The doorbell pierced the evening’s mirth like an off-handed comment that makes everyone suck in a breath. Timothy Hall set down his Scattergories pencil and pushed himself up. He waved everyone else back down into their seats.
“Keep playing and I’ll go see who it is,” he said through a chuckle. His youngest had just unknowingly wounded the oldest Hall child with a cutting remark about her sense of fashion.
He slid the cover off the peephole lazily and moved his eye into position. Two men in poorly fitted suits stood on his porch with hands in their pockets and expectant expressions. He let the peephole cover slide back into place once they made eye contact.
“Not interested,” he called loudly and turned away. Damned Jehova’s Witnesses, he thought, always interrupting when they’re least wanted. He smiled again, remembering his mom saying that they’d have better luck sponsoring concerts or building public parks instead of interrupting dinner every night.
The doorbell rang again twice in a sharp rebuke of his dismissal. He shook his head, let his anger rise to a level reserved for righteous indignation, and opened the door quickly.
“I said, not in-ter-est-ed.” Timothy mouthed the last few syllables pointedly. But his voice trailed off towards the end as one of them produced a badge and held it out like an award from the county fair. He wore a congenial grin to match.
“Is this the residence of Sharon Hall?” The tall, lanky individual not holding the badge asked. His partner, having achieved the desired effect, folded his badge quickly and tucked it away.
Timothy’s mouth went dry. “And who are you exactly?”
“I’m Ed,” said the tall one, “and this is Jason.” He gestured towards the rather ordinary individual to his right. “We are with the FBI and have some questions for Sharon Hall.”
“What’s this about?” asked Timothy, his mind reeling.
“We just have a few routine questions to ask Sharon,” Jason replied. “It won’t take very long at all. May we come in?”
“Ah,” Timothy stared in stunned disbelief. He was saved when his wife, Evelyn, put her hand on his arm.
“Who is it, Honey?” She asked calmly, taking in the situation with a warm smile.
“It’s the FBI,” he said, gesturing to the confident pair on the porch. “They want to talk to Sharon.”
Evelyn dragged him outside and firmly shut the door behind them. “Well, I am her mother. What would you like to know?” Her smile was replaced with the resolute stare only a mother could serve.
“With all due respect, Ma’am, we’d like to speak directly with Sharon about her participation in the civil unrest that took place on June 14th earlier this year,” said Ed.
Timothy shook his head. “Civil unrest? That girl’s never so much as raised her voice in public.” He looked back and forth between them and his wife with no small amount of incredulity and barked a nervous laugh. He used a shaky hand to wipe a bead of sweat off his forehead that appeared out of nowhere.
Evelyn, bless her, was not so easily caught off-guard. For all her faults, nothing ever rattled her. Not even the FBI showing up at their doorstep on a Friday night. “June 14th was the No Kings Day protest,” she said flatly, crossing her arms.
Timothy clapped. “Well, there you go,” he said, considering the matter settled. He felt relief wash over him as his heart stopped pounding in his ears.
“Sir, Ma’am,” Jason began, “we just have some routine questions for Sharon. It really is best for all of us if we could speak with her.”
“She’s barely 18,” said Evelyn. “Did you know that? She was 17 when the No Kings protest took place.”
“We are aware,” replied Ed. “Birthdate October 21st, 2007. She is currently employed at the Starbucks on Clinton Avenue. She gets to and from work with a vehicle that is registered to you but that she primarily drives. We know quite a bit about Sharon, Mrs. Hall. Like my partner explained, it’s best for everyone involved if we could speak with her and clear some things up.”
“Then I suppose you have a judicial warrant?” Evelyn replied curtly. The men looked at each other.
She took a deep breath. “You come here, to my house, to try and scare us because she attended a protest! That’s exactly the type of actions that the No Kings march was protesting in the first place.”
Before Timothy could stop her, she was waving a finger in both of their faces. “Your mothers would be ashamed of you if they knew you were going through all this trouble to scare a young lady. Our country was founded on the right to protest and speaking truth to power. All she did was exercise her first amendment rights and you lot are trying to silence her.”
“We have reason to believe she is either knowingly or unknowingly participating in a terrorist organization,” James said, taking a step back. “We thought she would much rather have a civil conversation here before it goes any further.”
“A terrorist organization!?” Evelyn exploded. “Sharon is a simple young lady trying to find her way in this world while combating the injustices that she sees happening all over the country. Injustices that she was taught America stood against her entire life. Every day she wakes up to threats from the President to revoke someone’s citizenship just because he doesn’t like them, citizens being denied due process, and women’s rights rolling back decades of progress.”
“Ma’am,” Ed began before she cut him off.
“Don’t you Ma’am me. Come back when you have a warrant signed by a judge but not a moment sooner. And if you try to visit her at work, we’ll make sure she knows not to speak a word to you or anyone else without an attorney present. How dare you embarrass our country like this! How dare you throw your weight around to intimidate someone less than half your age. Now get off my property before I really get upset.”
Timothy watched as the men reluctantly walked away. Calm and collected on the surface, but deep, invisible currents that could drown a man, he thought. Good lord, witnessing her wrath is just as intoxicating as her charm.
Neither said a word until the men were back in their vehicle and driving down the street. “What was that really about, Evelyn?” asked Timothy.
“It’s all over the news, Tim,” she replied with a sigh. “They think that the protests are largely paid for by Antifa because they can’t believe that a significant number of Americans are displeased with the current administration’s policies.”
“Why on Earth would they think that?” he asked, his face a mask of confusion.
“It doesn’t really matter why they think that if they even do. What matters is that they are trying to shake down protestors so that they’re less likely to voice their opposition to what comes next.” She shook her head ruefully. “And god help me if it isn’t working.”