Page 5 of French Escapade

Dad and I start with the small talk. Only when I sit at the table does he ask: “How is it going these days at the station?”

I stiffen. I could change the subject, or even lie. But he’s my dad. He would know.

“Very quiet. Well, for me.”

He growls with frustration. I know what he’s thinking. If only I had enlisted in the Gendarmerie, like he had, instead of choosing the police, he could have pulled some strings for me.

But that’s the very reason why I didn’t do it. Being favored because I’m the daughter of someone? No thanks. Furthermore, I’m not even sure it would have helped in my case.

“This is not acceptable! You should…”

“Dad!” I cut him short, as we’ve had this discussion a thousand times already. “There’s nothing I can do. You know it as well as I do. On paper, everything has been done to make sure there would be no fallout. I just need patience. With time, it will go away. People will forget.”

I’m not sure who I want to convince, him or me. We look at each other.

“You’re probably right,” he concedes.

He sighs and adds, “The gendarme in me understands your situation and is unhappy about it. It’s the father in me who is angry, because my daughter deserves better for making the right decision and doing her job.”

I’m surprised. Even though I knew, these past months, that I could count on his support at any time, I’m not used to him being so open about how he feels. I also get that being unable to do anything about it must be frustrating for him.

I try to reassure him. “They won’t be able to leave me on the sidelines forever. The day will come when I’ll get a case. Maybe it will be given to me because no one else wanted it. But it will give me a chance to show what I can do. It may take some time, but I won’t give them the satisfaction of thinking they’ve won. I’m a good cop, and I’ll prove it.”

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