* * *
Fort Dix
Release Day
Marc
I walked out of prison in the jeans and thermal I’d worn the day I’d turned myself in. The shirt was a little tighter around my chest and arms. Given that reading and lifting weights were my only activities while inside, it made sense.
George was waiting for me in a big, black Buick. New and shiny. He got out and came toward me, and I had no choice but to embrace him as his arms came around me. His hair was now fully gray, and there were more lines around his eyes. It was like the day he’d acknowledged her death, he visibly got older.
For fifteen months, he’d visited me as often as he could, even when I told him not to. Even when seeing him brought so much pain. George had never wavered.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said.
I nodded.
It felt strange. Like I didn’t know quite how to handle being on the outside. Like there were these invisible strings around me, still attached, but I couldn’t see (them) to cut them loose.
“New car,” I said, as I slid onto the passenger seat. Our plan was to drive to George’s place in North Carolina. I wanted out of the state. As far away from New Jersey as I could get, while I started to come up with a plan. There were no restrictions placed on me. No parole I had to satisfy. I’d completed my sentence, and, now, I was free.
Or as free as an ex-con could be.
“Yeah, they settled Landen’s estate. Most of it went to the investors he’d defrauded, but it left me with a couple hundred thousand dollars. My first thought was to take it out in cash and dump it in the fucking ocean. I didn’t want anything to do with him or his money. Instead, I figured I could find some charities that needed it. Women’s shelters and stuff like that. The car…having my own car that he’d paid for, just my way of saying, fuck you, Arthur Landen. Rot in hell.”
I laughed as George started the car and we drove off. George got on 95 South and we stopped only for food breaks and to swap out who was driving. Eight hours later, we reached Jackson. A small town near the coast, with gently rolling hills and freshwater inlets that made for great fishing.
George informed me, as we pulled up to his cabin situated down a long dirt road, that my presence pushed the town population over the five-hundred mark. It was clear he loved the place. The quiet, the balmy weather year-round.
“I’ve been asking around town about work,” he said, as we got out of the car. “There’s some construction going on in Surf City, right on the coast. Fancy beach houses. They’re looking for labor.”
I nodded. “Thanks. I’ll need some cash before I can get started.”
“I’ve got the money from your car. Sorry, it didn’t sell for much.”
I smirked at that. “Hell, I didn’t buy it for much.”
“Packed up any clothes you had. It’s all inside waiting for you, although you look like you’ve put on muscle.”
“Some,” I said, looking at the cabin.
“Might need bigger sizes,” George noted, as he made his way to the cabin.
The place was a decent size. One floor. Not too dissimilar to the carriage house I’d basically grown up in. Big fireplace in the center. Not a bad spot to retire. It settled something inside me.
George would be fine here without me. Fishing, shooting the shit with the locals. My guess, there was a town bar where everyone congregated to talk about the size of their catches. No, he wouldn’t miss me at all when I left.
“Nice place,” I noted, looking around. Then I saw it. On a table near his sofa.
A picture from years ago. I remembered the event. Christmas Day. Ash had spent it with us. She’d gotten a smart phone from her father the night before, and was taking endless amounts of pictures with it. This was one of those selfies, George was in the background, smiling as he held up a pair of socks I’d given him, and she and I up close with my cheek pressed against hers. I was frowning, of course. No doubt annoyed she was making me take the stupid picture in the first place.
I’d been fourteen. Sullen and grumpy as always, and, as always, her smile just pushed through all of it. Clear evidence her happiness was never ruined by my mood. It had been a great day. Food. Togetherness. Presents.
Why hadn’t I appreciated what I had then? Why had I always made her work so hard for my smile?
“I miss her,” George said. “Every day.”
I couldn’t say anything. I never could when it came to my grief. Instead, I put the picture down and turned my back on it.
