by Naomi West
It would have been too much to say that Fran and I had become friends in the wake of all that had happened, but she understood me very well and was willing to help. When I had told her that I needed somewhere to stay, she had volunteered an empty room above her bar. It would do for now. I'd find something more permanent later. Right now, I just needed to not be living in the same house as Ben Dupont. I had hoped we were past all that, but his attitude toward Archer had doomed the burgeoning reconciliation.
"I think that's the last of it," Riley said, coming down from my new apartment and dusting off her hands.
Fran shook her head. "I can't believe you let her just stand here while you did all the work. My sister wouldn't do that for me."
Riley just grinned. "Cass has always been the baby of the family. I guess I'm used to spoiling her."
Of course, the real reason that Riley had insisted I do nothing while she and Joe did all the heavy lifting was that she knew I was pregnant. She was the only one, with the possible exception of Archer, whom I had told in hospital. I wasn’t sure if he had heard. Probably not. Of course, if I had told him, or my Dad for that matter, then maybe things would have been different, but I didn't want Archer to be with me because I was pregnant, or for Dad to accept Archer because he had gotten me pregnant. This baby wasn't going to be a pawn in a strategic game of chess, and I certainly didn't want to use it as a means of trapping a man.
At that point, I was almost as pissed at Archer as I was at Dad. He refused to let me visit, turning down my applications even after his trial. Did he think he was doing what was best for me? Perhaps. But I was twenty-three years old and about to become a mother. I didn't need a father or a partner to decide what was best for me. I could make my own damn decisions.
"It's like everything is falling apart," Riley said sadly, hugging me. Finding out that she was becoming an aunt had made Riley over-protective and a bit emotional.
"It is a bit," I admitted. I didn't think that Battle Pride disbanding would affect me that much, but, symbolically, it seemed a huge deal. They were no longer such a necessity in the area with Rassi's gang gone, but there were always others about trying to prey on the disadvantaged. It was only a matter of time before one of them stepped up to fill the void, and then the absence would be felt. "I guess things have to fall apart so they can come back together."
Riley half-smiled. "Look who got smart just in time to pass it on."
"Oh, she'll be relying on her aunt for wisdom I can assure you."
"You think it's a she?"
I did, actually. I didn't want to know, but I had been calling it 'she' from day one. Did that mean anything? Probably not.
"She deserves to know her granddad, too," Riley said, tentatively.
"So he can explain to her why she never got to know her father?" I asked.
"Is that any life for a baby?" Riley asked. "Seeing Daddy on visiting days."
"Better than not having a Daddy at all," I retorted, without thinking.
"Exactly," Riley said, a little smugly.
"Do you agree with him?" I tried not to ask angrily. I really wanted to know what my sister thought.
Riley sighed. "It's a shit situation, Cass. Nobody wins in this. It's never going to be how it ought to have been. What I do know is that the shoot-out at the warehouse tore him apart. I don't think he's been the same man since. Don't confuse his objections to Archer, now, with his objections to Archer before. Way back when all this started, he didn't like Archer. Now, I think he'd get down on his knees and kiss Archer's feet for what he did that day. But he knows the risk Archer poses to you, and he can't bear the thought of you being in that situation again. It's not about Archer. It's about you."
"But it's my decision."
Riley shrugged. "Yeah, it probably is. But come back to me in a few years when that little thing inside you has done a bit of growing, and tell me if there is anything you wouldn't do to keep her safe, even if that meant her hating you."
Riley has an irritating habit of saying things that make me see other people's point of view.
"I can't live in a bubble," I muttered, kicking at the dirt.
"He knows that. But if wishing made it so."
"I don't want things between me and Dad to get as bad as they were before."
"He doesn't either."
"Then why does he have to be so damn stubborn?"
Riley rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that's all him. Thank God you didn't inherit that."
"He could have stood up for Archer," I insisted. "That might have made a difference. Now he's in jail for who knows how long, and there's nothing anyone can do about it, and, I swear, Dad is actually pleased!"
"I wouldn't say pleased."
"What would you say?"
Riley hedged. Perhaps 'pleased' was the wrong word. Dad didn't like the way that things had worked out for Archer, especially after he had saved me. On the other hand, having Archer out of my life was exactly what he had wanted. It was the only way he felt secure in my safety. 'Satisfied' was perhaps the word. That was one of the reasons I had moved to live above Fran's bar, a place that was as spiritually close to Archer as I could get. I was tying myself to his life, even as my Dad forced a wedge between us. In a way, I suppose, I might have been putting myself in danger again, but I didn't see it that way.
Joe Henry came out of the side door of the bar that led up to my new apartment. "I've tidied up a bit for you. Fran said to give you the key."
