Lifers (9 page)

“When we were younger, people thought we were twins.”

“And later?”

“His hair is … was darker than mine and he kept it short.” He swept a hand through his messy curls. “He was a big guy—the high school quarterback, just solid muscle, but a bit shorter than me. I was kind of skinny back then.”

His smile faded. I was desperate to keep him positive and upbeat. He had a great smile and I wanted to see more of it.

“That explains it.”

He glanced over. “Explains what?”

“The cut-offs you wear when you’re gardening. They look like they’re about to fall off.”
Not that I’d mind.

But instead of smiling again, he frowned.

“Yeah.”

I waited but he didn’t explain. I was about to explode with frustration. Trying to get him to talk was worse than pulling teeth.

“And? Don’t just tell me ‘yeah’ and then go all quiet!”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“For fuck’s sake, Jordan! Don’t be sorry all the time—just talk to me!”

He looked at me warily.

“Am I pissing you off?”

“Hell, yeah!”

“Sorry … I mean…” He sighed. “I didn’t think anyone would mind—about the clothes. When I left prison none of my old stuff fit anymore. They don’t let you leave in your TDCJ uniform.”

“What the hell’s that?”

He leaned back in his seat, rubbing his forehead.

“Texas Department of Criminal Justice. We all wore uniforms so prisoners can be easily identified. I think it’s to depersonalize you, too, ya know, so corrections’ officers don’t form associations or whatever.”

“Was it striped? Not that you wouldn’t look good in stripes.”

I wanted to bring back his lovely smile but all he managed was a wry twist of his lips.

“Ha, no stripes. No arrows, either. Nah, we had to wear these white cotton pullover shirts and white elastic pants. But those are State property. So when I was released, I got issued a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. It was all they had in my size. I don’t know, I didn’t ask. When I got home, I took some t-shirts and a couple of pairs of jeans from Mikey’s room. They’d kept it all, so … I really didn’t think it would matter…”

He looked down.

“I take it that didn’t go down well with your parents.”

He shook his head sadly.

“You could say that. Momma screamed at me then started cryin’. Dad yelled, sayin’ how I’d been home five minutes and had already upset my momma, and that I was an ungrateful bastard after they’d agreed to have me back … that it was disrespectin’ my dead brother … I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I just needed some clothes.”

He sounded so upset and frustrated, I wanted to lean over and give him a big hug. But I didn’t.

“So what happened?”

“They let me keep the shit I’d already taken. Momma said I’d ‘defiled’ them, so there was no point puttin’ them back. She got me some stuff from Goodwill after that.”

I was so angry with his parents. What the hell was the matter with them?

“Jordan, you didn’t do anything wrong. Your parents overreacted, that’s all. I guess that’s to be expected, but it’s not your fault. If they’d thought about it for two seconds they’d have realized you needed clothes to wear.”

He shook his head in silent disagreement.

I tried to think of a way to lighten the mood. “Anyway, I like the baggy shorts.”

“You do?”

“Sure,” I said, with an evil grin. “I keep wondering how far south they’re going to go. I’m thinking of running a pool. Maybe some of the moms in the neighborhood would like in on it.”

He looked taken aback for a moment, then his shy smile came out again and I think he might have been blushing. Damn, that was cute.

But, as ever, his good mood didn’t last.

He glanced at the clock on the truck’s dash.

“We’d better get back,” he said, sadly. “Your momma is gonna be callin’ the police to say I’ve abducted you if we stay out any longer.”

“Jordan Kane, did you just crack a joke?”

He looked surprised. “Um, no?”

“Well, I thought it was funny.”

He considered that for a few seconds then smiled a little, but didn’t reply.

I turned on the radio as he drove, and watched him drumming his fingers to the music, lost in thought.

When we arrived back, I hopped out of the truck and threw him the plastic bag that I’d hidden in my purse.

“For you.”

His surprise turned to astonishment as he pulled out a pair of long-cuffed work-gloves, size large.

“You … you bought these for me?”

“Sure! I said I would. Don’t worry, I’ll get the money back off of Mom.”

I waved and headed for the front door.

“Torrey!” he called after me.

I turned to look at him.

“Thank you,” he said.

Jordan 

I couldn’t believe she’d bought me a gift. Even if her momma was paying for it. I hadn’t had anyone do something like that for me in so long.

I took the gloves out of their packaging and pulled them on. They fit perfectly.

I went back to work and took out some of my frustration on the Rev’s overgrown rambling roses. I only got a few scratches on my upper arms. I hoped there’d be a garden emerging from the wilderness once I was done. I didn’t want to think what would happen to me when I’d finished—I couldn’t keep working here if there was nothing for me to do. I hoped that the Reverend was praying for a plan B.

I kept an eye open, but I didn’t see Torrey again. I’d hoped to be able to thank her once more for the gloves, and for, well, everything.

When I got home, my parole officer’s car was parked in the driveway.

More joy.

My parents hated having the house searched, but it was part of the agreement they’d signed as a condition of my parole, so they couldn’t object. But they could resent me just a little bit more.

At least Officer Carson wasn’t a complete bitch. I mean, she was
one of them
, so I didn’t really trust her, but she didn’t go out of her way to make things difficult either.

I saw Momma standing in the kitchen with her arms folded, fuming as Officer Carson went through the cupboards. They both turned and saw me at the same time.

“Hello, Jordan,” said Officer Carson, pleasantly. “It’s good to see you. How are you?”

“Fine thank you, ma’am,” I mumbled. It was my default answer for most questions.

I saw her glance at Momma who still hadn’t spoken.

“How’s work going?” the officer continued.

“Fine.”

“Reverend Williams says she’s very pleased with you.”

I nodded and shoved my hands into my pockets.

She smiled congenially. “Well, I’m about done here. Thank you, Mrs. Kane. Jordan, I just need to take a look in your room now, if that’s okay?”

She didn’t have to ask permission, so it was kind of nice of her that she did.

“Yeah, sure.”

I followed her up the stairs and along the hallway, then watched from the door as she checked under the bed, in my closet, under the mattress, and rifled carefully through my chest of drawers. She even checked under the drawers and behind the back of the unit. It was a reasonably thorough search, but if I’d wanted to hide drugs or shit, I wouldn’t have been so fucking obvious. I’d probably leave them outside or in the attic, hidden behind the rafters, like Mikey and I used to do.

“How are you finding it, being home?”

“Fine.”

She sighed. “You know, Jordan, part of my job is to help you with the transition. I know it’s difficult, but if you talk about it, and with the support of your family, you’ll have a much better chance of staying out of prison.”

Yeah, 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.