Chapter 8: The Courthouse

The Corolla smelled like orange peels and lavender hand soap.

Katie drove with both hands on the wheel and her jaw set.

Neither of us said anything until we hit the highway.

"I have to tell you something," she said.

"Okay."

"The halfway house canceled your bed."

I turned to her.

"When?"

"Yesterday afternoon. The caseworker called me because I'm on your visitor list."

She glanced at me.

"They said the placement was withdrawn from above. I don't know what that means."

"It means Eugenia."

"Your stepmother?"

"She doesn't like my plans."

Katie's hands tightened on the wheel.

"Your parole officer says you need a verified address and a sponsor by two o'clock today."

Her knuckles whitened.

"Or you go back inside. He told me that himself."

"I'll find something."

"Where? You have a plastic bag and a jacket that doesn't fit."

"I have a lot of friends."

"You have a block of friends," she said. "In a prison."

She was right.

I looked out at the gray fields sliding past, and the old rage came back.

Eugenia had planned this too.

She hadn't wanted me to sign anything.

She had wanted me to walk out of Calder Ridge and have nowhere to go.

"Reed."

"Yes."

"There's one kind of person a parole officer will release a man to without any other paperwork."

"Who?"

"A spouse."

The word hung in the car.

I looked at her.

She kept her eyes on the road, and I watched the red climb her neck.

"I'm not asking out of pity," she said quickly. "I've thought about it for two weeks. I have my own reasons."

"What reasons?"

"The bank," she said. "The house on Pell Street has a mortgage my father took out for my mother's cancer bills."

She swallowed.

"Last month, a lender I've never heard of bought the loan. It's been moved to something called Westerfield Capital."

My blood went still.

"They sent me a notice. Ninety days to pay it all or they take the house."

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