Page 2 of This Time Around
“He’s planning to try again.”
“Good. That’s good.” Her mother squared her shoulders. “Tell your father Frank’s hoping to get a court date next month and that he should make sure his next appeal doesn’t overlap with mine and that he should wear the gray Armani, not the blue one.” She bit her lip. “And also that I love him. And I’m sorry about his mother. Victoria was a lovely woman.”
The sound of her grandmother’s name brought tears to Allie’s eyes, but she nodded and stood up with the paperwork clutched in one arm. “I will.” She wrapped her free arm around her mom’s slender shoulders. “Dad said his lawyer thinks he at least has a shot at a reduced sentence for all the time he’s spent helping other prisoners write appeal letters.”
“Hmph.” Priscilla hugged back with surprising warmth, and Allie could have sworn she caught a whiff of Chanel N°5. It was probably Allie’s memory playing tricks again, though it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that Priscilla had found a way to smuggle perfume into a federal prison.
“Writing appeal letters is not how I imagined your father and I using our law degrees,” her mom continued, “but we do the best with what we have.”
“I love you, Mom,” Allie murmured into her mother’s hair. Her mom squeezed tighter, and Allie closed her eyes to breathe her in. “Stay strong.”
Her mom sagged a little against her. “You, too, Allison.”
Before Allie could say more, the guard was herding her out of the room. A familiar numbness sluiced through her veins as she shuffled through the well-worn ritual of frisking and pat-downs, then the dizzying ride to the airport where she got patted down some more.
It was the most action Allie had seen in a long time.
She stayed dazed for the forty-five-minute flight back to Portland, grateful for the last-minute fare sale that allowed her to fly this time instead of fighting traffic for four hours between Portland and Seattle. When she’d gotten the word that her grandma had passed, she’d jumped in the car in her pajamas to make the hour-and-a-half drive to visit her dad. Halfway there, she remembered visiting hours had ended at the penitentiary in Sheridan and she’d have to come back the next day. Preferably not wearing pink flannel pants.
But seeing her mom was more complicated, since the lack of a women’s federal prison in Oregon meant Priscilla was doing her time in Washington. In the time her parents had been incarcerated, Allie had put more than a hundred thousand miles on her car.
Taking a deep breath, she slung her small carry-on bag over one shoulder and pushed through the revolving doors that led into the cloud-washed afternoon outside Portland International Airport. She inhaled the comforting scent of mud puddles and cherry blossoms as she scanned the idling cars. Spotting a metallic-gold convertible, she did a mental eye roll, then fixed her expression into one of proper gratitude as she trotted over and opened the passenger door.
“Thanks so much,” she said, as she lowered herself into the passenger seat and hugged her carry-on to her lap. “You don’t know how glad I am not to have to fight traffic today.”
Her best friend, Wade, grinned at her from the driver’s seat, his mirrored sunglasses flashing dual images of Allie looking tired and drawn. She’d have to do something about that before dinner.
“No problem,” Wade said. “The weather’s been nice, so this was a good excuse to get the Jag out and put the top down. And before you say anything about it being a compensation car, I should tell you last night’s date texted this morning to say I was the best she’s ever had.”
“I’m going to assume you mean best attorney.” Allie slipped on her own sunglasses as Wade pulled away from the curb, though the thick, wooly cloud cover meant shades weren’t strictly necessary. “I don’t need to know about your sex life. Besides, I wasn’t going to say anything about the car. Or your junk.”
“Because you have fond memories of the glory that is my massive meat pipe?”
Allie snorted. “Ugh. No, but thanks for that visual.” She shook her head, but couldn’t help smiling. His silly dick jokes normally jostled her out of her post-prison blues, but not today.
Today, she had other things on her mind.
“No offense, but I barely remember your meat pipe,” she told Wade as she gazed out the window at the blur of cars moving past. “I’ve erased it from my memory.”
“That must be hard for you. Speaking of hard?—”
“Enough!” Allie barked, but she was laughing now. “Really, thanks, Wade. I’m grateful. For the ride. And for what you’re doing tonight. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to be my fake boyfriend.”
Not for the first time, Allie wished she’d had some real romantic chemistry with Wade. Even when they’d dated, it felt like dipping her toes in a lukewarm Mr. Turtle Pool. Pleasant enough, but not the sort of bone-deep, bubbling heat she felt in a Jacuzzi or when she’d been with Jack.
Jack. Allie’s stupid, traitorous heart clenched. Dammit to hell.
“So remind me again how we’re playing this,” Wade said as he steered the car onto I-5. “Are we an affectionate, can’t-keep-our-hands-off-each-other kind of couple, or cool and aloof lovers?”
“Can we play it by ear? Let’s see what Jack and his wife are like together and we’ll cue off them.”
“Roger that.” Wade changed lanes to pass a slow-moving Prius following another slow-moving Prius. “Tell me the wife’s name again so I don’t forget.”
“Paige,” Allie said. A fizzy ball knotted in her gut, the same one she’d felt every time she’d said or thought the name since she’d gotten Jack’s email a week ago.
I’ll be in Portland next week for my college reunion. If you’re free Wednesday or Thursday, maybe we could have dinner and catch up. Would love for you to meet Paige and to hear what’s new in your life.
Just like that, out of the blue. She’d heard he got married a few years after they split, but she never knew his wife’s name, or even that he’d gone back and finished college after dropping out their sophomore year. The last time she’d seen Jack Carpenter, he’d been sitting on a sagging futon with a video game controller in one hand and a can of beer in the other. He’d worn a paint-stained shirt and a dumbstruck expression that was as likely a reaction to something in the game as it was to Allie’s request that they throw in the towel on their engagement.
