Page 23 of Into These Eyes
“I remember. But there’s something else we need to consider.” I have no idea what he’ll do if I tell him I outright lied. And I sure as hell don’t want to lose him.
His eyes flash with anger. “What?”
“Change. Life is change, Benny. And wanting what’s best for those you care about, for those you’re loyal to. Sometimes, others can see what’s best for us, even when we can’t.”
“Psycho-fuckin’-analysis-bullshit, is what that is.”
“You don’t want me to have a life? You’d rather I rot out here or rot in prison?”
He glares at me. “That’s not fair.”
“We both know life isn’t fair.” I sigh heavily, the guilt of owing him so much weighing me down. “I want to see if it’s even possible for her to clear my name. Maybe she can’t. I don’t know. But I want to find out. And to do that, I’ll need time.”
“And I just need ta do time. It’s who I am.”
He’s right and he’s wrong. If he wasn’t so damn stubborn, he’d see that and give this new world he finds himself in a chance.
“The moment I stepped foot in this caravan, all I wanted was to be back inside. Which was nuts after wanting to be free, but there it was. That feeling of being an outcast was almost crippling. All I can give you is experience, Benny. And experience has taught me that, just like being hurled into prison, you can get used to it out here, too.”
He leans back and crosses his arms.
“I’ll help you, Benny. You know I will.”
“Six months,” he says.
“Six months what?”
“That’s what I’m givin’ it. Just like you. Six months. If I don’t feel any different by then, we go back ta the plan.”
“You could take out someone else,” I joke.
Unfortunately, Benny doesn’t catch onto my humorous tone. “I’d never hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it. Ya know that.”
“Yeah, I do. That’s why I was joking.”
“Not funny,” he grumbles, then holds his hand out across the table. “Deal?”
“Deal,” I lie again, and shake, hoping like hell he won’t even remember this conversation in six months.
After he takes a long sip of his cooling coffee, he looks me in the eye. “I’m happy for ya, Gav. Hope she can do what she’s promised.”
I give him a nod, not quite sure whether to believe him or not.
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out a phone and places it on the table. “They gave me this useless thing when I got out. Only decided ta give it a try last night. Can’t even turn the fucker on. I’ve pressed all the buttons and nothin’ happens.”
My whole body relaxes. He’s actually reaching out, trying. Stubborn old fart that he is, I hadn’t expected that.
Picking up the phone, I hand it to him. “See that smaller button on the side?” He looks at it and nods. “Press and hold it down.”
He follows my instructions, his face lighting up like the screen. “Well, will ya look at that. Now what?”
I get up, slide onto the seat beside him and begin his first lesson.
Once he leaves, I power on my own phone with dread.
Sure enough, I’m greeted with a plethora of missed calls and angry texts from my Community Corrections officer.
I call him immediately. I actually like the guy, he’s always treated me fairly, but even after I explained that I had to take care of a friend in need, it doesn’t change the fact that the poultry farm fired me.
With one of my parole conditions being that I hold down a job, he’s given me two weeks to find another, or I’m headed back to prison.
For the next few days, I search for work. Unsuccessfully. I try not to panic. I’ve been here before. There are plenty of shitty jobs no one else wants.
After dinner, I scour for work on my phone. When it rings in my hand and Jamie’s name appears on the screen, my stupid heart does a double-beat as I answer. “Hey.”
“Hi,” she says, a slight hesitancy in her voice. “I just … well, I wanted to say thank you … for the other night. And the morning. I’m not sure I did, so …”
“Anytime, Jamie,” I tell her simply. Because it’s true. She could call me for help every night for the rest of my life and I know damn well I’d be there. Although I might try not to lose my job while I’m at it.
While I wait for her to say something, I take in the clinking of cutlery on plates, the low murmur of a multitude of voices. She’s out somewhere. I can only presume she’s alone since she’s on the phone with me.
“So, how are you?” she finally asks.
“I’m fine. And you?” I groan internally at my riveting conversational skills.
“No,” she says, “I want to know, Gavin. That was … is some pretty big news for you. So, I really do want to know how you are.”
For a long moment, I can’t breathe. I just sit, unmoving, unable to form words.
“Gavin?” Her voice is soft, gentle, and a little concerned.
“No one’s asked me that, and actually wanted an answer, in a very long time.” How does she manage to extract little truths from me so easily?
“Well, I’m asking.”
“I guess it’s sinking in. The rush of it all when you told me, and now the reality that it’ll take time. Feels like I’m in limbo. But a good limbo, if there is such a thing. I’m not complaining.”
“I know. Nothing’s changed for you except for the fact we know the truth. Which doesn’t help you at the moment,” she says with empathy.
“True, but that’s the way it is. Thanks to you, where I am now is a million times better than where I was a few days ago.”
“And soon you’ll look back at this moment and realise your life’s a million times better than it is today.”
Damn. She knows exactly what I need to hear. “I believe you.”
“Good,” she says with a sigh. “Anyway, my dinner date will be here any second. I should go. Night.”
The call disconnects, leaving me gripping the phone so hard I’m surprised I haven’t cracked the screen.
She’s on a date? While she’s grieving and trying to come to terms with her father’s confession?
Of course she’s on a fucking date. Sure, she told me she doesn’t have anyone in her life, but that doesn’t mean she’s not out there looking for that significant other.
My gut churns. I want to be the one taking her out, buying her dinner and making her forget about everything she’s dealing with.
I’m a goddamn fucking idiot to have ever let it cross my mind that she might see in me something more than a wrong she needs to right.