“Starla, you had a year added on for dealing inside prison,” Mom’s voice had that lets-not-play-this-game kind of tone to it.
“I was framed. I wasn’t playing by the rules of another inmate and that was the price.” I knew the consequences for my actions but at the time, it didn't matter.
Her lips went pencil thin. "It's never simple with you, is it?"
I pulled my gaze from hers. No, nothing was ever simple with me. That was the problem. Simple equaled boredom. I preferred the thrill, the chase, the knowledge that any wrong move could crumble the house-made-from-cards I'd so carefully created.
“This time will be different.” I repeated the mantra. This time, it was more for me than her. It was a reminder that I had to be different this time around if I wanted a different outcome to occur.
Mom didn’t say a word, which made me nervous. I hid the shaking of my hands by playing with my hair, pulling the elastic out and redoing my messy bun. I needed her to believe me.
I needed to believe me.
“I know I’m a strong person, but I can’t handle you going back in, Starla, I just can’t.” She pushed her strawberry milkshake to the side and picked at the fries on her plate.
“You won’t have to handle it again. I promise.” I took a bite of my chicken wrap that was half gone and chewed. God, it tasted so good. Like fresh cotton candy good. “I have a plan,” I said, once my mouth wasn’t so full.
“Finish your food, please.” Mom looked away.
I quickly swallowed, wiped my hands on my pants and placed my elbows on the table.
The southern-belle-turned-northerner gave me one of her I-raised-you-better frown, the one where her lips became pencil-thin while maintaining a semblance of a smile since we were in public.
I hated that look - all I felt was guilt, knowing I'd disappointed her yet again...
I pulled my arms back, dropped them to the side and sat up straighter. She was right, she had raised me better. From the age of fifteen to now, she’d been the only mother figure in my life, my last foster mom, the first foster parent to believe in me.
“Have you been to Bervie Springs, lately?” I asked.
Her brows knitted together, the wrinkles on her forehead more pronounced. “Bervie Springs? Not really. There’s not much there, why?”
“They’ve partnered with the prison to host a work program. One of the council members there interviewed me last week and offered me a job.”
“A job?” Mom leaned forward, interest spreading across her features. Gone was the parental display of disappointment and in its place was interest.
That gave me hope. I didn’t want her to give up on me. Not when I had just started to believe in myself.
“Doing what?”
“Administrative work for a landscaping company. Guess they’re busy and the pay is decent. They’ll provide a company vehicle for me after three months, if I agree to help in the field if things get busy.”
Her brows shot up to her hairline. “A vehicle and decent pay? Anything is better than working at a fast food place again,” she said as she reached for another fry. “I’m assuming you said yes? It’s not every day you have a job land in your lap like that.”
I nodded. She was right. Doing administrative work, even if it’s boring work just answering phones and scheduling projects, had to be better than flipping burgers or dishing out ice cream. My options were limited.
“How did you apply? Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“It just kind of just happened,” I said in between sips of my shake. “Melanie, the counselor assigned to get me ready for my release, mentioned they’d been approached about this program. My name was on the list they’d given out. This company was the only one who requested an interview with me.”
“At least they sought you out, that’s positive,” Mom relaxed then, I saw it in the way she leaned back against her seat. “So now what?”
“I need to head there, the day after tomorrow, for the official interview.” I hated to ask to borrow her vehicle, but…
“I’ll take you.”
“Are you sure?”
The smile, her smile, said everything I needed.
She reached across the table, grabbed onto my hand and squeezed tight. “Love, if it means helping you onto a different path, I will do everything in my power to make it happen. Don’t let this opportunity slip by, okay? God landed it in your lap, he’s finally answering my prayers and…”
“Mom.” I lost my belief in God a long time ago.
She waved her hand in the air, dismissing the warning in my voice. “Believe what you want, and I’ll believe what I want, okay?”
I shrugged, stealing a fry from her plate.
“You need clothes,” Mom pulled out her notebook she always kept on hand. “Clothes, shoes, probably some undergarments too,” she looked up at me, “there’s stuff in your closet, but your wardrobe needs to be updated if you’re working in an office.”
The level of excitement in her voice as she planned for my future warmed my heart. I’d been so afraid she’d given up on me. She’d told me the last time I’d been arrested that there were no more chances.
“Just pants and shoes. They’ll provide tops for me to wear.”
“You’ll wear a dress for your interview though. I have a few you can try.”
I wasn’t going to argue. If she was there, supporting me through this, I’d do anything she wanted. I was not going to disappoint her again.
8
Welcome To Oz
I was an imposter dressed in a red print cotton dress with a relaxed waist, wearing discounted flats that pinched my toes. Why had I agreed to wear a dress? I was more of a slacks and blouse type of girl, and I had a few outfits left in the closet that might not have shown their age.
The drive to Bervie Springs took forty-five minutes. Forty-five excruciating long minutes along a two-lane highway where Mom spoke non-stop about nothing. It was a struggle to keep a friendly look on my face whenever I turned to acknowledge a point in her story. Didn’t she see how nervous I felt? How inadequate? This stage of my release didn’t normally hit for a week, yet here it was, two days after I left prison.
Why, out of everyone, had I been picked for a job I wasn’t qualified for? Manual labor working in dirt, sure. But, office work, dealing with computers and invoices and clients? Didn’t they realize once word got out, I was an ex-con, they’d lose business?
“Nervous?” Mom’s chattering finally stopped.
“A little.”
“I can tell. You’ve hardly said two words and I know you haven’t been listening, despite that oh-so-polite smile you keep giving me.”
I rubbed my nose with the palm of my hand. “Sorry,” I said, “what if this isn’t real? What if it’s all a mistake? What if I get there and they realize it’s not going to work? I mean, the program is new and apparently, I’d be the first hire. What if they realized how sketchy it looks with an ex-con working for you?” I couldn’t keep my fears to myself, even if I’d wanted to.
“Starla Bishop,” Mom let one hand off the wheel and reached over to grasp mine, “you stop that nonsense right now. Negative talk isn’t going to help you get anywhere in life, I taught you better than that.”