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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
On Saturday morning, Petra pulled two cherry Pop-Tarts from their package and dropped them into the toaster. Standing at her side, Jake reached over and pulled the box toward him. He took out a pack, tore it open, and shoved half a tart directly into his mouth.
“I still can’t believe you don’t toast your tarts,” she said giving her head a bemused shake.
His mouth full, he nodded at her toaster. “I’m eating a Pop-Tart,” he said around his chewing. “You’re waiting for one. Who’s the smart one here?”
“Yes, but mine will be worth the wait. Hot and soft and gooey.” She plucked a honey-crisp apple from her fruit bowl. “And I’m eating a nice, healthy apple while I wait.”
Grinning, he shoved the other half of the tart in his mouth. He could not have looked more smug if he tried.
She picked up another apple and held it out to him. “You should have something with actual nutrition, too.”
Stepping right up against her so she was pressed between his body and the edge of the island, Jake took the apple, leaned over her, and returned it to the bowl. “I don’t need you to be my mom, babe. I already got one of those, and she’s a good one.”
The mention of his mom lit up an image of her own in her mind, and her smile faltered.
Watching her, he let his smile fall away, too. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
She loved that he’d known right away what she’d been thinking. He paid such close attention. “It’s okay. You can talk about your parents without feeling guilty about mine.”
“Okay. I’m glad I’m gonna meet your dad tonight. I hope he likes me.”
She smiled and brushed her fingers over his lips. “He will love you, because I do. You make me happy, and that’s all he’s ever wanted for me.”
On Monday, Petra’s father would go into a courtroom, give his allocution, in which he would confess his crimes, plead guilty, and be sentenced according to the so-called ‘deal’ he’d agreed to: five years in the Oklahoma State Penitentiary at McAlester, among other less consequential punishments. He would be taken into custody right there, and the next time Petra saw him, he’d be in a prison uniform, in a prison visiting room.
So this weekend, she was devoting as much of herself to him as she could. Today, after a trip to the grocery, she was spending the day helping him get his affairs in order so she could keep the house maintained in his absence. Then she was making his favorite meal—moussaka, a tomato-feta salad, hard bread with herbed butter, and, of course, baklava for dessert. Jake was coming to the house after his shift to join them.
Jake’s phone buzzed, and he leaned back to pull it from his pocket and look. He typed a quick text and returned the phone to his pocket.
“Time to go?” she asked. Frequently, when he got a text it meant he was being summoned.
“Yeah. It’s Simon, though. Remember I asked him if he’d talk to your dad about what prison’s like? He says yeah, he will, and he’s free tomorrow, but he wants to talk to me first. So I gotta go in a few minutes early.”
Trying to find ways to help her father face his fate, she’d first gone online to see what information was available about the experience of being in prison. Everything she’d found was either too general or too specific to be very useful. So she’d asked Jake if one of the Bulls who’d been in McAlester would be willing talk to him.
The Bulls who’d been in that particular prison were off on a run, but Simon had been in a federal prison in Texas for five years, and Jake thought he’d be willing to talk about that. There were probably enough similarities, and the chance to talk to an actual person, and ask questions, seemed better than reading or watching stuff online.
“Okay,” she said. “Thank you for doing that.”
“I’m glad there’s something I can do to help.” He bent down and kissed her. “I want you to meet my folks, too. I’m gonna have to come clean soon about why I’m never home, and when I tell my mom, she’s gonna want to get to know you pretty much immediately.”
Petra hooked her arms around her handsome guy’s neck. “I want to meet them pretty much immediately.”
“Good,” he murmured against her mouth.
What would this awful time have been like if she didn’t have him? In the midst of all this turmoil, he was a steady, sturdy point of calm. The only time she felt like she could relax, could rest, was with him. The only time she felt content right now was with him.
“I love you, Jacob Jessup.”
His smile caressed her lips. “I love you, Petra Maros.”
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~oOo~
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