Alex

by Monica Robinson

  Brett maneuvered his way through the living room and laughed. I think I just met my match.

  * * * *

  It was close to three hours later when the parole board arrived. Even without seeing the government license plate, Brett recognized the black Cadillac coming down the dirt road toward the house. His heart thundered in his ears as he ran his finger around the collar of his short-sleeve shirt.

  Steven glanced around the living room and rubbed the back of his rust-colored hair. He chuckled upon seeing Brett's nervousness. “I kind of wish I was doing laundry with Danny and Alex. It would be better than sitting here waiting to hear ‘denied.’”

  He stiffened when the front door opened and Jason entered the house with the parole committee a few steps behind. Two men and two women dressed in business suits with briefcases in hand entered the house and surveyed their surroundings.

  Brett knew each of these people and swallowed a groan. And they say they change the members around. With the aid of his crutches, he rose to his feet and stuck out his hand for each of them to shake.

  A petit woman with strawberry blonde hair eyed the crutches. “What happened to your knee, Mr. Hartman?"

  Panic pure and unadulterated gripped his spine and he physically willed himself not to start shaking. What was he going to tell these people? The truth? That he'd been trying to give Alex a hard time and she'd clocked him? Oh yeah, that would make him look good.

  At that moment, Alex walked through the living room, a basketful of clean linens perched on her hip. She stole a glimpse in his direction before offering the committee a broad smile.

  "Pardon my interruption, ma'am, but were you inquiring about Brett's knee?"

  Startled, the woman nodded. “Yes. And you are—"

  Alex shifted the basket and placed her hand to her chest. “My apologies, ma'am. My name is Alexandra Kincaid.” She extended her hand for the woman to take. “The reason I ask is because I'm the one responsible for his injury. It was an accident and I feel just horrible about it."

  What is she doing? These people held degrees in detecting bullshit and here she was lying through her teeth. I'm done for. He scrubbed a palm over his face. I can kiss any parole opportunity goodbye.

  "You. You did this?” The woman arched a skeptical eyebrow. “May I ask why?"

  "It's quite silly if you want the truth. You see, I was supposed to help Brett with supper and when he came to get me, I was asleep.” Alex rubbed her forehead, continuing her charade. “When I didn't respond, he entered the bedroom and called to me. I'm afraid to say I do not wake up well and as a result, I kicked him."

  The parole officer peered up at Brett with heavy doubt. “Is this true, Mr. Hartman?"

  For the most part, it was true. Alex merely left out the part where he'd intentionally tried to scare her.

  "Sadly, yes. Hindsight being twenty-twenty, I should have kept calling to her from the doorway.” He sent a glance in Alex's direction. She caught his gaze and offered him a tiny smile.

  The woman shook her head. “That would have been the smart thing to do.” She turned to Jason. “Was a doctor called to examine the injury? If so, what was the prognosis?"

  Jason cleared his throat and avoided looking at his niece. “Yes, Ms. Ripley. Dr. Kennedy came to the house to examine Brett's knee. Nothing was broken. It was a simple dislocation and has since gone back into place."

  Ms. Ripley nodded and furrowed her eyebrows. “What was given for the pain? A dislocated joint is very painful."

  Brett recalled the way he had handed the prescription back to the doctor. If nothing else, his refusal would let him save face for this wild story.

  "The doc offered me a three-day prescription for Darvocet, which I declined,” he replied.

  The other members of the board seemed pleased by his response, but Ms. Ripley remained unfazed.

  "Why would you do that? If you're hurt, then there's nothing wrong with taking medication that is prescribed solely for pain."

  Now he remembered why he hated this woman. Every answer he gave received another question. Was it any wonder he'd failed three times before? She made him so nervous he kept tripping over his own words.

  "Agreed, but Darvocet is an opioid and since heroin is a derivative of opium, I want nothing to do with it. Aspirin has been working fine."

  This received a tight-lipped smile from Ms. Ripley. “Very well. Shall we finish our meeting in the kitchen?"

