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“She’s limiting their exchanges to texts so she won’t be swayed by his ‘sexy’ voice.”
Arnett shot her a wide-eyed TMI glare.
She broke out laughing, grateful for the tension relief. “Yeah, that’s pretty much how I feel about it. I wish I could tell if he’s sincere about wanting to repair the marriage.”
Arnett wagged his head. “I’m not sure that’s the right question to ask.”
She turned to him. “What do you mean?”
He cleared his throat. “One of the things our marriage counselor said that stuck with me was the difference between expectations and boundaries.”
Jo raised her brows but remained silent; Arnett rarely talked about anything to do with therapy, and she didn’t want to derail him.
“You can’t control or guarantee other people’s behaviors, so you can’t have any expectations about them. You can only stand firm in your own standards of how you will and won’t be treated, and walk away if those standards aren’t met.”
“So, you think she should walk away because he cheated.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” He raised a hand at her. “I’m saying there’s no way to know if he’s sincere, and even if he is, he might change his mind tomorrow. She can’t put her faith in that. She has to decide whatshewants. And if she decides to give him another chance, she has to make her boundaries clear and not let him cross them. And I don’t just mean the cheating, I mean whatever they agree on. Marriage counseling, whatever.”
Jo nodded. “Good advice for all of life.”
His face went blank and he turned back to the highway in front of him. “Ain’t it just.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
As Arnett drove, Jo familiarized herself with the media coverage of Ossokov’s appeal and release. She skimmed a couple of print articles that each gave quotes from Ossokov vigorously denying he was bitter about his incarceration. Skeptical, she clicked on a link to a video interview—seeing a suspect’s expressions and hearing the tone of their voice always put her on firmer ground.
After a brief intro, the clip turned to a one-on-one interview, with Ossokov sitting in a brown, cushioned chair. About Jo’s age, he had blue eyes, medium brown hair, and the pale skin of a prison pallor.
“It’s everybody’s nightmare,” the blonde woman interviewing him said. “Being locked up for fifteen years for a crime you didn’t commit. You must have been angry.”
Ossokov smiled a small, seemingly genuine smile. “I was angry when I was incarcerated for a crime I didn’t commit, at least at first. It’s deeply frustrating to be unable to get anyone to believe what you know is true. You feel desperate and hopeless.”
The interviewer nodded gravely. “So how did you manage to stay sane through it?”
“I’ve always loved books and learning, and the only time I ever felt worth something in life was when my teachers rewarded me for doing well in school. So, when I was struggling to face living the rest of my life in prison, I tried to find some meaning in it. I started reading everything I could find on the meaning of life and why we’re here. Among other things I studied several Buddhist traditions, and they spoke to me. I began meditating, and I came to understand that my incarceration was a gift. I had no direction in life before I was put in prison, and now I do. Those fifteen years behind bars was the price I had to pay to find it.”
“What is the direction you found? A new career?”
“Yes and no. I’m writing a book about everything I’ve gone through and I’m hoping it will be able to help others find their way through hard times. I was very self-centered before, very lost in my own head. Now I understand that we’re put on this planet to make the journey easier for others. That’s the only real lasting contribution we can make to society.”
Arnett snorted. Jo paused the video and looked over to him.
“He’s writing a book? Gimme a break.” Arnett waved a dismissive arc.
Jo tilted her head. “He sounds like a poster boy for rehabilitation. And that’s what everyone in the prison system wants to believe will happen to the men and women behind bars.”
“Any man with half a brain can figure out the smart thing to say.” Arnett signaled a lane change.
“But to what end? He’s not trying to convince a parole board.”
Arnett pointed toward her phone. “He said it himself. He’s trying to sell the book.”
Jo examined his face. Arnett certainly leaned more toward cynical than she did, but there was something else underlying his response that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “It would be hard to keep up that level of quality BS for an entire book.”
Arnett laughed derisively. “Really? With some of the hyper-intelligent psychopaths we’ve met?”
“You make a good point,” she said. Psychopaths took all forms, but the smart, charming ones could convince almost anyone of anything they wanted to. “And I suppose it’s possible he prepped for this interview so he could come across as genuine, but—he seems sincere.”
