“Hey,” she answers. “How did it go?”
“It’s done. They gave me a deal.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “How long?”
“Two years. Minimum security. I report Monday morning.”
“Two years.” Her voice is steady, but I can hear the emotion underneath. “Okay. We can do two years.”
39
SAVANNAH
I hearthe elevator before I see him.
Dante is asleep in my arms, his tiny body warm against my chest. Two months old and still so small, though he’s gained weight since coming home from the NICU. The doctors say he’s thriving despite his early arrival. That he’s strong.
He gets that from his father.
The elevator doors open, and Ledger steps out. He looks tired. The ankle monitor is visible beneath his pants.
“Hey,” he says quietly, not wanting to wake the baby.
“Hey.”
He crosses the room and sits beside me on the couch, looking down at Dante’s sleeping face. “How is he?”
“Fed and happy. Slept for three hours straight last night. That’s a record.”
“That’s good.” He reaches out, traces one finger along Dante’s tiny hand. Our son’s fingers curl reflexively around Ledger’s, gripping tight. “He’s gotten bigger.”
“Four ounces this week. The pediatrician is pleased.”
We sit in silence for a moment, watching our son sleep. The afternoon light streams through the windows, casting everything in gold.
“Two years,” I say finally. “Monday morning.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re sure this is the right choice? Taking the deal?”
“It’s the only choice.” He leans back against the couch. “The alternative was life in prison. This way, I get to come home. I get to watch him grow up, even if I miss the first two years.”
“The first two years are important.”
“I know. But it’s better than missing all of them.” He looks at me. “You’ll be okay? Managing everything?”
“Alexi will help. He’s ready to step up. And Elena is moving in with him next month, so he’ll have support.” I shift Dante slightly, adjusting his head on my shoulder. “We’ll visit you. As often as they let us.”
“It’s minimum security. Should be able to have visitors weekly. Maybe more.”
“Then we’ll be there every week. We’ll make sure he knows his father.”
Ledger’s jaw tightens. “He won’t remember me. By the time I get out, he’ll be two years old. I’ll be a stranger to him.”
“You won’t be a stranger. We’ll make sure of it. Photos, videos, visits. He’ll know you.” I reach for Ledger’s hand. “And when you come home, we’ll have the rest of our lives together.”
He pulls me against him, careful not to crush Dante between us. His face presses into my hair, and I feel him breathe me in, like he’s trying to memorize my scent.
