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He lifts a shoulder. “Yeah, sometimes on Sundays. Been to a few weddings here of some of my buddies.”
“Oh. I bet that’s beautiful. I can’t imagine how much it would cost to have your wedding here, though.” I whistle through my teeth as I take in all the ornate décor and the vast golf course.
“It’s affordable,” he replies.
I look up at him. “For you, maybe.”
“I own a million-dollar company. We’re about to hit one billion soon. Do you understand that?”
I furrow my brow and set the menu down. “Okay. That’s great for you. Why are you telling me this?” I really am confused. Is he bragging about his wealth? Because if so, that’s just... gross.
“Because I want you to feel safe that you’ll always have a job.” He grabs my hand. “I mean it, Taryn.”
Swallowing hard, I just nod. “That’s... that’s good to know. You must be real proud, huh?”
“I am,” he replies, lifting his drink. “I worked damn hard to build this company. And the fact that I can employ you and the rest of my employees makes me happy. Like I’m contributing somehow.”
I smile at him. “You should be proud.”
The server comes up and takes our orders. I decide on the nachos but also decide I’m going to help myself to a bite of his hot chicken because that also sounds amazing.
“Speaking of jobs, did you know Eric asked me for one?”
My tea pauses at my lips. “He did?”
Carter nods. “He did. He called me last week, told me he was getting out in March. Needed a job for his release plan.”
So, Carter does know.
I’m not sure how this makes me feel. Both our incomes dependent on Carter Lockwood? He seemed confident that his business is expanding, but it is still an uneasy prospect. Still, I realize it’s nice of Carter to offer him a job, even if my brother knows next to nothing about computers.
“What’s he gonna do at Lockwood Tech?” I ask.
“I’m not sure yet. I’ll have Lisa make up a position for him when it gets closer to the time,” he answers.
“That’s really cool of you, Carter.”
He smiles. “I want him to succeed and not go back to drinking and partying all the time. In fact, my buddy Declan works for CU Health. He’s going to look into maybe getting him a therapy job. The convicted felon thing could pose a problem.”
I chew my lip. “But he has a sports medicine degree. In fact, he’s halfway to his doctorate.”
He nods. “I know, Taryn, but employers are leery about hiring felons. He told me there’s a few in the kitchen and janitorial services, but a therapist? That’s a step below doctor, and also works with patients. The others aren’t around the patients.”
I guess that makes sense. “I understand.” I let out a dramatic sigh. “I really worry about him getting out, you know. I do too much reading, I guess.”
“Reading about what?” he asks.
“Just about inmates getting ‘institutionalized.’” I use air quotes. “They get used to being taken care of and told what to do. When to eat, when to sleep, where to work, when to take their medication. The ones who are in a long time lack the functionality to thrive on their own outside of prison.”
Carter quickly takes my hand. “Six years is a long time, but I’m pretty sure those articles were talking about people who’ve spent a lifetime in there. Think about it. Could you imagine getting locked up in say, the nineties, and then are suddenly released? You wouldn’t know how to work a cell phone, navigate the internet, or the myriad of other technologies that have advanced. Eric’s only been there a few years. He’ll adapt just fine. He’s smart. I know him.”
I nod sadly and stare at him. “I’m scared he’ll change. Lose that sweet, carefree smile and be hardened and angry. I couldn’t take it.”
“We need to not kid ourselves that he won’t be different. He’s probably going to be on edge and a bit standoffish. I cannot imagine living in dorm-style housing with nothing but dudes for years. And not just regular dudes... murderers and rapists and whatever else those guys are in for. He will be different but with your help, he’ll get through it and reacclimated to the real world,” he says softly.
This is the Carter I know. This is the Carter I want to see all the time. Not the jerk at the office or the one manhandling me out of a bar because a guy was flirting with me.
“Our,” I say.
