Aftershock (27 page)

He looked up. “Why would I try to contact her?”

Mayor Sandoval seemed pleased by that answer. “No reason.”

Owen scribbled his name. “When do I leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

Garrett recognized that Owen was getting a great deal, so he
didn’t interfere. The mayor didn’t want Owen dragging his family name through
the mud, or exchanging sentimental letters with Penny. It was kind of ironic
that Owen had never even considered writing her. He probably didn’t think she’d
want to hear from him.

“What about Garrett?” Owen asked.

Mayor Sandoval turned to him. “I have even better news for you,
Mr. Wright. I’ve spoken to the parole board on your behalf and explained the
situation. They’ve agreed to hold a special hearing for you.”

Garrett almost fell out of his chair. “I’m not eligible for
parole.”

“You’ve accrued work credit and good behavior.”

“Yes, but I’m a violent felon. Under state law, I have to serve
at least eighty-five percent of my sentence.” He couldn’t even
apply
for parole for three more years.

“That’s why they call it a special hearing,” Sandoval said.
“These are extraordinary circumstances.”

He couldn’t believe it.

“There’s no guarantee, of course. The terms are the same as
with Mr. Jackson. I’ve arranged an opportunity for you, and would appreciate it
if you’d sign the confidentiality agreement in return.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” Owen suggested.

Garrett wasn’t convinced that he should. He’d accepted the
punishment he’d been given. This felt like...cheating. “I killed a defenseless
man.”

“Are you sorry?” Sam asked.

“Fuck sorry. I’m
guilty
.”

Mayor Sandoval frowned. “You were convicted of manslaughter
after a bar fight.”

“That’s right.”

“The average sentence for a crime like that is three
years.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that the judge made an example of you.”

“I’m a war veteran. I should be held to a higher standard.”

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough time?”

“No. I’ve only done half of it.”

“A good lawyer would have plea bargained for a lesser sentence
or tried for an acquittal. You’re a victim of the system, Mr. Wright.”

“Bullshit,” he said. “The guy I killed is a victim, not me. His
parents would be furious if I got released early.”

“Have you spoken with them?”

He shook his head. “I write a letter every year. They don’t
answer.”

“What about Lauren?” Sam asked.

“What about her?”

“How would she feel about a special hearing?”

Garrett realized that Lauren had spoken to Sam about him. She
must have indicated that she still cared. He replayed the last words she’d
whispered in his ear, and an intense wave of longing crashed over him.

He could see her again. They could be together.

But would he deserve her?

This opportunity hadn’t presented itself because of Garrett’s
heroic actions. It was all about Mayor Sandoval’s shady political connections.
The offer represented everything he hated about social injustice: those in power
got a free pass.

“An early release isn’t an exoneration,” Sam said. “No one is
asking you to declare your innocence.”

Mayor Sandoval leaned forward. “This isn’t the kind of backdoor
pardon order that a dirty governor signs on his way out of office. It’s a
legitimate hearing, with no promise of preferential treatment.”

“The hearing itself is preferential.”

“It’s fair,” he said. “Your sentence was too harsh.”

“I killed someone.”

“You saved my daughter.”

“Those two things don’t cancel each other out!”

“I think they do, but it’s not up to me. The board will decide
your fate.”

In the end, Garrett signed the form. He’d attend the hearing—on
his own terms. Although he desperately wanted a future with Lauren, he wasn’t
going to claim he’d been wronged by the judicial system.

“I’d love a special hearing,” Owen said pointedly.

“Don’t press your luck, Mr. Jackson. You’ll be out in a
year.”

He raised his palms. “Just checking.”

After the meeting was over, they all stood to shake hands.
Garrett turned to Owen, who surprised him with a goodbye embrace. It hadn’t
escaped his attention that Owen had a strong aversion to touch.

“Take care of yourself,” Garrett said, patting him on the
back.

“You, too.”

He waited for the guard to cuff his wrists and lead him away.
His mind raced with possibilities as they walked down the dark corridor.
Dreaming about freedom was a dangerous pastime for an incarcerated man.

