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I don’t say any of this to my parents, of course. I stay silent and let Dad work his way through his parental-control mode.
I’m halfway through my last pancake when he sighs for the second time.
I don’t smile smugly or crow in triumph, but I know he’s about to give in even before he says, “Fine. Give me a few days to come up with someone you can interview for your paper.”
I jump up, fly around the breakfast island and throw my arms around his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
He laughs and drops a kiss on my temple before I let go. “You’re welcome. And I expect absolute top marks, young lady.”
“Oh, absolutely!”
He sips his coffee before grimacing. “I wish you weren’t doing this while Mom and I are away though.”
Before he can rush down another avenue of worry and block me with more concerns, I reply, “I want to enjoy my summer, Dad. If I have to wait for you and Mom to get back from Europe with the paper hanging over my head, it’ll ruin my downtime.” I inject the barest hint of a pout into my voice, the one I know will sway him completely to my side.
I may be a model daughter, but I still have my wiles and I’m not above using them.
He looks to Mom for support, but she gives a “your call” shrug. He drains his coffee cup and rises from the island.
“I guess I better get to work on finding your subject right away then.”
I blow him a kiss as he leaves the room.
Once he’s gone, I fist pump and give a muted whoop.
Mom shakes her head with a wry smile. “Don’t think we don’t know you’ve got us wrapped around your little finger, missy,” she admonishes.
I know to quit while I’m ahead so I lower my head and finish my breakfast in silence.
As I do, reality sinks in, along with an ominous tingling.
I’m going to interview a convict in a maximum security prison about his life and crime. A man who’s probably been locked up for years and not come into contact with a female in a long time.
A fearful shiver races through me but I dismiss it.
I’ll be completely safe. Dad won’t let anything happen to me.
And I’m going to totally ace this criminal justice paper.
2
Monroe
“You in college?” I ask the angelic vision sitting several feet from me.
I’ve blinked a few times since I walked into the room to make sure I’m not dreaming but she’s still there.
Maybe I’ve died and I’m in the some fucked up transition. Because I’m headed to hell and God wants me to see the things I could’ve had if I’d lived a better life?
Because this girl…woman?
She’s everything I imagined an angel would look like.
She nods, her eyes catching mine before they dart away. “Yes. Heading to sophomore year in the fall.”
Sweet Jesus. Her voice. Like the gentlest chimes on a sultry summer night. “And that makes you…how old?” I push, a peculiar simmering stirring in my gut.
She jumps a little at my rough growl of a voice, and I hide a wince.
