Page 55 of His Virgin Vessel

"Either way," Risa went on, "you've given him something special. Something that's maybe worth whatever jail time he might have to do."

"I haven't given him anything," I scoffed. Asa had given me so much, but what could I claim to have given him?

"Oh, yes, you have," Risa insisted. "In fact, I'd say that you've given him the same thing that he's given you. You've given each other yourselves back."

Maybe another person wouldn't have understood that, but I knew my sister and instantly knew what she was trying to tell me. I had been lost, a stranger to myself and to my family. Asa had found me and brought me home. And Risa thought that I had done the same for him. Maybe it was true. He too had been struggling to resolve who he was inside with the life he lived and the things he did. If I had been any part of helping him find a way back to the good man underneath, then I was very proud and happy.

"You know, I owe him a thank you, too," Risa said.

"You do?"

"For sure. Asa didn't just give you back to yourself, he gave you back to your family as well. It's great to see the Corinne I knew from when we were kids back here. I owe him big for that. And I'm sure that Dad will feel the same. Maybe when he's had a bit more of a chance to think about it."

We chatted a long while that morning. Although it had only been a matter of days, it felt oddly as if Risa and I had not spoken for far longer than that. Perhaps there was something in what she said. I had always felt close to Risa, but maybe a distance had developed between us these last few years, without my being aware of it. I had drifted off into my bad-girl persona, and she had not known how to address that. Now we were back as we had been, two sisters, chatting for hours about everything and nothing. We did not confine ourselves to recent events, pressing though they obviously were, but talked fashion, films, and, of course, stuff that was happening in Risa's life, too. I could be a selfish girl if I wasn’t careful, and I always had to remind myself that my sister had stuff going on as well.

By the time we had finished talking, or at least by the time we stopped, it was lunch time.

"I'll make some sandwiches," Risa volunteered.

"Thanks. I've just got to make a phone call, then I'll come help."

# # #

Of all the promises I had made to Asa before he was carted off in the back of my dad's car, one had been practical more than personal. Asa cared very much for the members of War Cry, and he worried about them, and, of course, about what they might do in his absence.

It was strange to hear someone concerned about members of a biker gang like that, and I reflected that all too often we did not see such people as people, or at least not as individuals. You saw a group like that on a street corner, and you made a whole bunch of assumptions, all of which revolved around them being 'those people.’ You didn't see them as individuals, but as types. Such people didn't have emotions, they didn't have hopes or dreams, and they certainly didn't have insecurities. I'd been every bit as guilty of this failing as anyone else, and I was grateful to Asa for opening my eyes to it. The best example was Joseph Hartman, Asa's young protégée, in whom he saw so much of himself. It was he, more than any of the others, whom Asa wanted me to check up on. It was a revelation to me to learn that an outlaw biker might be lost without his mentor, might be secretly scared of what would happen now, or might be upset at this turn of events. But Joseph was apparently a passionate person.

I called Joseph from my room, using the number Asa had given me. A woman answered.

"Joseph's phone."

I thought that the voice might have been Fiona's, but didn't inquire further.

"Hi, can I speak to Joseph, please?"

"Who's calling?"

Was she jealous of another woman getting in touch with him, or was she being properly cautious for fear of who might be calling—the police, the Mafia, who knew?

"It's Corinne Dugas."

"Miss Dugas. I can't tell you how happy we all are that you have taken an active role in our affairs. It was so dull down here, and now it seems like the shit hits the fan every time you pop up." Definitely Fiona. Even had I not recognized the voice, its general tone would have given her away.

"I helped you get Asa's Black Book back," I said defiantly.

"But it was Joseph who did the real work, wasn't it?" pointed out the voice on the other end of the line.

I wasn't sure what, if any, argument I had to counter that. It was hard not to see her point of view. Since my appearance on the scene, Fiona's business, and indeed her life, had been threatened by mafia thugs, and, while I thought it would be a bit much to blame me completely, there was no doubt that my influence on Asa had played a part in this outcome. However, I did not have to defend myself, as another voice, from the background, spoke.

"Who is it?"

"Doesn't matter," Fiona said dismissively.

"Is that my phone? They're calling me. Shouldn't I be the one who decides if they matter?"

"Don't make me hurt you. It's the Dugas girl."

"Give me the phone."

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