  He nodded and waited for the other board members to exit the room before turning to Alex.

  "I don't know what that was all about, but thank-you,” he whispered. “You saved my neck."

  Alex gripped the basket with both hands and shrugged. “It's not over yet. You still have to convince them you're not the same person you were six years ago."

  "How do I do that? You saw how badly I was fumbling over my words."

  She nodded her head to the doorway. “Imagine those people are me. You have no problem giving me what for, so do the same with them.” She winked. “Just don't make that Ripley woman cry. You'll never get out of here if you do."

  There were no words to describe Alex. She was the type of woman you either loved or hated. He just hoped he could stay indifferent.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Six

  "I made it!” Steven shouted with a cowboy whoop.

  Alex glanced up from her position on the floor and blew her sweaty bangs out of her face. She peeked at Matt beside her and when he shrugged, she returned her attention to Steven.

  "You made what?” She dipped the scrub brush into the hot soapy water. “Wipe your feet! I just scrubbed that section."

  She didn't see why a simple mop wouldn't suffice in cleaning the hardwood floors, but Matt insisted they use a wooden scrub brush. The hot water ate at her skin, while the wood soap stung the cut in her hand. Not to mention her nails were now chipped and broken.

  Steven glanced at his boots and hurriedly drug his feet across the doormat just inside the entryway. “Oh. Sorry, Alex.” With more excitement, he continued, “I made parole! As of July twenty-eighth, I'm a free man."

  She instantly forgot her sour mood. “That's wonderful, Steve. I'm so happy for you."

  She hadn't seen Brett since he'd entered the kitchen with the parole board, so she wasn't sure how his meeting had gone. She hoped her interruption hadn't hindered him. After seeing the panic-stricken expression on his face when Ms. Ripley inquired about the crutches, she'd felt compelled to speak in his defense. The prune-faced woman had given her the creeps, so she could only imagine how Brett must have felt.

  Steven let out a breath of relief. “You and me both.” He plunked onto the couch and looked around fondly. “I'm going to miss this place. It's the closest thing to a home I've had in a long time."

  Steven wasn't going to stay? If he liked the Bar K, then why leave? She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand before continuing to scrub the plank beneath her.

  "If you like it here then why leave?"

  The brush slipped and her fingers slammed against the floor. Her fingernail bent back and she grimaced in pain. Shaking out her hand, she cursed softly and examined the scuffed nail. A tiny tear near the skin signified she'd broken yet another nail. Resisting the urge to put her finger to her mouth, she squinted and tore off the remainder of the nail.

  Sorry, Philippe.

  Steve laced his fingers behind his head and bounced his knee up and down. “My crime was committed in Houston, so I have to return there for the next three years until my probation is up. After that, I can go anywhere I want.” He pointed to Matt. “You better believe I'm coming back to San Eduardo just so I can give you a hard time."

  Matt held up his middle finger. “That's what I think of your hard time,” he joked. “Congratulations, man. You didn't happen to hear how Brett made out, did you? This is his fourth time."

  Steven opened his mouth to reply when Brett's voice floated in through the front door.


  "I didn't make it."

  Alex's heart sank. She'd been so sure Brett would be set free. Granted, his crime had been serious, but she didn't think it warranted four parole denials.

  Steven frowned. “But I thought—"

  Brett silenced him with a pointed look. “I didn't make it,” he repeated in a firmer tone. “I'm not worried about it. The state has to release me January first anyway."

  His eyes landed on Alex and his expression softened upon seeing her discouragement. “It wasn't you,” he reassured. “In fact, Ms. Ripley commented on how impressed she is that I have friends who are willing to take my defense."

  Alex's cheeks flamed. She wasn't necessarily sure she would classify Brett as a friend, but despite his uncouth mannerisms, she liked him. She liked all of the workers, actually. Especially Daniel. Perhaps it was because they had something in common. She may have been lucky enough not to hurt anyone, but that didn't change the fact they had something in common. They'd both wanted to do the right thing and it had backfired.

