Free Lifers by Jane Harvey-Berrick Page A

smile came out again and I think he might have been blushing. Damn, that was cute.
    But, as ever, his good mood didn’t last.
    He glanced at the clock on the truck’s dash.
    “We’d better get back,” he said, sadly. “Your momma is gonna be callin’ the police to say I’ve abducted you if we stay out any longer.”
    “Jordan Kane, did you just crack a joke?”
    He looked surprised. “Um, no?”
    “Well, I thought it was funny.”
    He considered that for a few seconds then smiled a little, but didn’t reply.
    I turned on the radio as he drove, and watched him drumming his fingers to the music, lost in thought.
    When we arrived back, I hopped out of the truck and threw him the plastic bag that I’d hidden in my purse.
    “For you.”
    His surprise turned to astonishment as he pulled out a pair of long-cuffed work-gloves, size large.
    “You … you bought these for me?”
    “Sure! I said I would. Don’t worry, I’ll get the money back off of Mom.”
    I waved and headed for the front door.
    “Torrey!” he called after me.
    I turned to look at him.
    “Thank you,” he said.
     

     
    Jordan 
     
    I couldn’t believe she’d bought me a gift. Even if her momma was paying for it. I hadn’t had anyone do something like that for me in so long.
    I took the gloves out of their packaging and pulled them on. They fit perfectly.
    I went back to work and took out some of my frustration on the Rev’s overgrown rambling roses. I only got a few scratches on my upper arms. I hoped there’d be a garden emerging from the wilderness once I was done. I didn’t want to think what would happen to me when I’d finished—I couldn’t keep working here if there was nothing for me to do. I hoped that the Reverend was praying for a plan B.
    I kept an eye open, but I didn’t see Torrey again. I’d hoped to be able to thank her once more for the gloves, and for, well, everything.
    When I got home, my parole officer’s car was parked in the driveway.
    More joy.
    My parents hated having the house searched, but it was part of the agreement they’d signed as a condition of my parole, so they couldn’t object. But they could resent me just a little bit more.
    At least Officer Carson wasn’t a complete bitch. I mean, she was one of them , so I didn’t really trust her, but she didn’t go out of her way to make things difficult either.
    I saw Momma standing in the kitchen with her arms folded, fuming as Officer Carson went through the cupboards. They both turned and saw me at the same time.
    “Hello, Jordan,” said Officer Carson, pleasantly. “It’s good to see you. How are you?”
    “Fine thank you, ma’am,” I mumbled. It was my default answer for most questions.
    I saw her glance at Momma who still hadn’t spoken.
    “How’s work going?” the officer continued.
    “Fine.”
    “Reverend Williams says she’s very pleased with you.”
    I nodded and shoved my hands into my pockets.
    She smiled congenially. “Well, I’m about done here. Thank you, Mrs. Kane. Jordan, I just need to take a look in your room now, if that’s okay?”
    She didn’t have to ask permission, so it was kind of nice of her that she did.
    “Yeah, sure.”
    I followed her up the stairs and along the hallway, then watched from the door as she checked under the bed, in my closet, under the mattress, and rifled carefully through my chest of drawers. She even checked under the drawers and behind the back of the unit. It was a reasonably thorough search, but if I’d wanted to hide drugs or shit, I wouldn’t have been so fucking obvious. I’d probably leave them outside or in the attic, hidden behind the rafters, like Mikey and I used to do.
    “How are you finding it, being home?”
    “Fine.”
    She sighed. “You know, Jordan, part of my job is to help you with the transition. I know it’s difficult, but if you talk about it, and with the support of your family, you’ll have a much better chance of staying out of prison.”
    Yeah,