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Melody
To the scentless air, free of blame
FIRST CHECK-IN WITH MY PO after being released from rehab and I’m already about to bolt. This Jacquie chick comes off more like a therapist than a parole officer, and I got enough of the head shrinking at Stoney.
One thing I will admit that I didn’t think was possible: I miss Nurse Bridge. Out of everyone there, she was real, she had grit. She didn’t sugarcoat anything and she always said what was on her mind. I miss her candid little quips. Her overbearing, big mama fortitude. And I just miss feeling like I wasn’t a complete loser for being me around her.
My PO looks too young, too innocent, and too sweet to be in charge of my freedom. But maybe this is a good thing. She won’t come down too hard on me when I slip. Because I won’t lie to myself and claim I’m going to stay off the white—that’s one thing I don’t do; lie to myself. I know there will be many temptations over the next months, and I’d be so full of it to think I’m not going to buckle once.
“Okay, Miss Lachlan, let’s continue,” she says, scanning over the file on her desk instead of looking at me. “Have you found a residence to reside at during your probation period?”
Yes…and no. Because Jesse has to stay in St. Augustine throughout the duration of his pretrial court stuff, the MC sprung for a small apartment for him. Tank footing most of the rent, I’m sure. Jesse made the offer the other night to let me stay with him until I could afford my own place.
This did not seem like a good idea. Especially since Jesse is far from clean. I might be honest about my dependence now—not addiction; there’s a difference—but I don’t need to topple on unnecessary temptation.
Besides, after the way Tank not-so-subtly hinted to me and Jesse becoming an MC item, I don’t want to encourage Jesse. I’m not sure if it’s Tank’s idea or his, or the whole of the MC pushing the idea—but it’s better not to encourage any of them. Jesse will do whatever the MC tells him to. If his mentor says he needs an ol’ lady to settle him, to keep him out of trouble, Jesse will follow instructions. I know he’d do anything at this point to earn his full patch.
I’m not MC property, though. And both Tank and Jesse know this. But that doesn’t mean they won’t try. I thought I’d made my intentions clear about that a long time ago, but maybe they’re just trying to look out for me. Thinking I need an ol’ man now that Dar is gone.
I’ve been tussling with this since the other night. I just don’t know what to believe. Or what I want to believe. That’s two very different things, there.
“Melody?”
Jacquie’s soft but firm voice draws me out of my musings. I sit forward. “Sorry. Yes, I have a residence.”
She poises her pen over the page. “And where is that?”
I rub the back of my neck, feeling stilted. “Someone from Stoney Creek hooked me up with a cheap apartment near here. Month-to-month lease. For now.” That would be big mama Nurse Bridge. On the day of my release, she told me that her daughter was going off to graduate school and vacating a cute little apartment. The timing worked out perfectly, and she drove me there that afternoon to sign the lease with the landlord and get moved in. My whole two boxes and all.
“That’s great. And have you been able to schedule your group meetings yet?”
Shit. “Uh, yeah.” I nod, even though no, I haven’t done that yet. But I’m sure Nurse Bridge can help me there, too. “Once a week, right?”
Jacquie looks up and smiles. “Right. You’ll be required to take a drug test every week before group, and the counselors will also make random home visits. So…just keep that in mind.”
Great. I feel like a freaking cow, but instead of milk, my udders are being milked for urine. Bottled water will be my new BFF. At that thought, my heart pinches. I have no one to share my inside joke’s with. Dar would’ve had a funny comment about this. I can hear her running through the apartment, pretending to ding a cowbell every time the doorbell rings.
“We can go ahead and set up your next appointment for here, too. Pick a day that works best for your weekly schedule. We’ll do once a week for the first two months, then see how it goes from there.” She tilts her head questioningly when I don’t respond with an affirmative right away. “Do you have any questions so far?”
I shake my head. “None. Stay sober and out of trouble and I get off in five months, right?”
She folds her hands atop the desk and hunches her shoulders, her features severe, like she’s about to impart some terrible news. “Melody, have you received any grief counseling?”
At once, my defenses flair. “I got plenty of counseling at Stoney.”
“Yes, but that was a short, twenty-day treatment, primarily focused on giving you the tools needed to battle addiction. With what you’ve been through…” She gives her head a quick shake before her eyes drill into me. “It would be wise to seek help in order to deal with your loss in a healthy way. Most people who are physically dependent on substances find it very difficult to get and stay clean, but having to deal with the death of a close friend makes it nearly impossible. I strongly advise seeing someone, anyone you trust.”
I want to tell this lady that I’ve dealt with a whole hell of a lot more in my short lifetime, and I know all too well how to handle it. But I don’t. Something in her demeanor, her soft eyes, says that she’s not like Doc Sid and the others. She’s my parole officer, this really isn’t her MO, to hook me up with a therapist and shit.
Finally, I shrug a shoulder. “I’ll manage. As long as I don’t have to do another turn at Stoney, locked away from civilization, I’ll be fine.” I stand and push my chair back, leaving regardless of whether our time’s up or not.
She glances down and jots something on the page before she says, “All right. We’ll meet again next Friday, and for the time being, I’ll put in your notes that you’ll continue to see me once a week until you’re released from parole.”
Again, she comes off more like a counselor than a PO—not that I have much experience with either. I’m trusting my people skills here. And she might even be someone who gives a real shit.
I make for the door, and she says, “My card is in your folder. Call if you need anything.”
I’m hoping that I don’t have to take her up on that offer.