  "If only she knew,” she said with a forced grin. “Had she heard us this morning, she wouldn't have labeled me as that."

  Both Steven and Matt glanced at Brett with perplexed expressions. Rather than explain the argument, he simply pointed to a section of the floor.

  "You missed a spot."

  Alex dipped her fingers into the bucket and flicked the water droplets in his direction before scouring the spot he'd pointed to.

  Dozens of thoughts whirled in her mind as she cleaned the floor. She couldn't accept the fact the parole board had overlooked Brett's attempts at rehabilitation. From what she'd witnessed the night before, and the fact he flat out refused to take the doctor's prescription, she figured he would have proven himself.

  Let me see old prune face again. She ground the bristles of the brush into the floor. I'll give her a piece of my mind.

  "Hey.” Matt nudged her with his elbow. “Whatever it is you're thinking about, you don't need to take it out on the floor."

  She flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and moved to the next spot. Her arms ached, her neck was stiff and her knees were begging for mercy, but she didn't quit. The irritation she felt toward Brett's parole denial motivated her to keep going. It wasn't fair. Both Steven and Brett deserved their freedom and it seemed unreasonable that the board would choose one and not the other.

  Finally, Matt took the brush from her. “Tell you what. You've been at this for two hours. I'll finish up and you can start lunch. How does that sound?"

  Actually, the idea sounded appealing. She wanted to be alone to stew. With any luck, she would make something edible this time. She'd known the instant the men tasted her breakfast the food had come out horrible. None of them had said a word to confirm this, but their expressions had said it all.

  Grabbing a cookbook from the baker's rack, she plopped onto the chair nearest the window. She opened the book, but her eyes kept wandering from the index to the bright sky outside.

  A pang of homesickness washed over her. If she were home, she'd be lying on Sand Beach with at least a dozen of her friends. Afterward, she would head to a cozy restaurant in Bar Harbor for dinner before returning to Bangor.

  "Homesick?"

  Alex glanced up to see Charlie standing in the doorway. She wiggled her hand side to side in a so-so manner before nodding. She was homesick, but not for the obvious reasons. She missed the scenery. The towering pine and evergreen trees that filled the sea air with a fresh lingering scent, the schooner ships and lobster boats that dotted the coastline, signifying that summer had finally reached the New England state. Most importantly, she would be missing the Bangor State Fair this year. The annual fair had been a staple of her summers for as long as she could remember.

  "I guess you could say that.” She set the book on the table. “Pretty pathetic, huh? I've been gone for just over twenty-four hours and I already miss home."

  Charlie took the seat across from her and folded his hands on the table. He looked at his thick fingers and stuck out his lower lip while shaking his head.

  "Not pathetic, just natural. When I first got here, I missed San Antonio to the point where I was counting the days until I could return. Considering I had six years to serve, that's saying something.” He peered out the window and let out a soft chuckle. “Now, there's nothing there for me except the life I used to lead. That's how a lot of us feel."

  It made her feel good to know her uncle had given these young men a place to feel at home during their incarceration, but San Eduardo wasn't her home. Bangor was, and until her time was up, she simply had to deal with her feelings of longing.

  "There's a bit of a difference,” she said, lifting her eyes from the cookbook. “With the exception of Matt, you all are from Texas. I come from a state so cold snowmen come in to warm up. As much as I hated shoveling snow this winter, I wouldn't trade our winters for the world."

  Charlie gave her a crooked grin. “For some reason, I can't picture you shoveling snow.” He continued before she could protest, “I can see you making snow angels though."

  "I did that too.” Alex laughed despite—or was it in spite of?—herself. “For as much as I want to go home, I know what will happen if I do."

  "You'll get drunk?"

  Alex nodded. “The worst part is I wouldn't want to. It may surprise you to hear this, but I really did learn my lesson. Greg will convince me to go out and it'll ... just happen. To be honest, that's how it all started."

