Page 95 of Call It Home

I sat up on my elbow. “Seems we just gave the giant finger back because now you have me.”

He smiled, but the skin between his eyebrows puckered a little, a sure sign he was still worried about something. “What’s wrong?”

His head pressed further into the pillow as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m scared the board will deny Trey’s parole. They’re really tough. And it’s been my experience my entire life that when one thing goes right, something else goes wrong.”

“You’re scared you got the girl but are going to lose the fight with your brother.”

He nodded at my assessment, then chuckled softly. “Sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

I rested my hand across his face, drawing him to look at me. “Then we go back to Plan A and keep working on ways to help Trey transition when the time comes. But let’s not give up on Plan B yet, okay?”

Long fingers brushed the side of my face. “You really understand, don’t you? And you’re sure you’re okay with me being away for long stretches of time?”

“You’re not the only one who can make the trip to visit. Other people manage—military families, truck drivers…race car drivers. I don’t know why it seemed so daunting before. I guess because it felt so permanent. But it doesn’t have to be. We’ll make sure Trey has everything he needs and feels settled. You’ll get your business up and going, and I’m sure it’s going to be amazing, whatever you decide to do. Maybe someday, Trey can move to Tennessee. It’s not like he’ll be on parole forever. Or maybe he’ll be so sick of seeing us, he’ll kick us out and take over the business. Or maybe he’ll want to start over somewhere completely new. But let’s solve one thing at a time.”

He stared at me. “God, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Chapter38

Mac

I crossedmy right ankle over my left knee and drummed my fingers on my leg before switching and repeating the same thing on the left. Then I put both feet on the floor and leaned forward, pulling at the tie Cam had bought me. I hated it, not used to dressing up and having something feel like it was constricting me around the throat.

Trying to relax in the small room designated for the parole hearing, I forced myself to picture her. My current favorite image was of her staring down at me with beautifully flushed cheeks and tousled hair as she rode me before she threw her head back as she found her pleasure. My beautiful princess, who loved fashion and who loved to make things pretty. So different from me, rough and simple. But somehow, we fit theopposites attracttheory, and just like the magnets that created the expression, we had a connection that kept pulling us together.

That image was two weeks old. A part of me worried in the time I was gone that she’d realize the separation was too hard. I’d tried to call her this morning before I left for the prison, but she hadn’t picked up. And since phones weren’t allowed in the prison, I couldn’t check to see if she’d called or texted back.

My legs bounced on my toes. I checked my watch. One minute before ten o’clock, which was when the hearing was to begin. I blew out a quiet breath, then crossed my legs again, drumming my fingers once more. My stomach gurgled. It was empty, but I hadn’t been able to eat this morning.

Just as I recrossed my legs, the door behind me opened. Three men and two women entered the room and walked directly to the chairs behind a table facing me. The man on the end nodded to the prison official, who walked to the door and held it open. Trey walked in, looking a little paler than usual in his tan overalls, followed by his attorney, Christian McGuire. Trey’s eyes slid toward me, looking a little nervous, but he held his head high. I tried to give him a reassuring nod in return. Christian gestured for Trey to sit in the chair that was positioned by itself in front of the table before he sat in the chair next to me.

The members of the parole board opened the files that had been handed to them by the official. They spent several minutes sorting through the papers.

Christian had advised me that Trey would have to answer most of the questions himself, but he would be there to clarify questions that Trey couldn’t.

The door opened again, and another woman entered. I recognized her immediately, especially the smug face she wore as she glanced at me and took a seat in the last chair on the other side of the room. Helena Engold, Duane’s widow. My former girlfriend. The one who set this entire disaster in motion.

One of the men at the front cleared his throat, then began the hearing. “Mr. Caldwell. We have several questions we’d like to ask you. At the end of this meeting, we’ll evaluate everything before us, including testimony from the victim’s family, and make a decision. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Trey’s voice was calm and steady. I knew Christian had gone over the procedure with him as well as potential questions that would be asked so that he could help him prep his answers.

The first questions were no surprise, but it was still hard to hear Trey had to recount the events that led up to Duane’s death. I heard the catch in his voice when he recalled how he realized Duane was unconscious, and I hoped the board members heard it, too. I closed my eyes and turned my head when he reemphasized that his actions hadn’t been meant to be malicious, but a way to defend me from Duane’s attack.

“Murder,” Helena shouted.

Everyone looked at her. “Ma’am, you’ll have your chance to speak. In the meantime, I have to ask you to remain quiet,” the man who appeared to be the chairman instructed.

She huffed and sat back with her arms crossed.

The questions continued. “And do you have a place to live should you be granted parole?”

“My brother has an apartment with two bedrooms,” Trey answered.

“And what is your plan to obtain work?”

“It’s always been mine and my brother’s plan to open up a shop and make custom-built furniture or cabinets—or whatever someone needs. Mac, that’s my brother, has already started a web page to advertise. We’re calling it Caldwell Creations.”

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