Somewhere Out There(27)

I complied and carefully folded my hands in my lap, waiting for him to speak. The sun beat in through the window, creating a stifling heat. My heart pounded, and my forehead beaded with sweat.

“So,” he said. “You’re probably wondering why I called you in.” I nodded and again waited for him to continue. He skimmed the paper he held in his right hand, then looked back at me. “You’re getting out,” he said. “Early release.”

“Really?” I blinked fast, unsure I’d heard him correctly. “Why?”

He shrugged. “You’re a lightweight. Nothing violent on your record. No disciplinary actions while you’ve been here. You’ll be processed on Friday and the bus will take you back to Seattle to meet with your probation officer.” He paused. “Any questions?”

I shook my head, thoughts whirling. What will I do? How will I survive? Should I visit my mom? A dull ache formed in my chest at the thought of seeing her again. “Thank you,” I said. I perched on the edge of my seat, waiting to see if he would have anything else to say.

He stared at me a moment, then leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the tops of his thighs. “Can I give you some advice?”

“Sure,” I said, which I figured was the only right answer.

“You seem like a nice girl. You still have plenty of time to start over.” He waited a beat. “You know what I’m saying?”

I nodded, still clutching my fingers together in my lap.

“You’ve made good choices in here. You’ve kept your head down and done your job. Keep it up on the outside and you’ll be okay.”

“I will,” I said. “Thanks.”

He dismissed me, and I hurried back to the kitchen, where O’Brien was overseeing the lunch crew as they pulled the tuna casseroles from the oven. “Hey,” I said, and she strode over to the entryway, where I stood.

“Don’t you have a meeting with Myer?” she asked.

“I already went,” I said, a little breathless. “I’m getting out on Friday. Early release.”

“No shit,” O’Brien said, with a slow smile. “Congrats.”

I shrugged, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, and ran a hand up and down my opposite arm.

O’Brien raised a single eyebrow. “Let me guess. You’re worried how you’re going to make it?”

“Yeah,” I said, relieved she understood. This wasn’t her first stretch in prison; she’d done five years at a women’s facility in Tacoma two years before she came here. She could have shortened her sentence this time if she’d been willing to turn in dealers higher up on the chain, but she “wasn’t no snitch,” she told me. She’d be rewarded for her loyalty, she said, when she got out. The world she lived in was one I’d only witnessed in movies and on TV. I took her word that everything she said about it was true.

Before answering me, she glanced around the room and then lowered her voice. “You’re quiet. You know how to fly under the radar. My boss is always looking for people like you.”

My eyes widened when it hit me what she meant. “You want me to be a dealer?” I whispered.

“Fuck no,” she said, laughing. “Delivery girl. My boss will set you up with an apartment and put you to work. You’ll have pay stubs to show your PO and everything. It pays for shit, but then there’s the cash he gives you on the side. A thousand a week.”

I was quiet for a minute, processing what that kind of money would do for me. But I didn’t really want to be connected to a coke dealer.

“Listen,” O’Brien said, putting her hand on my arm. “It’s not like it would be forever, you know? Just long enough to get you on your feet.”

“I don’t know . . .” I thought about seeing my mother again, what I would tell her about myself, where I was living, what I was doing for work. Maybe she would be willing to let me stay with her now, even though she had remarried. I could get a real job and start all over again.

“Think about it, Walker. You can go back to school. Get a degree. Buy a house. I don’t know. You could do whatever the hell you want.” When I still didn’t answer, she grabbed the notepad she kept tucked in her waistband, set it on the counter, and wrote something down. Tearing off a piece of paper, she handed it to me. “Here,” she said. “If you decide you’re interested, call the number and tell whoever answers that I sent you.”

“Thanks.” I took the paper, knowing I would throw it away as soon as I could. If I was going to change my life, delivering drugs was no way to make it happen.

“You’re welcome.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “Maybe you could use the money to get your girls back.”

My eyes prickled with tears. I’d thought every day about regaining custody of Natalie and Brooke, but was unsure of my rights. The way Gina had explained it to me made it sound as though once I’d signed the papers, there was no turning back. Still, I couldn’t help but harbor a bit of hope. Maybe there’s a chance, I thought. Maybe I can find a way to be their mother again.

? ? ?

Friday came, and once I was back in Seattle, I gave my probation officer my mother’s address on Beacon Hill when he asked where I’d be living. He handed me a piece of paper with a list of places where I could apply for work, mostly jobs at fast-food joints flipping burgers or washing dishes in a diner, which I stuck in the backpack that carried my few belongings: my spiral notebook and an extra pair of jeans.