Page 15 of Into These Eyes
“What’re you thinking?” I ask, curious.
“Have you heard of Restorative Justice? It’s a program the government developed a while back.”
“Sounds familiar, but I’ve never looked into it.”
He steals a slice of cucumber this time. If he goes for my cupcake, he’s a dead man.
“Well,” he says as he swallows, “it’s for people like you who’ve been affected by a criminal offence. And it’s for the offender. You can correspond through letters or meet face-to-face.”
I screw up my nose at the thought of seeing Gavin Lake again. I want to wipe him from my memory, not bring him to life.
“I don’t see the point,” I tell him, all too aware that he just eyed my cupcake. With the mood I’m in, salad might not be what I want, but that cupcake is definitely what I need.
“The point is, while it’s not for everyone, it does have a great track record of helping both the victim and the offender understand each other’s perspective.”
Anger flashes through me. Even Pete doesn’t get it. “I don’t care what his perspective is.”
“Fair enough, but he might be able to give you more than you realise, Jamie.”
I stare down at my salad, then push it across the table at him. “Elaborate.”
Instead of digging in, he keeps talking. “He’ll have a chance to express his remorse, and hopefully, give you a sincere apology. I know you don’t think it’ll mean anything, but I’ve seen it happen. Giving the offender a chance to make amends for the harm he’s caused you and your family might mean more than you think.”
Picking up a fork, Pete jabs at the salad and takes a mouthful. As he chews, I let his words simmer while I imagine looking at Gavin Lake when he finally admits what he did.
“What if he still maintains he’s innocent?” I ask.
Pete considers my question for a moment. “Then I guess you’ve lost nothing. You’ll just be where you are now. But if it goes the other way … it might help you move on. You’re an intelligent woman, Jamie. I believe it’s worth a shot. Have a think about it. If you’re interested, I can help.”
I nod, then eye my cupcake before glancing at my watch.
“Okay,” I barely manage above a whisper. Grabbing the cupcake, I take a bite, letting the icing ooze between my teeth and coat my tongue in an effort to dislodge the discomfort that always accompanies thoughts of Gavin Lake.
“Damn,” Pete mutters. “I was hoping I’d put you off that little treat.”
“Nice try.”
“Worth a shot.” He winks and digs into my salad.
That night, while I eat Chinese take away and try unsuccessfully to concentrate on another brief, I give Pete’s words serious consideration. My stomach twists at the thought of facing Gavin Lake after all this time. But if I oppose his release again, I’ll be right back here in a year. That thought makes me nauseous.
I suppose I could do the Restorative Justice program via letters, but I don’t like the idea. One, it’ll draw out the whole process, and I’ll probably develop an ulcer waiting for a reply. Two, if he writes something I don’t like, I want to be able to look him in the eye and tell him exactly what I think right there and then, not in a letter that’ll take time to get to him and drive me insane while I wait for a reply.
Best to rip the Band-Aid off fast.
Suddenly fired up, I decide that if my mother’s killer wants parole, he can damn well look me in the eye and witness the ripple effect of his choices right up close.
Slamming the chopsticks down with resolve, I grab my phone and head out the front door and down the street where Dad can’t hear me. Then I ring Pete and ask what I need to do.
He’s pleased with my decision, but I’m not so sure it’ll do what he thinks it will.
Chapter 9
Gavin
The letter came ten days ago.
Holding it delicately, I run my fingertips over the lined white paper, its texture now resembling velvet, the fibres upright and soft after repeating the same action over and over again. The paper remains completely silent as my fingers work on muscle-memory, unfolding it for the one-hundredth or ten-thousandth time.