A brighter tomorrow beckoned, just out of reach.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

G
ARRETT
’
S
PAROLE
HEARING
was scheduled for early September.

Lauren had sent him several more letters over the summer, all
of which he’d returned, unopened. It was better this way. Right now he was in
limbo. He couldn’t afford to get his hopes up, and he refused to string her
along.

The night before the hearing, he didn’t sleep a wink. He stayed
up all night worrying about what to say.

He’d expected to apply for parole after serving the majority of
his time. There was no dishonor in rehabilitation. He
was
a changed man, no longer a danger to society. Even so, he felt
conflicted about asking for an early release.

Stomach clenched with anxiety, he entered the hearing area. It
was basically an open courtroom with one long table. He sat down across from
five members of the parole board. A court reporter with a recording machine
occupied a corner desk.

His hearing wasn’t open to the public. Only victims—or family
members of victims, in his case—could speak out.

Deputy Commissioner Jan Charles greeted him politely. She had a
stack of files in front of her. “We received a lot of correspondence about you,
Mr. Wright. The warden says you’re a model prisoner. You volunteer at the
counseling center, you’re a member of the educational program and you work on
the manual-labor crew.”

He tugged at the collar of his inmate scrubs. “Yes, ma’am.”

“There are National Guard reports concerning the San Diego
earthquake. You pulled Penelope Sandoval from a burning vehicle and helped save
a number of other victims. It also says that you killed two fellow inmates in
self-defense.”

“I was defending the other survivors, more than myself.”

She looked over the rims of her glasses at him. “I see,” she
said, opening another file. “I’ve got letters here from Penelope Sandoval, Mayor
Jorge Sandoval, Sam Rutherford, Donald Creswell, Cadence Creswell, former fellow
inmate Owen Jackson and San Diego paramedic Lauren Boyer. They all have amazing
stories.”

Garrett shifted in his seat, concerned that they’d overdone
it.

“Your parents, Gary and Janine, have also written on your
behalf.”

“Really?”

“They feel that you were suffering from post-traumatic stress
disorder after your return from Iraq. Staff Sergeant David Castillo calls you
‘an honorable Marine who made a mistake.’ He mentions the possibility of PTSD,
as well.”

Garrett couldn’t challenge those accounts, so he remained
silent.

“Your medical records indicate that the prison psychologist
gave you the same diagnosis. Is there a reason you didn’t appeal your conviction
or sentencing?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“I agreed with the judge’s ruling.”

“How so?”

“My mental state wasn’t so deteriorated that I didn’t
understand right from wrong. I knew what I was doing. I killed someone. The
maximum sentence seemed fair. I had no interest in changing my plea or appealing
the decision.”

“And now?”

Garrett struggled for an honest, diplomatic answer. How could
he claim the sentence was no longer appropriate? “I’m not a threat to society
anymore. That’s something I couldn’t say at my initial sentencing. But I still
don’t think the punishment is too steep. I took an innocent life. No amount of
reform or good behavior will ever make it right.”

After a brief pause, the deputy commissioner referred to a list
of topics to address over the course of the hearing. For the next two hours,
they discussed every piece of character evidence brought before the board. The
questions were endless. Garrett didn’t know how to answer half of them. His
actions in the cavern had been instinctive, not thoughtfully considered. He’d
done what he needed to do to survive.

The most invasive questions revolved around his sexual
relationship with Lauren. He had no excuse for touching her.

“Ms. Boyer claims the contact was consensual.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable.

“Do you agree?”

“I didn’t tell her I was an inmate. My dishonesty was a form
of...coercion. In my opinion.”

The board members sifted through his intimate, personal
information as if it were accounting records. Garrett endured the indignity,
praying for the hearing to be over. They weren’t going to grant him parole.

At last, they finished picking through the bones. “We have two
guest speakers on the behalf of victim Jonathan Hough.”

Garrett’s shoulders stiffened with unease as Mr. and Mrs. Hough
were led into the room. They took a seat at an empty table to his left.

