Page 40 of Light Up The Night
I shrug. “Yeah. We stay busy."
"And you own your own home. You own a car."
I shift uncomfortably. "I mean, yeah."
"The community knows you. The chairwoman of the Chamber of Commerce indicated that you are well-liked and respected here."
"I've got my detractors, but yeah, I guess that's true."
"You have friends. You are close with your brother. I presume you have hobbies you enjoy."
“Yeah."
“Then, by every metric I am aware of, Riley, you are a successful man. Do you enjoy your work? Is it fulfilling?"
I nod. “Yeah, for sure. I mean, demolitions, the kind I do, it ain't exactly rocket science. You can't just go around blindly swingin' the sledgehammer around or you'll take out a load-bearing wall, but for the most part, it's simple but hard, honest work. I guess if we're talking fulfillment, though, I get that more from my program."
She blinks at me. "Which program is that?"
"Oh, uh. Well, it's a work-release program through the Michigan Department of Corrections."
“Department of Corrections?” she says, surprised. “You work in prisons?"
"No, I work with prisoners. There's a state pen not far from Three Rivers—Holbrook State Correctional Facility. I work with the warden over there to find model inmates—the ones who show signs of genuinely working to be better, the ones who want to get out and be upstanding, contributing members of society. The ones we pick come work for me, doin' demo. They put inthe time in my program, working for me, and I pay them fair, competitive wages. Part of that pay goes to pay off their fees with the prison, and the rest goes into an escrow account. There's a whole complicated equation that goes on, but the state, the judge on the case, the warden, the parole board, and I all coordinate so that time served plus good-time credits plus my reports on the inmate’s behavior and work ethic is subtracted from their sentence, and they get out on parole earlier than they otherwise would be able to. Once out on parole, they keep working for me. They only have to report to their parole officer once a month, the rest of the time my reports serve as check-ins.
"When they get out on parole, they have money in the bank. They have a job. I have a deal with an apartment complex in town, and when I have an inmate about to get out, they make sure a unit is available—I help with paperwork, references, all that shit, so they have somewhere to live—somewhere safe, and away from temptations and distractions that might put them back on the inside. I help them find a car. They have friends from the jobsite—again, dudes who won't pull them back into the shit that put them in prison in the first place."
She's silent for a long time, thinking, processing. "Riley, I don't know what to say. That is…it is amazing. Inspiring. It is no wonder you are respected in this town."
I shake my head. "Not everyone likes having convicts with sledgehammers, shovels, and saws in their neighborhoods. I'm just tryin' to give these guys a halfway fair shot at life after prison. It's…It ain't easy."
Her thoughtful frown deepens. "Riley…did…did you go to prison?"
I close my eyes, sighing heavily. Restless, knowing she deserves this answer, I shoot to my feet away pace across the living room.
"Yeah, I did." I say it without looking at her, without turning around.
"What did you do? Or were you wrongfully convicted?"
"No, I…" I swallow. "Fuck. Fucking fuck me, I hate talking about this shit."
"Then do not."
"You oughta know. You deserve to know."
"Riley—"
I have to just put it out there—just say it. Get it over with. "I drove drunk and killed someone."
Her gasp of shock cuts like a knife. Of everyone in the world, it's her I want to impress the most, it’s her attention I crave, and it's her respect I want.
That's fucked, now.
“Yeah," I bite out. "Exactly. Now you know."
Chapter 7
CADENCE
