by Nicole Fox
"Yes. By that time everyone will have forgotten that you ever even knew Asa."
"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 Asa."
"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 Asa 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 Asa, without any coercion from you, thinks that I should move back home, then I'll do it."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Asa
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 War Cry. He was angry that I had given him a scar on his cheek. I was, meanwhile, angry that I was never going to see Corinne 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 Corinne. Corinne and Brian Dugas.
When Dugas had come to me and spun his 'what-if' tale about Corinne on the outside, unprotected and alone, I had seen his point immediately. Rassi might be gone, but I had other enemies, and I wanted Corinne 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 Corinne was safe and with her family. I could almost manage to be happy about things when I thought of 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. Dugas was doing what any father might do. I couldn't blame him. But I ought to know better. I knew that Corinne loved me. Maybe that sounds arrogant, but I don't reckon something true can really be arrogant. Corinne Dugas 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 Dugas had explained it, but the more I thought about it, the less I believed it. Of course, I wanted Corinne 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 Corinne 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.
Or was I just being selfish? Certainly, I missed her hugely, and, now that there was nothing else in my life with which to fill my days, I felt it even more. She, on the other hand was on the outside, with the chance at a proper life. Was it fair to ask her to come here every week? I was assuming that she wanted to see me and that seeing me would make her happy, but could she really be happy with a man who was not going to know freedom for years? A man she couldn't be with for years? How could she be happy in that situation?
She was a loyal girl, and I knew she would wait for me. But did I want to put her through that? Was breaking that link now the kind thing to do in the long run? Certainly, that was what Brian Dugas thought, and, once again, he had made his case eloquently, and I had agreed with him.
Brian Dugas. I couldn't paint him as the bad guy, exactly, but I found my feelings of antipathy towards him increasing by the day. He had saved my life, and I was starting to regret that now, but what had he saved it for? For prison? For a love I would never be able to fulfill? That was no life at all. All my information about what was best for Corinne had come through Brian Dugas, and, while I thought it was vitally important for Corinne to reconnect with her father, I also thought it was important for her to make her own decisions. Part of being a person in the world is making bad decisions and living with the consequences. No one knows that better than me, and, while there were many bad decisions in my life, they all brought me to be the man I am, and, as long as that man was one whom Corinne Dugas loved, then I would stand by those decisions.
These were the thoughts that ran through my head at hourly intervals when I had nothing but time and a blank ceiling to stare at.
At least Corinne was safe at home. For all the questions, self-doubt, internal arguments about what was ‘best’ for her, she was safe at home, and that was something.
# # #
"Corinne has moved out."
"What?" After all I'd done to try to keep her safe, I couldn't help feeling a little pissed at Corinne. Ungrateful woman.
Brian Dugas snarled irritably. "It wasn't my idea."
"I didn't think it was."
Dugas did not make a point of coming to see me on visiting day. When he did, it was always to talk about Corinne, and, usually, to ask me for some favor. The sort of favor that I would agree to and then start to doubt about ten minutes after he left.
"She's moved into the spare room above Fiona's bar."
"It's a nice room." I had taken a few lady-friends up there, back in the day.
"It's a hell hole!" Dugas snapped. "I
mean, I'm sure it's fine for your people..."
"My people?"
"...but I don't want my little girl living above a bar. Apart from anything else," Dugas warmed to his subject, "it keeps her connected to you."
There was some truth to that. My name was almost as associated with Fiona's bar as Fiona's was. If Corinne moved there, kept associating with Fiona and Joseph Hartman (who was an increasingly regular resident), then there was no hope of people forgetting that Corinne and I had once been a brief 'item,' which had, after all, been the point of me not seeing her. Did this mean that I could see her again? Probably not, in Dugas's eyes.
"This is putting her in danger," said Dugas, firmly.
"From who?" I needed to question him on this. If there was a specific danger, then, of course, I would help, but I couldn't think of one. I could see how she might be safer at home, but living at Fiona's was hardly dangerous.
"Anyone!" Dugas said, the over-protective father.
"I'm not seeing it," I admitted.
Dugas sat forward in his chair. "I thought we agreed on this. What's best for Corinne, is for her to be at home, where I can take care of her twenty-four-seven."
"Twenty-four-seven?" That sounded like a pretty oppressive regime under which to live.
Dugas waved this off. "It's just an expression. The point is, I can't protect her when she's not living at home."
"What do you want me to do about it?"
"Talk to her."
"I thought we weren't supposed to have any contact!"
"She asked for the three of us to sit down together," Dugas explained.
"Oh, good." That sounded like the weirdest version of 'Meet the Parents' - everyone sat round a table on visiting day, till I got carted back to my cell.
"If you tell her that she should be living back home, then she'll do it." Dugas sounded almost fevered. There was no doubt that almost losing Corinne had turned a protective father into an obsessive one, and I wasn't sure that my playing along was going to be the best thing for anyone.
"I'm just not sure that's what's best for her, Sheriff."
Dugas leaned back. His expression had gone from desperate to sullen and suspicious. His ally had become his adversary, and he was plotting his next move.
"What do you want?"
I frowned. "I'm sorry?"
