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CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Sophie
“Tell me you’re not doing this, Soph.” The skepticism in Josie’s voice is so damn thick I can practically reach out and touch it. “You are not thinking like the clear-headed woman I know you to be.”
She’s right. “What the hell else do you want me to do, Josie? He can’t call. Not sure if he can send me another letter, and I’m sitting around my apartment like a desperate groupie, hoping thata boy I likeis gonna call me!”
I’m so wound up that I’m shouting at the phone inside my car as I pull out of my reserved parking spot and onto the street. “What else would you have me do?”
“Say fuck him and all the rest of them? You don’t need him, Soph. You have a big ass support system.”
I sigh, shaking my head and slowing down for the upcoming red light. “I know that, and if I have to do this on my own, then I will, but Tank deserves to know.”
Josie scoffs. “He knows he fucked you, Soph, and you haven’t heard one fucking peep from the guy. That says everything about how he feels about you.”
“Ouch.” My left hand goes to my heart at her harsh—but not entirely untrue—words. “Look, Josie, you’re probably right. Is that what you want to hear?”
“No, I want you to stop the car and go back home.”
“I can’t do that.” I let out the sigh I’ve been holding in and merge onto the freeway. “I can’t just decide for him and then hate on him for not being involved.”
Yeah, okay, I still think Tank is a good guy despite the silence. Maybe I’m wrong, but today is the day I’ll find out.
“You sure about this?”
Hell, no. “Yeah, Josie. I’m sure.”
“Fine. Call me later. Got a meeting. Good luck.”
I end the call with another heavy sigh and risk a quick glance in the mirror. I took care of my appearance today with natural makeup because I don’t want him to see any traces of my exhaustion. Or my tears. I’m wearing my armor in the form of black slacks and a bright red blouse with matching glasses, and my comfy red pumps because my feet are swollen. I look much better than I feel, which is all I can hope for today.
I’m nervous as hell as I drive to the county jail because Tank doesn’t know I’m coming, and he could—and might—turn me away. He might reject me straight to my face this time or through one of the county employees.
“It’s a risk I have to take,” I tell myself. But then I spot a dark blue car with four doors that looks terrifyingly familiar.
It's not the same car. It can’t be.That’s what I tell myself because anything else is too scary to think about. Besides, there are millions of dark blue cars on the road in California, and it could be anyone on their way to the mall or a dinner party. Anything.
I slow down and merge into the right lane. The blue car does the same.
I take the next exit, and the car is three cars behind me but also exits.
“Shit.”
I hit the gas when the light turns green and jump back on the freeway, keeping at least one car between us until I arrive at the exit for the jail.
At the first light, the blue car slips right behind me, following until I turn into the parking lot of the county jail. Finally, I release the breath I’ve been holding when the car sails by slowly, though I’m still convinced it’s the same car that tried to run me off the road.
I turn off the engine and step out, squaring my shoulders and breathing deeply as I prepare to see Tank. Hopefully.
Fingers crossed.
“Sophie Harmon to see Thomas Rutherford.” My stomach is full of butterflies, and I wait for the woman with the blank expression to tell me to get out and don’t come back. When that doesn’t happen, I scribble my name on a sticker and move toward a row of lockers where I have to store everything except a twenty dollar bill, which I put on a vending card in case Tank wants anything from the vending machines in the visiting room.
My heart races a mile a minute until the moment the first group is let into the visiting room, and I’m in the middle of the line.
First step complete.
I sit anxiously at the bolted-down table, fidgeting with my fingers as I glance around the dreary visiting room. The dull gray walls and fluorescent lights give an oppressive feel to the space crowded with inmates and their visitors.
