Beverly forced herself to pay attention to stuff the college had sent her. She opened the first one, which was from UCLA. They accepted her! And there was information regarding scholarship opportunities! The next envelope told much the same story, as did the one after that. All in all, there were eight envelopes and eight letters of acceptance. She was flabbergasted. She couldn’t imagine all these places wanting her to attend. She was sitting their dumbfounded when the waitress/sheriff returned with her soup.
“So what are you so nervous about?” she asked. The woman looked at the table. “College, huh? Any luck so far?”
“Ye . . . yeah. All of them.”
“Damn, girl! Even I didn’t get accepted to every place I applied!”
“Really? How many did you . . . I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name.”
“Tamara Huntley, but you can call me Tammy.”
“So, where did you wind up going?”
“Harvard.”
Beverly was dumbfounded for the second time. “You went to Harvard? What did you major in?”
“Criminal justice and chemistry.”
“You double majored? At Harvard?”
Suddenly, the nervousness melted away. Tammy told one of the kitchen staff to man the register, and she sat down. The two started chatting away like they were old friends.
Over the next several weeks, Beverly went to the diner every day for lunch and sometimes dinner. She wanted to learn everything she could about this woman who so filled her father with dread and anger. Apparently, Tammy’s mom had been a successful romance writer, and her father, who was black, had been a politically active movie agent in Hollywood. They had both died in a car wreck when she was sixteen. They had left all their combined wealth to their only daughter. They had always wanted her to follow her dreams and get a good education. She, like Beverly, had been a gifted student. Apparently, she was also a bit of an athlete, having two black-belts in martial arts and was an all-state champion in volleyball. She had gotten into Harvard at the age of seventeen, graduated with a double major after four years and joined, of all things, the New York City Police Department. Her goal was to get into the FBI and study forensics, but needed some work experience first. She eventually got into the FBI, and graduated from the academy when she was twenty-five.
Strangely, when talking about her brief stint in the FBI, Tammy was strangely reserved. She wound up quitting her job in Washington, but didn’t explain why. She said she liked protecting and serving, but didn’t want to be part of a large, impersonal entity like the Bureau. So she came out here. It had taken some time, but she had earned acceptance by most people. When she said “most,” she made a point not to look directly at Beverly. Beverly had gotten the impression that the sheriff knew her father and that they had some unpleasant altercations. But as Beverly didn’t buy into her father’s petty hatreds, Tammy didn’t let her feelings about the father transfer to the daughter. A month passed, and Beverly found herself more and more drawn to this intelligent, powerful woman. She saw a shrewd businesswoman in the same body as a passionate law enforcement agent. Tammy would periodically go out on call, leaving her chef in charge. It turned out her cook was a Vietnam veteran that no one else would hire, and who had turned out to be a friendly and loyal employee. There was an old man who sat at the counter every day drinking coffee and eating cheese-fries and talking with the cook. His name was Larry, and he was one of the few remaining veterans of World War II. Tammy had so much respect for those who would risk their lives in the situations that these men had lived through that she felt obliged to help them in whatever way she could. Another thing that surprised Beverly was that Tammy was a very spiritual person. She wasn’t a traditional churchgoer to be sure, but she had her faith and was comfortable with her “lot” in life, referring to her sexual preference.
Everything seemed to be going great until she arrived home one day, just ahead of a major storm. It turned out that the weather wasn’t the only thing about to turn bad. Her father was sitting in the living room with a scowl on his face.
“How DARE you?!?”
“Hunh?”
“One of my parishioners saw you at that diner! Talking with that whore!”
“She isn’t a whore! She is a decent woman!” Beverly was almost as shocked as her father. She had never spoken back to him, and could never have imagined yelling at him.
“You DO NOT talk back to me!” he yelled. “You are going to quit that job and you are NEVER to speak to that ‘creature’ again!” he finished with a sneer on his face.
“No! You can’t control my life!”
“As long as you live here, yes I can!”
“Then I’m leaving!”
There was a moment of stunned silence. There was no going back now. Beverly turned with tears in her eyes and moved towards her room to get her things. She felt her father’s hand on her shoulder, roughly spinning her around.
“You do not turn your back on me, you little harlot!” He raised one hand to strike her. Even her father had never threatened to strike her before. “You will learn to behave yourself if I have to . . .”
His sentence was cut off as another hand grabbed his wrist. It was her older brother, Brian. Brian had a stern look she had never seen on him before.
“Dad,” he said calmly, “you will NOT hit her. Now or ever.” Her father looked positively aghast. “Bev,” continued Brian, “get your stuff.”
Beverly rushed to her room, tossed her few possessions and some clothes into a duffel bag, and rushed outside. Her father had returned to his chair, and her brothers were waiting on the porch. They each hugged her.
Brian spoke up again. “We don’t agree with you leaving, but know that we still love you. Let us know where you wind up. I’ll talk to Dad, and maybe when he calms down . . .” Brian left it at that. There was nothing else that needed to be said. They all knew her father would never forgive her. When she left, she would never be coming back. She made her way down the dark road back to town. She didn’t know what she was going to do. And the drizzle turned into a downpour. She was wet, cold, and frightened. Halfway there, she sat down on a rock beside the road, too exhausted to walk another step. A minute later, she saw headlights approaching, and suddenly, blue and red lights started flashing. It was a police vehicle. It was Tammy.
Tammy looked furious! Without any words, she helped Beverly into the jeep. Even in her state of rage, she gently wiped the moisture from Beverly’s face with a towel she had brought.
“How . . .?”
“Your brother Brian called the station and let one of my deputies know what happened.” Tammy’s voice was almost trembling with anger. She fired up the jeep and headed back to the house.
“Tammy, I can’t . . .”
“I’m not going to leave you there. I’m just going to have a word with your father.”
Beverly was suddenly afraid for her father. They pulled up and Tammy got out, slamming the door and leaving the police lights on. Beverly cracked the window a bit and listened. Tammy marched in the front door and started yelling. Beverly couldn’t make out much of what was being said, but heard the words “negligence,” “irresponsible” and “asshole” a number of times. Her brothers gathered on the porch for the second time that evening, and all of them looked petrified. Beverly almost smiled. She was willing to bet her father had never been talked to the way he was getting dressed down at that moment. Tammy emerged after a few minutes, still pissed off, and got back into the jeep. Beverly saw her father standing in the doorway. He looked angry, but angry mixed with something new. He was afraid. She had never seen him afraid. She wondered exactly what Tammy had said to him, then decided she didn’t want to know. As Tammy started up the jeep and headed to town, Beverly didn’t even look back.
“I’ve got a guest house on my property,” Tammy said after a few minutes. “You’re welcome to stay there as long as you need.”
“Thank you,” Beverly whispered. “Thanks for everything.” After that, the two just listened to the sound of the rain hitting the roof of the vehicle.
They arrived at Tammy’s house, which was a sizeable A-frame house. Right next to it was a small guesthouse. Tammy carried Beverly’s meager belongings inside. It wasn’t a big space. It was a studio apartment, about fifteen feet by fifteen feet, with a full sized bed, a small tub/shower and kitchenette. Tammy almost looked embarrassed.