The Houghs were a wealthy couple from La Jolla, one of San
Diego’s elite communities. Mrs. Hough was dressed in white slacks and a silk
blouse. Mr. Hough looked like he’d just stepped off the golf course. Neither
glanced Garrett’s way.

This wasn’t going to be good.

“Can you tell us about your son?” Deputy Commissioner Charles
invited.

Mr. Hough spoke first. “Jon was an athlete. He played soccer,
football, basketball. He loved sports, even as a toddler. His first word was—”
He broke off abruptly. “Excuse me. His first word was ‘ball.’”

Garrett wanted to die. Fuck getting out early, or getting out
ever
. At that moment, he wanted to stand before
a firing squad and end it all.

Mrs. Hough patted her husband’s shoulder. “We loved him very
much,” she said. “He was so energetic and full of life. Sometimes it’s difficult
to remember that he had...flaws. Because, in my heart, he was perfect.” She
paused for a second, collecting her thoughts. “But I’m not here to talk about
how wonderful he was, or how much I miss him. I’m here to say that he wasn’t
perfect. He was troubled.”

Mr. Hough nodded his encouragement.

“Jon struggled with school and dropped out of college. He had a
drug and alcohol problem. We were considering an intervention, but he was only
twenty-four. We thought...we hoped he’d straighten out.”

She took a Kleenex out of her purse, dabbing her eyes with it.
“We’re here because, after all this time, it finally occurred to us that Jon
would have wanted us to let go. If it was my son, sitting over there,” she
glanced at Garrett, “I’d pray that anyone on this side of the room could find a
way to forgive.”

Garrett couldn’t hold his emotions at bay any longer. Tears
burned his eyes, and he pressed his fingertips against the sockets, trying to
stanch the flow.

“The situation could easily have been reversed,” Mrs. Hough
continued. “Jon had two DUIs. He might have killed someone, driving drunk. I
want to believe that he’d have turned his life around.” She cleared her throat.
“I’d like to give another troubled young man the opportunity to turn his life
around.”

Garrett broke down and wept. He couldn’t help it. He’d killed
this woman’s son, and she’d done him an incredible kindness.

The deputy commissioner asked Mr. and Mrs. Hough if they were
finished. When they said yes, she looked at Garrett. “Do you have a
response?”

“Thank you,” Garrett managed, his voice choked. He wiped his
face and looked both parents in the eye. “And...I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Mrs. Hough said they would be at peace with whatever decision
the board made. The couple left the hearing, holding hands.

“Is there anything else you’d like to add?”

Garrett shook his head. He wasn’t capable of speech.

“You’re dismissed, Mr. Wright. You’ll get a notification of
acceptance or rejection within fifteen days.”

A pounding of the gavel ended the hearing.

* * *

L
AUREN
COULDN
’
T
WAIT
to see Garrett.

His parents had emailed her last month with great news—he’d
made parole. She’d cried when she read the message. On October tenth, exactly
six months after the earthquake, he was being released from prison.

According to the conditions of his parole, he couldn’t go home
to Nebraska. He was set to enter an RMSC in San Diego, the jurisdiction where
he’d been arrested. The Residential Multi-Service Center was like a work-release
program, or a halfway house. He’d have a curfew, a probation officer and a job
on a construction crew.

San Diego’s housing industry was booming again. Businesses and
residences were being rebuilt in leaps and bounds. Lauren had accepted a
position as a recovery unit nurse at Scripps Hospital. There were thousands of
local earthquake victims who needed ongoing critical care. She’d been working
around the clock.

She hadn’t seen “the group” since the post-ceremony dinner. Sam
had cornered the mayor and engaged in a heated discussion with him. Later, she’d
learned of their visit to the correctional facility, which resulted in Owen’s
transfer and Garrett’s special hearing. Lauren had thanked Sam for stepping in.
She’d also encouraged the other survivors to write the parole board on his
behalf, and contacted Garrett’s parents.

Mr. and Mrs. Wright were flying in from Nebraska to pick him up
from Santee Lakes. They’d booked a hotel and arranged for a weekend visit.
Garrett didn’t have to report to the RMSC until Monday.