Joe had to be the most amiable outlaw biker I had ever met. He really didn't seem cut out for this life, although he apparently had a temper on him. He was always respectful, courteous, deferential to women, and as well-spoken as you could want. There was probably a big story behind Joe Henry, and I planned to learn about it one of these days.
"Thanks for your help," I said.
Joe shrugged off my thanks. "Archer asked me to look out for you any way I could."
That was one reason I didn't feel that my staying in touch with Archer's world put me in danger. Maybe there were people out there with a grudge against him, but there seemed to be far more who liked and respected him. The residual goodwill for Archer that hung around, even once he was behind bars, was considerable. A friend of Archer's was never short of a whole bunch of other friends. I guess dad must have understood that, but he didn't like situations that he couldn't control, involving people whom he didn't know. He wanted to keep me in the house with the same people (preferably just him and Riley) forever. That was his definition of safety. I couldn't help thinking that it sounded very similar to the sort of 'safety' in which Archer was currently incarcerated.
"Not sure if this was specifically what he had in mind when he said to look after you," admitted Joe, "but I guess it's a start."
"Have you seen him?" I asked. If I couldn't see Archer myself, then talking to someone who had seen him was the next best thing, which just went to show how desperate I was.
"Not recently," replied Joe. "But I know what he wants."
"You miss him, don't you?" Riley asked. She was good at picking up on the feelings of others.
"Yeah," Joe admitted. It was not the sort of thing he could have said to any of his old Battle Pride comrades, but he felt safe enough admitting it to two girls. "Still, I haven't given up hope."
"Really?" I couldn't help wondering if he had any cause for that, something that might have given me hope too.
"Yeah. You can't give up, can you?"
"Did Archer tell you that?" I pressed. "Last time you saw him."
Joe Henry shook his head. "No, but, I mean, it's Archer. I don't need him to tell me what to do. He's already told me and shown me. I know what he would want. And I know he wouldn't want me to just roll over and give up, because he would never do that himself. That's why I'm still here."
The words resonated with me. They might not have been perfectly expressed, but the point they made was crystal clear, as far as I was concerned.
"Anyway," Joe Henry concluded, "That's wh
at keeps me going. That's why I don't give up."
He strolled off.
"What?" Riley asked, looking at me.
"What?"
"You've got that look on your face."
"What look? What face?"
"You're planning something."
"I am realizing something," I said in stout defiance.
"No. You were realizing something. Now, you're planning something. I've known you all your life, Cass, and I know which face means what. What are you thinking?"
I was thinking that I had been desperate to see Archer, to talk to him, to have him tell me what to do, when I already knew what he would say. Archer's message to me had been the same since day one, and, little as I had often wanted to hear it, I knew exactly what it was. Archer had told me to re-forge my relationship with my Dad. That didn't necessarily mean that I was wrong to move out. A lot of people get on a whole lot better with their parents once they are no longer living under the same roof. But cutting Dad out, altogether? That, I knew, Archer would disapprove of. Dad was trying to protect me and do what was best for me, and, even if he was going about it in a patronizing and dictatorial fashion, I still had to accept that he had my best interests at heart. Cutting myself off from him was not the answer. That was what Archer would tell me. He would tell me to talk to Dad. And he was right.
I had spent so much of my adult life rebelling against my father and automatically doing the opposite of what he said, simply because he had said it. And where had that gotten us? Where had that gotten me? It had come close to destroying the most important relationship in my life. The only thing that had pulled us back from the brink had been Archer. Then he had gone to prison, and, suddenly, we were at the brink again. Even Dad would have had to admit that Archer had been a major influence for good in our family. What had made the difference was talking, rather than shouting, and addressing our issues head on, rather than running away from them. If I talked to Dad, now, I was sure I could make him understand how I felt about Archer and how important it was to have him in my life, even if it was as a distant figure, whom I only saw on visiting day. I could understand why he didn't want his daughter to be in love with a man she saw so irregularly. That seemed a recipe for misery, but it was nothing to the misery of losing Archer completely.
And the baby? Well, I still wasn't quite ready to play that card. Partly because, once again, I didn't want my child to be a bargaining chip in this game I was playing with Dad. But also, because I genuinely wasn't sure in what direction it would influence Dad. On the one hand, he might go all traditional and insist that the baby deserved its real father, convict or not. That would be great! But, on the other hand, it seemed equally likely that his protective instincts would redouble, as he was now a protective-grandfather, as well as a father. That would just lead to an increase in his objections to my seeing Archer, being in any way connected with his world, or moving out.
# # #
"You're back!" There was no hiding the relief in Dad's voice when I walked in that afternoon.
"Not to stay. All my stuff is already moved in."
"I'm not happy with my daughter living above a bar."
"You're not happy with me living anywhere other than here," I pointed out.
"What's wrong with here? It's safe."
"I can look after myself."
