I can hear sounds in the background—kids' voices, doors closing, the normal sounds of a busy house.
"There's something else," Ivan says. "About the arrest. I did some research on the drive home when I stopped for a sandwich."
"What did you find out?"
"If you get convicted, it can follow you for years. Background checks, housing, jobs. But there are options. If you get the charges reduced or dismissed, you can get it expunged. Wiped off your record."
"That sounds expensive."
"It requires a lawyer." He pauses. "And I want to help. But hear me out differently this time. If we're going to be together eventually, your record will affect both of us. Landlords run background checks on both applicants. So, my offer to help isn't charity—it's an investment in both of our futures."
I'm quiet, turning this over. I hadn't thought about it that way.
"You're serious about this? About us. Long-term."
"I've never been more serious about anything. You're it for me."
"And you think a lawyer can make this better?"
"I think a good lawyer can make it a lot better. But you need to find out what you're dealing with first. Can you call tomorrow? First thing?"
"Sure can. First thing in the morning. I'll call and find out what I'm facing."
"And if you find out you need a lawyer..."
"I'll think about it. The money thing. I'm not saying yes but I'm not saying no either."
"That's all I'm asking. For you to think about it."
We talk for another hour. About Caleb's dinosaurs, Diana's math anxiety, the stray cat, Betty's coffee, the sunset. Small things and big things.
When we finally hang up, it's almost ten-thirty. I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
The room is still empty. But something feels different than it did earlier.
I have a plan. Small steps. I have a phone call to make tomorrow. A second job to ask about. Mick to pay back. Ivan's voice still echoing, telling me I'm worth fighting for.
The craving for alcohol or pills is still there. But it's quieter now. Manageable.
I fall asleep without reaching for the pills.
It's not much. But it's something.
One day at a time.
Chapter 37: Ivan
Monday morning, I'm at the job site before anyone else arrives. We're wiring a new office building on the east side of town. It's a big project, the kind that keeps us busy for months. I like these kinds of jobs. They're steady and predictable, with enough complexity to keep my brain engaged without being overwhelming.
My supervisor, Frank, pulls up in his truck. He's a big guy, former Army, built like a tank, with a buzz cut that's gone gray at the temples. He doesn't waste words or time. I've worked under him for a year now, and he's never steered me wrong.
"Collins," he says, grabbing his tool belt. "You're here early. You trying to make the rest of us look bad?"
"Just wanted to get a jump on things. Finish up that second floor wiring before the drywall crew gets here tomorrow."
He grunts, which is Frank's version of approval. We walk toward the building together, and I decide now is as good a time as any to ask.
"Hey, Frank. I wanted to ask you something. About work."
