Her positive attitude was sweet yet naive. As if good things happened simply because you wanted or needed them to.
Before I could respond, a young woman in a blue uniform approached. She couldn’t have been on the force more than a year or two. “Name, please?”
“Jess Cooper.”
“You got ID, ma’am?”
“Right here.” I fished it out. She examined it with a flashlight for a long moment before returning it.
“Thank you, ma’am. And you?”
Christa swallowed. “My legal name is Brett Cooper.”
The policewoman squinted at her long hair, the T-shirt stretched across her breasts. “You don’t look like a Brett.”
“No, ma’am.” Christa lowered her voice. “I’ve completed gender reassignment but not legally changed my name.”
“That so?” We both nodded. “Do you have ID, Mr. Cooper?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t. I