My dad rolled his eyes. "Have you suffered short-term memory loss? Do you perhaps recall how very not safe you have been, of late? You need me to look after you. Perhaps in a few years, when the heat has died down a bit..."
"A few years?!"
"Yes. By that time everyone will have forgotten that you ever even knew Archer."
"You know that's not what I want!"
"But sometimes what you want isn't what's for the best."
"You don't think I'm the best judge of what's best for me?!"
Dad shrugged. "How about we look back at your life and decide if you make good life decisions?"
The next snappy response was on the tip of my tongue to shout back at him, but I managed to curb it. "Dad, I'm not here to argue."
"But you're not here to accept my point of view either?" Dad guessed, cagily.
"No."
"I'm not convinced that there's a third way."
"There is. We talk."
"We are talking."
I shook my head. "We're arguing."
"That's a type of talking."
"And one we're very good at. But it solves nothing, and it always ends the same way."
Dad acknowledged this. "Okay, let's talk."
"I want to see Archer."
"I don't think that's a good idea, nor does he," said Dad.
"He only thinks that because you convinced him of it," I pointed out. "If you asked him to meet me, then he would."
Dad shook his head. "He's a man who goes his own way. He wouldn't do as I said, just because I said it. He wants what's best for you, and he and I agree that seeing you isn't that."
"I want the three of us to sit down together and talk." I kept pressing - not raising my voice, but just pressing.
"About what?"
I managed a half-smile. "About the future."
Dad still looked unsure. I wasn't sure what he thought might happen if Archer and I were in a room together, but, clearly, it was something that he wanted to avoid. I decided to bite the bullet.
"I'll make you a deal."
"What sort of a deal?"
"If the three of us can sit down together and talk, then I will listen to what you - both of you - have to say about me moving out." I took a deep breath. "If Archer, without any coercion from you, thinks that I should move back home, then I'll do it."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Archer
The problem with prison in the modern world was that no one could agree on its function. There are those who thought that it ought to serve to rehabilitate offenders, so that they could become fully functioning members of society on their release. On the flipside, there were those who thought it was simply state-sponsored retribution and should, therefore, be as unpleasant as possible. Then there were those who didn’t care if the prisoners were rehabilitated or mistreated, just as long as they were out of the way. For them, prison was a big box to keep the bad element off the street. Because of these conflicting goals, prison was far too rough a place for rehabilitation to occur, too well-meaning to be society's revenge, and too overcrowded to keep people off the streets for long. It failed on every level, and all you could hope was that it at least failed equally in all of them.
For me, prison was blank monotony. On my first day, I was confronted by a hulking ex-biker whose gang had once tried to overturn Battle Pride. He was angry that I had given him a scar on his cheek. I was, meanwhile, angry that I was never going to see Cassidy again, and that, however much I wanted to believe otherwise, that was probably what was best for her. In a battle of who was angrier, the man with the scar on his cheek didn't have a chance, and I kicked his ass, venting all my frustration over how things had turned out against the hapless brute. In the end, I felt a bit sorry for him. I got a week's solitary for my trouble, but it was worth it. No one bothered me after that.
Had I been in a different mind frame, I suppose prison might not have been the worst place to be. You had time to work out (no sense in letting yourself go), time to read (something I had never had as much time for as I might have liked), and time alone with your thoughts. But all my thoughts led me back to the same place. Prison, for me, was time to brood. All I could think about, day in and day out, was Cassidy. Cassidy and Ben Dupont.
When Dupont had come to me and spun his 'what-if' tale about Cassidy on the outside, unprotected and alone, I had seen his point immediately. Rassi might be gone, but I had other enemies, and I wanted Cassidy to be safe. That was all-important. For my first few weeks, that was the one silver-lining that kept me sane - the knowledge that Cassidy was safe and with her family. I could almost manage to be happy about things when I thought o
f it that way. I had martyred my own happiness, so she could have a better life. How noble.
But as time passed, I began to wonder if I was just full of crap. Dupont was doing what any father might do. I couldn't blame him. But I ought to know better. I knew that Cassidy loved me. Maybe that sounds arrogant, but I don't reckon something true can really be arrogant. Cassidy Dupont loved me. It wasn’t some girlish infatuation with a bad-boy biker. She loved me, and I loved her back. How could separating two people who love each other be the right thing to do? It had seemed clear-cut, the way that Dupont had explained it, but the more I thought about it, the less I believed it. Of course, I wanted Cassidy to be safe, but what good was safety, if she wasn't happy? You could wrap a person in cotton wool, park them in a room, and feed them three times a day, and they would be very safe, but what sort of a life was that? The important distinction that I began to see was that maybe Cassidy was safer without any contact with me, but that didn’t mean she would be in inherent danger if we did have contact Not since Rassi had gone.