Dugas waved a hand dismissively. "Don't let's play games. What do you want? A man like you always has his price, certainly when he's inside. I can speak to someone about getting you better meals, or a single cell. Tell me what you want. Let's deal."
I met his gaze. "I think you know me better than that, Sheriff."
Dugas sneered. "I thought I did too. I thought we both wanted what's best for Corinne, but now that's obviously not the case, so I can only assume that you're after something. It was bound to happen at some point. The weeks go by, and you realize you're in here for a long while, and you start to miss some home comforts. So, tell me what you want, so I can get you to do the right thing for my daughter!"
Perhaps there was a brief flicker of concern in me. Was I ignoring what was best for Corinne? But it didn't last. I had faith in my motives and in my decision. I had faith in Dugas's motives too, but absolutely none in his judgment.
"Look, I want to see Corinne more than I want my next breath. But I won't tell her to do something that I think is going to make her miserable."
Dugas seemed to relax. "I'm sorry. I get so stressed about this stuff that it makes me come across badly. I worry about her so much, you know?"
"I know."
"I've explained this badly," Dugas went on. "Let me start again."
To someone who has been in police custody more than a few times, this felt like an old interview tactic, but I let it pass.
"We agree that Corinne is safest at home."
"I suppose, but..."
"Let's just stick to the facts, for now. We agree that living at Fiona's will further associate her with you and with War Cry, yes?"
"I guess that's true." I couldn't really deny that.
"So, we've established that Corinne is safer at home, and that she’s connected to a dangerous world at Fiona's, and yet we still differ. Odd, that." He was trying to warp my words.
"You're not changing my mind on this, Sheriff. I understand your point of view, but Corinne can make her own decisions."
Dugas held up his hands innocently. "Of course. Wouldn't dream of trying to force you to do something you're uncomfortable with. By the way, how's your friend Joseph doing? Joseph Hartman, isn't it?"
"He's good," I said tentatively. No matter how badly Dugas wanted Corinne to stay at home, surely he wouldn't go after my friends, would he? Then again, Joseph had been involved in some criminal activity, including breaking into the Dugas house. I waited to hear what the sheriff would say next.
"You're seeing him regularly?"
"He stops by."
Dugas shook his head. "I'm not sure that's a good idea - contacting people from your criminal past. You could be masterminding anything from in here. For all I know, you're planning a jailbreak."
"You damn-well know I'm not."
"I know that me informing the officials here about your meetings with Joseph Hartman would be part of my job and would probably see those meetings stopped."
I don't have any family. And those friends I have are all connected to War Cry in some way. Call me weak, but I couldn't go all those years without some sort of human contact. No one could. Dugas obviously saw that I was weakening.
"I know this is going to feel like I'm forcing you to do something you don't want to..."
"That's because you are."
"...but this is what is best for Corinne. I know you don't agree, but I think that, when you've had a chance to think it through, you're going to see that this is what is best for her - to have a normal life. That's what we both want. I'm sorry it had to go this way. This isn't what I wanted. But, if our positions were reversed, I think you'd do the same thing. We have that in common. We'd do anything to protect her."
He was right about that. If I thought it would safeguard Corinne, then there was no threat I wouldn't make. Maybe he was right about this. After all, he'd known Corinne her whole life. I barely knew her really.
"I'll tell her to move back in with you."
"Thank you."
Dugas left, and I went back to my cell to stare at the ceiling. She would be safer at home. And there was no denying that she might be at risk at Fiona's. Maybe all this was for the best. And maybe if I kept telling myself that for long enough, I might actually believe it.
# # #
However much the circumstances were not ideal, seeing Corinne enter the private visiting room made my heart leap and lifted every cloud that had settled on my mind. She looked great, just as I remembered her, and it was wonderful to see my smile mirrored in her own. She ran across the room and threw her arms around me. We hugged, and then she pulled away.
"Why have you been refusing to see me?"
"I just want you to be safe."
"I can make my own decisions, Asa!"
"Do we have to argue now?" There would be plenty enough arguing to come.
Corinne grinned. "No."
She kissed me.
And I realized that I couldn't go through with this. Maybe Dugas was right, maybe I was right, but the bottom line was that what we two men thought wasn't what mattered. What mattered was this vibrant, brilliant woman I now held in my arms, who didn't need us to tell her what was best for her, and didn't need our permission to live wherever the hell she wanted. Corinne could make her own decisions, and I wasn't about to stop her. To hell with the consequences.
I decided to go ahead and break the bad news to Dugas straight away.
"I hear you've got yourself a new place," I said to Corinne.
"Yeah, right above Fiona's bar. I'm thinking of picking up a couple of shifts there, as well, to get some cash coming in."
"You're still painting though, right?
" I didn't want her giving up on her dreams.
"Oh, yeah."
"Good. Well," I said, taking a deep breath, "Congratulations. I really hope it all works out for you in the new place."
Corinne beamed, but my eyes were drawn to Sheriff Dugas. His face barely moved, but I spotted the slight tightening of his features that spoke of a deep displeasure at what he had just heard. There would be consequences, which I would no doubt hear about when Corinne wasn't around. For now, I was determined to make the most of yet another 'last meeting' in a relationship that had already been full of them.