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“I’m sure everything will be fine, Mr. Bellamy.”
“It’d better be.” I leave the cubicle and head back to Raven’s room.
Her eyes are closed, and Rosemary is still there, tapping on the computer.
“She fell asleep,” Rosemary says. “The poor thing’s exhausted.”
I nod and take my place in the chair next to my sister’s bed. “Has anyone else been in this morning?”
“Not yet. Your mother usually comes around ten, and the others when they can.”
I check my watch. It’s nine thirty, and I have another appointment at ten thirty. I’ll be out of here by ten. Just as well. I haven’t seen any of them since I was released. Hawk wanted to pick me up but I told him no.
I took a cab. I didn’t want anyone in my family going to that place ever again.
I sit with Raven, holding her hand while she sleeps, until nine fifty. Then I kiss her forehead. “I’ll be back soon, sis.”
Time to meet my parole officer—one Michael Barrett—and begin the rest of my life.
5
SAVANNAH
“Here are your appointments for today.” Bridget, my supervisor, hands me a file folder.
Funny how government agencies still use scads of paper when most other companies have all their stuff digitized. But whatever.
“Don’t I have orientation or something?”
Bridget chuckles and runs her fingers over her graying hair. “Are you kidding? I don’t know how it was in Austin, but we’re completely understaffed and underfunded here. You’ll have to learn on your feet.”
“Sure, that’s fine.”
“Look,” she says. “Normally I’d let you shadow one of the others at least for a day, but one of our officers was in a car accident last night—”
I widen my eyes and gasp.
“It’s terrible,” she continues. “Some drunk woman plowed into him. It looks like he’s going to be fine, thank goodness, but he’ll be out for a while, and we’re shorter on staff than usual. You’ll be taking his new cases to start.”
“Okay.” I follow Bridget to an empty cubicle. “Here you go. You can access all the records via our system on your computer. We keep hard copies as well.” She points to a manila envelope on the metal desk. “All your insurance and other benefit information is in that envelope. You’ll need to sign a few things and get them to Blanche in HR. She’ll take care of getting them submitted, but you’re covered as of today. All federal and state holidays off plus three weeks PTO per year.”
“What about sick leave?”
“Use your PTO for that, so if you want a long vacation, don’t get sick.”
I open my mouth but she gestures me to stay quiet.
“Since the pandemic, we allow you to work from home if you have cold or flu symptoms but are well enough to work. But if you have appointments, you’ll have to reschedule them.”
I nod. “Got it. I never get sick, anyway.”
“Yeah, I thought that too, until I had a monster flu last winter.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, so I say nothing.
“Anyway,” Bridget says, “looks like your first appointment should be here any minute. You can access your schedule on your computer monitor as well. But your folders are in order.”
I grab the top folder and open it. “Rudy Hansen.”
“Just take the folder, go out to the waiting area, and call his name. Then bring him back. You’ve done this before, so you know the drill.”
“I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it.”
“I’m sure you will too. Enjoy your first day.” Bridget whisks out of the cubicle.
I grab the folder and walk out to the waiting area. It’s crowded, as I expected. Parolees are either here to meet their new parole officer, as Rudy Hansen is, or check-in.
“Rudy Hansen?” I say.
A young man with dark hair and eyes rises. He looks pretty clean-cut, which is normal for the first visit to your parole officer. His hair is cut short, and he’s clean-shaven. He wears a white button-down shirt and faded Levi’s. Some kind of sports shoes. Maybe Nikes, but I can’t see. He walks toward me, and I notice a gold stud in his left ear.
Also a tattoo on his left hand.
“Mr. Hansen,” I say, “I’m Savannah Gallo. Please come with me.”
I turn, assuming he’s following me, and head back to the cubicle.
I point to the chair sitting across from my desk. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you,” he says.
“How are you feeling today?”
He scoffs. “How do you think I’m feeling?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I asked. I’m here to help you, Mr. Hansen, so you’d be well advised to drop the attitude.”
He looks down at his lap. “Sorry.”
“I see you were granted parole for good behavior. You were charged with moving a controlled substance.”
“I was framed,” he says.
I resist an eye roll. That’s what they all say. Well, most of them, anyway.
“I’m afraid that doesn’t matter at this point, Mr. Hansen. Can you tell me about the charges and the time you served?”
