Free Lifers by Jane Harvey-Berrick Page B

right—the support of my family.
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    She waited a moment but got nothing more from me.
    “Do you have your monthly report for me?”
    “Uh, yeah. I’ll just get it.”
    I handed her the sheet of paper, covered in my usual chicken scratch writing. Along with all the other parole requirements, I had to write a ‘complete and truthful’ account of my month.
    I passed the scrawl to her and she cast a brief eye over it.
    “Thank you, Jordan. Well, this will be the last home visit I make. There’ll still be the random searches, of course, but other than those, we’ll continue to meet in my office. You have my card—you can call me any time if you have a problem.”
    I nodded.
    “Okay, I’m done. I’ll see you in two weeks. Don’t forget to get your testing done at the police station.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    I walked her to the door, and she gave me a professional smile before leaving.
    Momma was thumping pots and pans around in the kitchen when I shut the door behind Officer Carson. I knew she hated these inspections as much as I did; the difference being, she wasn’t used to them. I headed out to the garage and threw some weights around. It helped. A bit.
    I ate supper alone in the kitchen, washed my plate, and lay upstairs, praying for sleep to numb my mind.
     

     
    I woke up suddenly. It wasn’t a dream that had disturbed me. I was fairly sure I’d heard something.
    I listened carefully and then I heard it: a car engine turning over. The twin beams of headlights split the dark. Whatever was going on, I was guessing it wasn’t anything good.
    I shot out of bed and ran to the front door. I was just in time to see red tail lights disappearing down our road and toward the town.
    I flicked on the porch light and saw immediately what my night time visitors had done. My truck was covered in red paint, and someone had slashed each of the tires.
    I swore loudly, and then I heard my dad’s voice behind me.
    “That’s your brother’s truck.”
    “I know, Dad. I didn’t ask for this to happen.”
    “I should have known that lettin’ you use it would end up like this. Everythin’ you touch…”
    I wanted to tear my hair out with frustration. Dad had been reluctant to let me use Mikey’s truck, and Momma had flat out refused to even discuss it. But when Dad pointed out that she’d end up having to run me everywhere, I think that forced her to agree. Mostly, because she couldn’t stand the thought of spending all that alone time with me.
    Whatever.
    It took a solid week of hard work getting the truck to run again. And now this.
    I couldn’t believe it had happened. Why did they have to violate Mikey’s truck? I mean, what the fuck? How was I going to get to work now? How was I going to do anything?
    My hands were shaking from the adrenalin burning through my body, and I wanted to hit something … badly.
    “No, you didn’t mean for any of this to happen. You just went off and got drunk and Michael died because of you.”
    Dad’s voice was so tired, barely even angry. It sounded more like something he’d said in his head a thousand times. He turned on his heel, shutting the door in my face.
    Some things didn’t change.

 

     
    Torrey
     
    In deference to the morality police—a.k.a. Mom—I’d set my alarm half an hour earlier than usual so I could shower and dress before Jordan arrived for work.
    She’d pretty much accused me of ‘leading him on’ by making coffee while wearing the clothes that I slept in. I’d only changed my routine because I was a little bit worried he might think the same thing.
    I’d seen the way he looked at me, and he’d told me that he thought I was attractive … well, ‘gorgeous’ was what he’d said. I took that comment with a grain of salt—I mean the guy was practically a virgin. Okay, probably not an actual virgin given what Mom had mentioned about him getting into trouble with girls, but unless he was taking it up the ass in prison, which I