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“There is nothing in poor taste when it comes to a Roberto Cavalli,” she says. Her mouth ticks up on both corners, breaking character.
We both stand and hug, and I walk her to my door just in time for Lily to open it. The shock hits my roommate a lot like it struck Morgan, Cameron, and me when my mom showed up, only Lily is actually wearing nothing but a long T-shirt and sockless shoes. If she tries to say she was just out for a run, I’m going to lose it.
“Mrs. Bennett. Nice to see you,” Lily stammers, her eyes flitting to me for help. I shrug because I’ve got nothing.
“Lily,” my mom utters her name in that special way that is both a greeting and a scolding. She glances down to Lily’s bare thighs and shakes once with a laugh before looking back to me. “Some Welles traditions never change.” She smirks and lifts a brow then leans in to kiss my cheek before heading down our hallway.
“I’m mortified,” Lily croaks as soon as our door is closed.
I cover my face with my palm.
“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure my mom just admitted to having sex with my dad when she went to Welles, so I’m pretty horrified, too.” My response prompts Lily to screw up her face in confusion. “It’s a really long story. We’re gonna need a girls’ night.”
“Okay,” she says skeptically.
Morgan rushes into our room seconds later and does her best to fill Lily in on at least half the story, the part about my mom showing up and Cameron being here. I then have to backtrack to get her up to speed on the fact Cameron and I are dating. Neither of them is in the loop on Cameron’s dad and the situation with my father and parole letters and the Powells. I decide to save that for another time because it’s not fully mine to share.
My roommates rush out the door to make it to class, but I linger behind, wanting some privacy for whatever happens to be in this envelope. It’s sealed, which for some reason gives me even more pause. I feel like breaking it open is an irreversible decision, and maybe that’s my father’s point with all of this. Or maybe it’s my mother’s doing.Trust the deliveryman and have some faith.
I hold it up to the light to see if I am able to extract anything without fully committing, but the paper is too thick. With a heavy sigh, I slip my fingernail under the edge and work my way inside the envelope, tearing it open along the top and pulling out the folded, type-written document.
The formal address sinks me immediately.
Massachusetts State Parole Board.
I take a seat and buckle up for the read, starting and stopping several times to reread and make sure I understand.
As a result of new information, and my own personal conversation with Mr. Hass, I would like to reverse my previous recommendation in favor of the granting of parole. I feel Mr. Hass may be an example of the work our system does, of the success that is possible when justice is served humanely and with the full intent of creating positive outcomes. It is my full belief that Mr. Hass is ready to be a contributing member of our society.
I hold the letter on my lap and let those words marinate in my mind. He spoke with Cameron’s dad. This must have been yesterday, after we spoke. The letter is dated today, and it’s stamped as a copy at the top, which makes me believe he already submitted the original. He changed his position because of me . . .forme.
That’s what my mom was trying to tell me. People mess up. My dad isn’t perfect, and he’s messed up plenty. It’s not about the times people get it wrong, though. It’s about when they get it right.
Chapter21
Cameron
Spending time with my mom on a non-holiday is rare. Seeing her twice in the same week is near anomaly status. The fact she’s at Welles right now, waiting for me at the front office? That’s a sign of the apocalypse.
I half expect to see a roomful of people I’m only close to through my bloodline waiting for me as I step into the Welles welcome lobby. This is how interventions start. I know because I watch them on TV all the time.
The lobby is quiet, though, and my mom is standing by the opposite door when I step inside. I glance to my left to check the headmaster’s office, and the door is closed. The conference room doors are closed too, which probably means there are discipline meetings going on.
I look back to my mom and she nudges her head toward the door.
“I signed the form on Karen’s desk. You’re covered,” she says, a mischievous smile playing at her lips.
My face pulled tight with caution, I adjust my bag over my shoulder and loosen my tie as I follow my mom out to the parking lot to her car. I toss my bag in the back seat and get into the passenger side before leaning over to check her mileage. She’s still under a thousand.
“You never drive. What’s this about?” I ask as she pulls her blazer off while standing just outside the door. She folds it and hands it to me to put in the back seat then gets in and cranks the engine. With both hands on the wheel, she locks her arms straight and draws in a full breath before letting it out slowly, as if she’s breathing through a straw.
She twists to face me.
“I’d like to see your dad,” she says.
I blink a few times, part of me waiting for the prank to reveal itself. When it doesn’t, I lean back and fully take her in. She’s dressed for an interview. White blouse under a bright blue blazer, black pants, and pointy-toed shoes that look like they belong in Brooklyn’s collection.
“Shit, you’re serious,” I say.