Although he’d returned all Lauren’s letters, she wrote him one
more time to ask if she could be there on his release date.

His response: Yes.

She took extra care with her appearance that morning. Her hands
trembled as she applied lip gloss, eye shadow and mascara. She looked pale, so
she dusted her cheeks with blush. It was important that she make a good
impression on Garrett’s parents. They were from the Midwest, and probably
conservative. For Garrett’s sake, she didn’t want to wear anything too
revealing. She chose a calf-length skirt and a tank top with a demure
neckline.

Pulse racing, she drove to the prison and searched the parking
lot for Gary’s rental car. She found a couple standing by a beige Taurus,
looking as anxious as she felt. Smiling, she pulled into the space next to
them.

Janine took a hesitant step forward as she approached.
“Lauren?”

“Yes,” she said, greeting them both with a friendly
handshake.

“You’re so pretty!”

“Thank you.”

They looked puzzled, as if they’d expected her to have warts.
Gary was a big man, like Garrett, with a barreled chest and a balding head.
Janine had short, faded brown hair and a kind, careworn face.

Lauren inquired about their flight and they chatted about the
weather. It was a hot, glorious October day. Before they went inside, she
pressed a palm to her stomach, hoping she wouldn’t throw up.

The release process took several hours. There were forms to
sign and procedures to follow. Janine gave the clerk some new clothes for
Garrett to wear. “I hope they fit,” she said. “He’s a size larger than when he
left home.”

When he came through the electronic door, Lauren’s heart jumped
into her throat. He looked fantastic. His eyes sought hers and held, but he
greeted his parents first.

The Wrights didn’t strike her as demonstrative people. Garrett
embraced his mother, telling her how great it was to see her. Then he released
her and turned to his father. They exchanged an awkward man-hug.

Lauren stood back and watched, tears pricking her eyes. Maybe
she shouldn’t have come. Her presence was interrupting their family reunion.

Garrett slapped his dad on the back a few times and let him go.
Lauren wanted to leap at him but she forced her feet to stay put. He approached
her with a tentative smile. Although she’d imagined this moment a thousand
times, she had no idea how he’d react. Since his return to prison, he’d only
communicated a single word to her.

Yes.

The instant he wrapped his arms around her, she knew everything
was going to be okay. He lifted her up and held her tight, almost squeezing the
air from her lungs. She laughed at his enthusiasm, pressing her nose to his
neck. God, he smelled good. Like freshly ironed clothes and shaving soap.

When he put her down, she cupped her hands around his face and
looked at him. He was so handsome it hurt.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said, giving her an equally
appreciative study.

She realized that he’d only seen her dirty, sleep deprived and
in bad lighting. “I’m wearing makeup.”

He broke the brief contact, in deference to his parents. They
were staying at the Hotel Del Coronado, and had planned an afternoon picnic at
the beach. Lauren drove her car to the hotel and joined them on the sand.

The Wrights had never been to California or seen the Pacific
Ocean. Rather than asking Garrett about his prison time, or posing uncomfortable
questions about the freeway collapse, they spoke of the scenery and local
tourist attractions.

Lauren was too keyed up to eat much. Garrett finished his
sandwich and hers.

After lunch, they took off their shoes and strolled along the
shore. She tried to hang back and let Garrett visit with his parents, but they
weren’t loquacious types. He ended up beside her, staring while she dipped her
toes in the surf.

“My mother can’t believe how beautiful you are,” he said.

Ocean spray dampened the hem of her skirt, so she gathered it
in one hand. “She’s just being nice.”

His gaze skimmed her bare legs. “I don’t think so.”

“I like her. I like them both.”

He dragged his attention out to the water. “I hope you know
that you don’t owe me anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay with me.”

“I wish you’d accepted my letters,” she said, shaking her head.
“If you’d read them, you wouldn’t say things like this.”

“I’ll read them now, if you’ll let me.”

She nodded her agreement and took his proffered hand,
continuing their walk. They rejoined his parents and whiled away several more
hours before heading back to the hotel. In a giant pink ballroom, there was a
large, buffet-style dinner.