall, to the linen closet, bottom shelf, picnic blanket, grabbed it, turned and was back out front in the allotted time.
    “What is all that?”
    “Our disguise.”
    “What?”
    “I’m going to lay the blanket on the grass, under the tree, we are going to sit down on the blanket and talk, drink Pepsi, and the whole neighborhood will think we are just having a little picnic.   No one will think anything of it.”
    “Fine.”
    We sat down on the blanket and opened our Pepsis.   I sat in silence waiting for Joe to say something.   Refusing to make it any easier for him.
    “First, I need