NICK
“Prison? You’re going toprison?!”Jada Jones, my executive assistant, repeated over the phone in disbelief.
Her shock at my current destination was not at all surprising. Jada knew everything about my life: schedule, finances, personal, and private. Good, bad, and ugly, she was apprised and aware of it all. Well, almost all.
There was a big portion of my life that I’d kept secret from everyone except the two men who I considered brothers, Alex Vaughn and Maddox Cruz. The three of us grew up in the foster care system and met in a group home when I was thirteen, Alex was eleven, and Maddox was nine. We had been thick as thieves since. They were the only people who knew the truth about my past.
“Yes. And I need a favor.” I’d tried to handle all the arrangements on my own but I hit a snag.
“Is there a body you need buried? Firearm disposed of? If so, I need a raise.” Jada was kidding, sort of.
She had worked for me for over a decade and was ride or die. If push came to shove, I believe she would help me hide a body. But I would never ask her to do that. I had Alex and Maddox as my in-case-of-homicidal-emergency for things like that.
My Tesla SUV gripped the road as I continued the ascent up the hill toward the federal penitentiary. The pavement wound between majestic redwoods as I headed to the prison where I spent three months of my life. But here’s the thing: I have never been convicted of a crime. I’ve never been arrested or charged with any offense.
The most trouble I’ve ever been in was getting caught with Bethany Saunders in a compromising position—her up against the wall and me inside of her—my senior year of high school in the home ec lab. I argued we were taking our assignment of being a couple and caring for an egg very seriously, but we still ended up being suspended and having twenty hours of Saturday school.
So how was it that I’d spent three months in prison? I was born there. At the time, my mother was on trial for killing my father. She hadn’t been convicted of the offense yet, and there was a program in the prison that allowed women to care for their infants for several months after birth.
After that, I was taken away and became a ward of the state. Growing up, I was never given any information about my family or past. When I aged out of the system, I was finally given access to my medical history. That’s when I found out where my mother was and my origin story.
I know that ‘origin story’ sounds a little grandiose, like I’m some sort of superhero or something. But, hey, if the cape fits...
I came from nothing. Literally. I was born behind bars in prison; if that’s not starting at the bottom, I’m not sure what is. I spent my life being shuttled from one place to another with nothing but a trash bag to carry all of my earthly belongings, which wasn’t much. I lived in over a hundred foster homes before I finally ended up in a group home at thirteen. That’s where I spent the rest of my teen years before legally becoming an adult. On my eighteenth birthday, I got the ol’ heave ho from all government assistance, leaving me with access to my records but no family, housing, or support.
Once I learned the truth about my past, I went to visit my mother in the same facility I was driving to now. The face-to-face meeting did not go as I’d planned. After half an hour, she cut the visit short and then took me off the visitor’s list completely. Never one to give up or be detoured, I came back up to see her a half dozen times over a few months but was turned away by the guard each and every time. After that, when people asked about my parents, I told them they were both dead. Because to me, they were. At least until a month ago.
Jada knew all about my childhood, just not anything about my mother.
“My mother is being medically paroled into my custody on compassionate release. She is in the last stages of congestive heart failure and has less than six months to live. I am moving her in with me, and I want round the clock hospice care, which I thought I’d taken care of. But I just got off the phone with the service I’d hired, and one of the night nurses fell through. They are trying to replace her, but I want to make sure that it is done. I need someone to be at my home tonight at 8 p.m. I’ll forward you the information and my contact person at Complete Care, her name is Sonja. If they are unable to find someone, I need you to contact another in-home care company today.”
I’d researched and found the best of the best, but since they were apparently experiencing a staffing crisis, I wasn’t so sure that they could retain that distinction.
The line was silent, which was very unlike Jada. I’d never met a woman who was more cognizant of her time. She didn’t do long pauses. She spoke rapidly and succinctly, not wasting a word or second on frivolous communication.
“Your mother?” Jada repeated. “I thought… I thought she was dead."
“She’s been incarcerated my entire life. She shot and killed my father in his sleep when she was seven months pregnant with me. I only met her once, a week after I turned eighteen. After that, I never spoke to her or saw her again.”
“That’s the only contact you’ve had with her?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re almost forty.”
I wasn’t sure why that was relevant. “I know.”
“I just… I don’t… How did I not…?”
As I passed the sign on the side of the road that said the prison was the next exit, I wrapped up the call. “We can talk about this later. Right now, I need you to follow up on the—”
“Right. I’m so sorry. Send me the information and I will take care of it.”
“Thanks.” I reached out to disconnect the call.
Before I was able to, I heard her softly say my name. “Nick?”
“Yeah.”
