My thumb eased Nadine’s blade out and back in. Nineteen-year-old me had practiced this for hours. Now, years later, it felt just as familiar. I slid her into her old home, my back pocket, and wondered what had come over me. Bethany’s talk of India and its animals must’ve sparked old habits and old memories, particularly of my father’s love of hunting and my love of its tools.

Touching the black plastic grip, I let the past brush its hand against my cheek. I miss you, old friend. The tiny chip on the handle’s back corner reminded me of hours trying to hit the bullseye on our basement dartboard. Unfortunately, a knife butt doesn’t pierce cork all that well. My dad, annoyed with my cursing, decided to show me how to breathe and follow through. Eighteen minutes later, that bullseye was claimed. The nicked handle was the cement taking its due.

That happy memory turned melancholic as I thought of my daughter. I’d never shown Bethany how to throw a knife. It hadn’t even occurred to me. Her father probably forgot I could. Why hadn’t I taught her?

Nadine feels like an old friend I’ve kept hidden away. I’m ashamed of that. The thought weighed on me as the blade traced my thumbprint. Its dullness made me say, “Xapati.” It’s what the villagers called their sharpening technique. A beautiful dance of the hands and wet stone taught to me by Muhtaga, a round-faced man who was struck by the arrival of this knife-wielding white girl in his village. We were curious about each other so I offered him a Corona. A six- pack later and a lifelong friendship was born.

My dad’s divorce guilt made that trip possible. Two white Des Moiners having their eyes opened on the dark continent. It changed us. He saw a part of the world and its people he never thought he would. I got a golden ticket labelled “The Whole World” and brought Nadine along with me; filleting salmon in Alaska; killing a street rat in a hostel in Morocco; digging a coin up in Chichen Itza.

I looked at her case and sighed, wanting to be that girl again. Then I looked at the map of my daughter’s coming journey and called out, “Bethany, come in here. I have something I want to give to you.”