  Why was she even telling him this? She was sure the last thing Charlie wanted was to listen to her problems. Wouldn't she feel the same way if he were in her position? To her surprise, she realized she wouldn't. She'd listen to him the same way he was listening to her now.

  "The last DUI?"

  "All of them,” she replied. “Every time I was pulled over, I'd either been taking him home or we had gotten into an argument and I left. I take blame for the time I left of my own accord. That was just plain stupid."

  "At least you admit it."

  She let out a sarcastic laugh.

  He continued, “Let me ask you something. If you get into trouble when you're with this guy, why are you with him?"

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say she loved Greg, but when she opened her mouth, she couldn't force herself to say the words. It wasn't true. She didn't love him and hadn't been in love with him for quite some time.

  "I don't know.” The revelation startled her. “I honest to God don't know anymore. Our fathers expect us to marry, so I suppose that has something to do with it."

  "Is it what you want?"

  The simple question stumped her. She didn't know what she wanted when it came to her relationship with him. Greg was comfortable. They'd been together for so long she didn't know where to begin with anyone else. However, the thought of spending the rest of her life with him filled her with dread.

  "No.” With more conviction, she said, “No. It's not. I think I stay because I'm afraid of being alone."

  How absurd was that? She was the most secure person in her circle of friends, so how could she be afraid of being alone?

  Charlie rose and offered her a one-sided smile. “The decision is ultimately yours, but if the only reason you're staying with him is because he's a security blanket, I would suggest getting a new blanket.” He strode to the doorway. “It's just a suggestion. You can either take it or leave it."

  Alex slouched in her seat and flipped through the pages of the cookbook. She would probably take Charlie's advice, but it didn't mean she had to like it.

  * * * *

  Later that night, Alex stared at the phone as though it were a deadly spider. She'd promised herself she would call Greg after everyone had gone to bed and now that the house was quiet, her arms felt like lead weights.

  Scrubbing the floors didn't help. Her eyes swung to the clock over the refrigerator and her lips twitched. Just after eleven. That made it about midnight in Bangor. Taking a deep breath, she pic
ked up the receiver and placed it between her ear and shoulder before punching in the access code to her calling card. Please don't have turned your ringer off.

  "Hello?"

  Loud music pulsated in the background and she pulled the phone away from her ear. It figured he would be out. After all, it was Friday and Greg always went to Benjamin's After Dark on Friday nights.

  "Hi, sweetie,” she said loud enough to be heard over the music. With a quick peek into the living room to see if she had woken Brett, she stretched the long phone cord as far as it would reach.

  "Allie! Wow. How are you, sweetheart?"

  Allie? She wondered. He hasn't called me that in years. Come to think of it, he hadn't sounded this excited to hear her voice even when she was in rehab.

  "Homesick,” she admitted with a forced laugh. “Where are you?"

  "It's Friday, darling,” Greg said as though she'd asked a silly question. “I'm at Benjamin's. It's not the same without you though."

  She closed her eyes and leaned the side of her head against the wall. “I bet.” Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “I don't think I'm going to be partying when I get back."

  There. She'd said it. Her uncle would be proud. She'd had her first progress check in less than thirty-six hours. How was that for improvement? Too bad he doesn't know I'm calling the louse.

  Greg laughed heartily. “What are you talking about? Of course you are. You and I always party together.” He groaned. “I see what this is. You're mad at me for going out without you."

  What? How could anyone misconstrue her meaning? She'd said it clear as day—and what was more, she meant it.

  "Are you high?” She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Greg, you know I don't go for that."

  He let out a growl of frustration. “Did you call to talk or to badger me? Because if you're going to badger me, then hang up now and call me when you've had a chance to calm down."

  The urge to do just that ached within her. She didn't need this. After the day she had, arguing with Greg was the last thing she wanted.

  "No, I called hoping you would comfort me,” she said a moment later. “Every part of my body hurts, I burned two out of three meals today, I turned the boys’ underwear pink and now the floor needs to be varnished, because I scrubbed off the last coat.