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Chapter15
Cameron
My dad emailed back while I was at practice yesterday and gave me a time slot for a phone call today. Brooklyn went to dinner with her mom last night, so I spent most of the night and all of this morning reading up on successful parole stories in search of someone with a case like my father’s. It’s only a matter of seven years at this point, which bodes well for him getting an early release. Seems cruel to let someone out only a year early after serving twenty-four, so I feel good about his chances this time.
His lack of a lawyer hurt him during the last hearing. I read the transcripts, and while he said all the right things to the panel, he left a lot of important stuff unsaid—mostly the studying and work he’s done while serving time. While the only degree to his name is a GED, my dad has read more than his fair share of college-level texts. He’s taken every unwanted job for prisoners just to beef up his resume, even spending a year on toilet-cleaning duty—which in a prison is about as low as the work gets.
Earning parole is about so much more than simply sayingyes sirandno ma’amto the standard questions. It’s a sales pitch for one’s life.
I have to be in the locker room for our game against Lipson Prep in thirty minutes. As far as private school competition goes, Lipson’s one of the better teams. It should be a decent game, and if we can hold them to a low score, or even better, pull off a win, we may have a shot at taking our division this year. I don’t care so much for me, but for our quarterback, James, this season means everything. I guess he had a pretty rough experience at his last school, which is why his family transferred here and his dad took the coaching job.
I’m not saying I am a vital part of the Welles football team. I am one of a very few talented pieces, though. I’ll even admit to using the word talented liberally. I know the basics of the game and I’m aggressive and fearless. That combination gives me a slight edge on this field. If I’m late, though, James will be down to two passing options, and Theo is going to take the brunt of the hits. He’s not built for the abuse like I am. I welcome it.
My phone buzzes in my hand while I pace circles around the fieldhouse track, and I practically fumble it to answer.
“Yes, I accept,” I say before the prison operator even has a chance to finish her speech about the call and charges.
“You got the news.” My dad sounds upbeat, genuinely. He’s always put on a good act for our phone calls, but the older I get, the more real he lets slip into our conversations.
“I did, yeah. This is good news, right? Earlier than we thought?” I’m a little fired up, so I keep walking while we talk. If I don’t, I’m afraid I’ll run right over my dad’s answers with my next question.
“By a few months. I guess they want to get through a lot of business before the holidays, so I got pushed into this year.” My dad’s voice vibrates, and I picture him walking in circles near the phone. He and I are so similar. The strangeness of it all hits me sometimes—my dad didn’t really raise me, but I have so much of his personality. It can’t all be from monthly visits and phone calls.
“Hey, I heard from that lawyer guy. You know him? He legit?” My dad knows Mom set him up with Hal. My parents have the strangest form of communication. It’s like a child’s game of telephone—my mom sends a message to someone who gets it to someone else who eventually tells my dad. Rarely they email each other directly. I used to read the messages they passed back and forth, everything my mom sends overly formal, my dad’s reading more like apologies.
“He’s good. He tried to date Mom a long time ago.”
My dad coughs out a laugh.
“Key word,tried,”he says.
There’s still a lot of love on my dad’s part, and I think there’s a big part of him that’s happy Mom never had someone else.
“Honestly, Dad. I think she stayed friends with him simply because of his legal reputation. It’s like she knew he would be handy down the road.”
There’s a long pause on the line before my dad says, “Huh.”
I don’t want to fill him with any false hope, but there are things my mom says and does that make it hard not to believe she doesn’t still love him, too. She’s not outright about it, but her mask slips around me sometimes.
“What can I do to help?” I sit on one of the benches by the track and chew at my thumbnail, my knee bouncing a thousand pulses per minute. I wish I were older, in law school myself or graduated, so I could represent him myself. Hal is good, sure, but I don’t think anyone believes in him the way I do. I hate feeling useless.
“You can tell me about this game you’ve got in a few hours, that’s what you can do. Are you getting your reps? Coach using you?”
I shoot to my feet and start walking again. I don’t want to talk about football, but I guess that’s all I’ve got. And it makes him happy.
“Yeah, I get used a lot actually. Mostly to block, and when it’s a tough line, I’m usually able to bully my way through.”
“Ahhh, that’s my boy,” he says. The genuine pride in his voice when I tell him about my games always makes me smile.
I switch our call to speaker phone so I can check the time. Our call is almost over. Even if I could stay on the line with him for an hour, the rules don’t allow it. Fifteen minutes is a gift when I get it.
“Hey, so . . . about the girl,” I say, rubbing my palm along my face.
“Oh, ho ho, do tell,” he says, a bit of fatherly teasing in his tone.
“I maybe kissed her.” I smile even though he can’t see me. I don’t need to share more than that with him. He’s a man, though. He knows.
“Alright! Now we’re talking. And?”
