Page 21 of All the Ugly Things
“Some jerks were there last night, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.”
Although, I was thankful for Chaz’s interference. For such a large man, he sometimes seemed invisible. I didn’t know he was paying attention and there was no way for him to see what was going on unless he watched through the small windows in the swinging doors. But he got there so fast.
And then there was David’s son. Hudson. He’d jumped from the stool so quick it would have slammed to the floor had it not been bolted down. He moved right in, hands fisted, chest out, looking like some superhero ready to avenge my honor—or rip their heads from their neck.
“You’ll graduate in the spring, correct?”
“I should.” With a two-year degree, that wouldmaybeget me an entry-level position somewhere. But it’d be something. Not law school like I’d desired when I was younger, but those dreams died long ago. No, a decent job, where I could do good work, maybe work hard and move up over time would at least give me the ability to rent a nicer apartment, provide for myself even if it was on a discount store budget.
“You shouldn’t have taken so much time off.” Her criticism was said gently, but it still sent a slither of disappointment down my spine.
I shouldn’t have had so much time stolen from me.
“I know,” I said instead because recovery and parole and becoming reacclimated to society meant taking responsibility for actions, not placing blame.
When I was first sentenced, it took me years to see the point in even getting my GED. Since the accident happened before graduation, I was unenrolled the last semester of my senior year, leaving me four credits shorts of graduation. Candace finally convinced me two years later to take the high school completion courses and even then I only attempted it half-heartedly.
What good would it do when I wouldn’t be out of prison until I was almost thirty?
I was newly twenty-five, a two-year degree on the horizon and I still felt just as hopeless.
Except for two strangers who offered me help, and I threw it in their face and their business cards in the trash.
A waitress came and we ordered, and afterward, I was still thinking about Mr. Valentine and Hudson. He left in a huff, didn’t exactly seem like he wanted to help me and was only there for his dad, but what kind of man inspired that much loyalty?
And his statement. What was it?
It’d make Dad sad and he’s had enough of it.
I saw that enough in Mr. Valentine’s eyes and smile.
It made me curious what they saw in me.
For the first time, a nugget of regret settled in my stomach. Was it possible they were just trying to do something nice?
We waited for our food to come and Ellen and I talked about life. She tried to talk to me more about plans after graduation, checking out the career placement office on campus, but I was stuck on dark eyes, heavy black eyebrows, and the sharp-edged features of the man who’d jumped to my defense.
I once had everything going for me. Money. Family with status even if it was screwed up. I was popular, pretty based on the attention I got from guys. Hell, I could look at myself in the mirror and see what others saw and feel good about it. That hadn’t happened in years.
I had dozens of friends before the accident, a packed social calendar with plans to head to Purdue in the fall.
Now I had nothing. And it was my own stupid fault.
I was only half paying attention to Ellen, answering questions with shrugs and mumbled answers when our food came, and I poked at my fries.
“Have you… have you ever looked into my case, or the sentencing?” Sometimes, the desire to scream my innocence even after so many years became a tightly coiled ball in my gut, threatening to break free. Not that it’d do any goodnow.
“I review all cases when an inmate is paroled, so yeah, I’ve looked into it a bit. Why?”
I often wondered how my dad had all of it fall so perfectly into place. It didn’t help I’d lied in the hospital. After I’d done that, who else would have believed me anyway? My dad hired the lawyer, so he was beholden to the man paying his fees, not the teenage girl who’d killed her brother.
I was sentenced in a different county to minimize the notion of getting special treatment, and I’d still gotten a judge he was friends with. Like I had to worry about that. My dad ran campaigns based on his tough on crime approach. It was no wonder he never once tried to save his daughter. It’d ruin what he cared about most—his chance for reelection.
But did he have to ruin me without a chance at the truth?
And yet, if he could do all that, get me shipped hours away… what good would come from thinking about it now?
“No reason.” I took a few more bites before my sour mood spoiled my appetite.
