Everything happens in its own time, Tuke was fond of saying. E-Z stepped into a time and space handpicked for him to excel in the career he chose. A trend in the direction of increased criminal activity began to encroach on the casinos, disrupting the steady flow of out-of-town gamblers flush with cash. Rising concerns over the safety of the casino patrons necessitated an especially heavy recruiting class in all branches of security that coming fall. E-Z was accepted on his first application to the Foxwoods Tribal Police Force in light of new evidence indicating his mother was at least one-sixteenth Mashantucket, a marriage certificate linking a great-great-grand to the Hadley brood. Who was to say otherwise?
The Sessions had only ever acknowledged ties on their father’s side to the Franco-Caribbean island culture of St. Martin. They encountered Grand-mère tucked in a corner beside the kitchen table any time Trajan followed Bunny home from school, the quiet at Trajan’s house having grown deafening. She spoke to them in crusty old French, her tongue maintaining allegiances to home despite her move to the States appearing to have become permanent.
“Qui est-il?” his grandmother asked, aiming with a finger bent from old age.
“That’s Trajan, Grand-mère. You met him before,” Bunny explained.
“Ah, oui. Je me souviens.” She remembered him. “Son frère, il est mort. Si triste.”
“She’s sorry to hear about your brother,” Bunny said, placing a hand on his grandmother’s shoulder as he bent to kiss her. “We’ll see you soon, Grand-mère.”
“À bientôt, mon petit-fils.” She waved good-bye to her grandson with more curled fingers.
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