Subtlety

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"Here, dad," Jeff slid a pie over. "This is from Mrs. Vander."

Jeff's dad scoffed at it. "I can take care of myself. I don't need her to feed me."

Jeff wandered over to the fridge, opening it. "I see... beer, beer, some takeout food, and the casserole she made you the other day." He closed it then. "You don't even have anything to make your own food."

The former Sheriff Rolland rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "We're supposed to be watching the game. Stop criticizing my life choices."

"Criticizing your life choices would be like you divorcing mom without knowing how to cook for yourself. I'm only criticizing your eating habits," Jeff reminded him, holding out two beers for them.

"Your mother is the one that divorced me," he snorted, popping the cap on the beer. "Married to the job my ass."

"You do still offer to consult if or when ever there's a 'big' case coming around. As big as they get around here, anyways—cow theft, speeding tickets, the like," Jeff laughed, earning a punch in the arm from his dad.

"I did hear you're getting yourself wrapped up in some custody case with an ex-con," his dad mentioned, as in touch as ever. Jeff tried not to choke on his beer. "You asked Judge Marshall for help, and you know he's my drinking buddy on Sunday's."

Leave it to a judge to go drinking on a Sunday with the former sheriff. Jeff tried to get all his ducks in a row. "No matter what we disagree on dad, you and I both hate child abusers."

"Is that what it is? Marshall wouldn't tell me squat."

Ah, so he was fishing for information. "You know I can't tell you anything either." He settled into a recliner. His dad didn't own a couch anymore—not when he could own two recliners, one for himself and one for whoever took pity on him to come visit.

"Maybe I can help," his dad tried.

"See, right there? That's married to the job," Jeff pointed out.

"Well you're right. Fuck whoever hits a kid. Back in my day, I'd have—"

"Beaten him with the butt of your gun and threatened him, I know," Jeff sighed. "But it doesn't work like that anymore. That's why you retired. I actually have to know the laws. Besides, this guy is all money and lawyers. If you so much as cussed at him, he'd have the charges thrown out on some sort of bias."

"Is that why you just got Micah Wilcox a job at Beaver's Market?" his dad tried again.

"Jeez—how do you even know these things?" Jeff groaned dramatically.

"Old man Montgomery wasn't too happy when Jason said he'd brought Micah on. That guy is trouble, a thug, and he's a dirty—"

"Dirty what, dad?" Jeff snapped more ferociously than he intended, catching his dad off guard. "This is why you aren't sheriff anymore. You can't just decide who to help or who is worthy based off if you're their friend or if you think they're trouble. Everyone has to be equal."

His dad fell guiltily silent for a moment. "I know. I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it that way."

"But you were going to mean it. That's what happens when words come out of your mouth," Jeff warned, turning on the TV then. "As you said, we're going to miss the game."

His dad was still silent though. "But that nice Kate girl from high school is involved, isn't she?" Jeff let out a loud groan. "Are you two back together?"

"No," Jeff answered firmly.

"But you haven't dated anyone since her."

"I don't have time. I'm better at admitting I'm married to the job and don't want to cause heartbreak because of it."

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