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Luke
Isat in another room about half the size of my cell, a room with metal walls and nothing in it but a table and two chairs. When the door opened, I kept my eyes on my cuffed hands. I smelled motor oil and salt, sunflower seeds. I looked up.
“Well,” Dad said, sitting down across from me, one limb at a time. “You’re not supposed to have visitors.”
“No, sir.”
“But I told them I was former CID and I would likely be posting bail, and they let me through. They do this sham marriage shit too much anyway. Waste of money.”
We had the same sitting method, I’d noticed. Both of our injuries were on the right-hand side. “You don’t have to post bail. I just wanted—”
Dad waved his hand, his face stern.
I stopped. “Thank you.”
“Jake contacted Cassie, as you requested.”
I felt something burst inside me at the sound of her name. “What did she—?” I began.
He held up a hand. “But we told her not to come until she has to.”
“Yes, sir. So they didn’t arrest her.”
“No. Not yet, at least.”
“Fucking Johnno.” I bit down on my tongue, tasting blood.
He folded his hands, waiting for an explanation. Too long of a story. It was always too long of a story. Nothing simple. Nothing good.
He squinted at me, thick brows knit together, perplexed. Puzzled as to how I could have possibly originated in his household, I imagined. From his DNA. “Do you know what disappointment feels like, son?”
“Yes, sir.” Every day.
“No, I often wonder if you do. I don’t think you ever did. Because if you did, I believe you wouldn’t inflict as much of it on the people in your life.”
He was going to get up and walk away, again. He was going to wash his hands of me for a second time. I couldn’t let that happen.
“I do know,” I said. “And I am disappointed. I made a mistake.”
“One mistake isn’t the problem, Luke. It’s that you set yourself up for a life where doing something like this is acceptable. When your life is a series of mistakes, mistakes are no longer mistakes. They’re just your life.”
“Dad,” I said, my hands balled in fists. I need you.
“I thought you’d changed.”
“I have. I’m talking to Jake. I’m going to meetings.” I thought of the life on the ground I’d chosen, the consequences. I had nothing to lose. “Mom’s death really messed me up, Dad.” I took a breath. “And I’ve missed you. I love you.”
He cleared his throat, putting his hands in his pockets. “You’ll get a dishonorable discharge, I expect.”
“Just as long as nothing happens to Cassie.”
“Nobody can guarantee that.”
“Maybe not, but I can try.”
Dad paused. “What do you mean?”
Just then, the lawyer entered. A man about my age, of Asian descent. Thick, black hair cropped over plastic-rimmed glasses, dress blues. “My name is Henry Tran, and I’m with the United States Army Trial Defense Service.”
