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Ben drums his fingers on a leather-trimmed desk blotter.
I have to ask. “Is there any chance of getting the charges dropped?” The drugs weren’t Jacob’s.
“I wish it were that simple, Hollie, but the fact remains that the drugs and the gun were in Jacob’s possession, and he made no mention of other players for weeks.” He sighs the sigh I’m feeling. “Let me do some thinking and make some phone calls this week. At this point, reasonable doubt may be the best we can do, and even that will take some work.” He tries to reassure me with a smile. “I promise I’ll do my best.”
He pivots back to Jacob, catching him peeking at his phone. Jacob attempts subtlety as he starts to tap out a message. Ben clears his throat and waits.
“Jacob.” I can’t help myself.
Playing innocent, he turns the phone face down on his leg, and at my raised eyebrows, finally meets Ben’s frown. “Young man, do you understand that you are in serious trouble?”
“Yes, sir.” I’m almost happy when Jacob scuffs sweaty palms along his jeans.
“Then I suggest you put the phone away and act like it for the remainder of this meeting. There are some things you need to hear.”
Typical male, Jacob bristles, “Yes, sir,” he reiterates.
“Good. Now. From here on out, it is imperative that you stay out of trouble. No, not just out of trouble, you need to do everything you can to dogoodthings. Up your grades. Volunteer at church. Walk little old ladies across the street. Judges do take those things into consideration. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Do not underestimate the hot water you are in. If spending the first decade of your adult life either behind bars or showing up at a probation office doesn’t interest you, it’s time you start playing for your own team, Jacob Carpenter."
∞∞∞
If I never smell another fried egg in my life, it will be too soon.
And bacon? Even that aroma gets old when it’s baked into your clothing and hair and singed into your nostrils six or seven mornings a week.
I line a row of specials up on my left arm, grab a newly filled syrup decanter with my right, and back through the swinging door. The Friday breakfast crowd is finally thinning, and, as I’ve done every morning for days now, I scan the crowd.
No John.
My stomach dances a weird jig when I think about seeing him again, and it isn’t the same heavy clomp it’s been in the past.
I guess, since he hasn’t shown all week, I’ll have to be the one to reach out. He did a kind thing connecting me with Ben, and letting the act go unacknowledged would be wrong.
I’ve eyed John’s sharply scrawled name and number on the back of Ben’s business card all week, but placing a call feels like…a thing. Wouldn’t it be much easier if John waltzed in one morning and I could thank him while I handed him his short stack?
Of course I can’t be that lucky—and what should I read into John’s absence from Charlie’s the past couple weeks?
While I’ve felt more hopeful, Jacob has been solemn for days now. I hate seeing him hurting and fearful, although I’m grateful he’s finally recognized the gravity of his situation. That encourages me as much as anything.
Marlene is nearby when I return from delivering table ten’s meal. “What’s up with you, hon? You’re all chipper this week.”
Chipper seems a stretch, but Marlene’s not entirely off-base. I drag a damp cloth across the base of the coffee maker where I spilled an unusually large slosh of coffee earlier. “Meeting with that attorney last weekend helped. I’m feeling slightly more optimistic. Plus, I’ve been praying more.”
Marlene sniffs. “Well, I don’t know about the prayer thing, but any lawyer is better than the public defenders in this county.”
And she would know. She’s had a half-dozen boyfriends since we’ve worked together, and every last one has had at least some run-in with the law. “Prayer definitely helps, Marlene.”
“If you say so.” She turns and slides a piece of two-day old apple pie into the microwave. “I don’t suppose that fine DEA agent has anything to do with your mood?”
“Not at all. I haven’t even spoken with him in a week.”
She whirls around. “Ha! So you admit he’s fine!”
Spying another brown spot, I rub it off the counter. “John is…” I don’t want to add fuel to her fire.
