“No, Joe. Stop trying to twist what I do. Everyone knows you hate this job, yet for some reason you’re still here. You treat your clients like b-grade citizens and your desire to help them to do better is non-existent. So, if by me being the opposite to you means I’m crossing lines, then I’m crossing fucking lines.” The tension spreads from my shoulders, up to my neck, and settles at my temples. My pulse hammers at either side of my head, the weight of my outburst sitting heavily between us.
“Whatever.” He looks at Taylah. “I know what I saw.”
He walks away, and the fight immediately leaves my body.
“Want to tell me what that was about?”
“Not right now, no.” I resume eating and ignore Taylah’s perceptive stare. For the first time in my life, Joe might be actually right. I haven’t stopped thinking about Jagger since I walked out of Goulburn. His eyes, his hands, his hurt, his heart. It’s on a continuous loop of intrigue and heartache for a man who has somehow become more than my job.
He wears his sins on his sleeves and carries the burden of his actions through every decision he makes. If he didn’t have to leave, I know he would stay there forever. Thinking the world is a better place without him.
The shrill ring from my desk phone pulls me out of my Jagger Michaels bubble. Taylah reaches for it before I do.
“Hello, Legal Aid. This is Emerson Lane’s phone.”
“Yes, she’s here. May I ask who’s calling?” I’ll just get her for you.” She hits the hold button, and hands me the phone.
“Who is it?
“A Hendrix Michaels?”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You know him?”
“It’s my client’s brother.”
“Okay, take this call. But I want an update on what happened between you and Joe.” I nod and wave her away. Picking up the handset, I let myself get sucked back into the vortex of Jagger Michaels.
“Hello, Emerson Lane speaking.”
“Hi. This is Hendrix Michaels, I’m-”
“Jagger’s brother.” I finish.
“Yeah, he said if I had any questions regarding his release I could contact you.”
“You spoke to him?”
“Yeah, it was a shock to me, too.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound like that.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“What can I help you with?”
“Well, I read up on what conditions are usually given upon release, and I wanted to make sure I can do whatever I need to give him a head start. “
“Um, do you have a pen and paper handy?”
“Yeah sure, let me get it.” The sound of papers shuffling echoes in the background while I wait. “Okay, I’m back.”
I glance at my computer and how detailed my notes are. “Mr Michaels, do you want to meet up for coffee instead?” I hear Joe’s warnings in the background, and push past my better judgement. I’m only doing the best for my client, right? “We can talk about it in more depth that way.”
“Yeah, just tell me when and where.”
“I can meet you this afternoon,” I proposition eagerly. “I can leave work a little early. Four sound okay?”
“No worries, I’ll just tie up some loose ends over here and meet you...”
“Oh, yes, sorry. How about at Mist Coffee? It’s just on Castlereagh, in between the Downing Centre and The Family Court.” It’s the most public and semi-professional place I can think of, and I know solicitors and clients meet there all day long.
“Okay, sweet,” he says. “I’ll see you at four.”
The call ends, and my hands begin to sweat unusually. I shake them out and head to the bathroom. Washing my face with cold water, I stare at my reflection and talk myself off the ledge. I’m piecing a family together. I’m helping someone who would otherwise let themselves drown into the system come up for air. Tugging the necklace from beneath my shirt, I kiss the stone and close my eyes. I hear my grandmother’s voice in my mind, leading me in the right direction.
Your head and your heart aren’t enemies; they’re long lost lovers desperate to be reunited. You don’t have to choose between the two.
“Can I order a caramel latte with two chocolate brownies, please?”
The barista tinkers around on the register, before acknowledging my order. “What name should I put that under?”
“Emerson, please.” I say with a saccharine smile.
“That’ll be ten dollars.”
“I got this. Do you mind if I add a short black to that order?”
Straightening her back, the young barista pays attention to the deep and unexpected voice behind me. A tattooed arm is stretched out beside me, grey script running up and down the muscled forearm.
“And what name should I put on that?” she asks, the flirty inflection in her voice an obvious change from her uninterested state earlier.
“Hendrix.”
I school my face, don a mask of professionalism, and turn to meet him. He seems to have already figured out who I am, his stance casual and laid-back, patiently waiting for my reaction.
Standing in front of me is the less-damaged and less-haunted version of Jagger. It’s like a punch in the gut, being reminded how two people can look exactly the same on the outside and be like night and day on the inside. Jagger’s emptiness is deafening in Hendrix’s presence.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Ah, shit. Sorry. I just didn’t...” I ramble through my nervousness and put my head down to avoid any further damage.
“Let’s grab a seat.” We manoeuvre through the wooden chairs and find a table at the back end of the shop, away from the whirling and buzzing of the coffee machines. He waits for me to take my seat before following suit.
Regaining my composure, I pull a pad of paper and a pen from my bag, placing it between us. “Let’s start again, shall we? I’m Emerson.”
“I’m Hendrix.” He holds out his hand. The friendliness he emanates surprsises and comforts me as I grip his hand. “Sorry for interrupting you at the register. I heard you say your name, and you looked the way Jagger described you. I just put the pieces together.”
“Oh.” I stop myself from asking him what he means, and change the subject. It doesn’t matter what Jagger said to him about me or why. “I’m sorry about my fumbling at the register. I didn’t realise you were twins.”
“Oh, that’s what it was?” He laughs, “We haven’t stumped anyone with our looks in ages.” His voice is nostalgic, and I give him a moment to take the mental trip down memory lane.
“I’m glad he finally called you.”
“Me too.” His jaw clenches the exact same way Jagger’s did, but while Jagger is full of anger, Hendrix is full of apprehension. “I didn’t think that call was ever going to come.”
I do a little victory dance inside knowing for whatever reason, Jagger listened to me and called his brother. “Have you gone to see him yet?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You must think I’m horrible.”
“Horrible definitely didn’t cross my mind,” I admit. “There’s a lot to consider in every circumstance; this one is no different. We’re all just learning as we go.”
“Jagger and I were rocky before he got locked up,” he reveals. “And for some reason he believes we would all be better off without him, that he deserves to stay in there until the eleventh hour.”
“Yes. I managed to pick up on that vibe when I saw him too, but lucky for you, I kindly informed him the choice wasn’t his. No matter how many reasons he gave me.”
“I’m impressed. You figured out the way his mind works pretty quickly.” He smirks while his eyes light up with mischief. I lower my head and avoid his all-knowing gaze on the unexplainable flush on my skin.
“I figured if I give him less reasons to argue with me, he’ll eventually come around and be happy about leaving,” he explains.
“And that’s exactly what we’re doing,” I reassure him. “The more soli
d the release plan, the less reasons he or any inmate has a reason to slip through the cracks.”
He cringes at the use of the word inmate, but I ignore it; professionalism imperative.
I scribble a list of words down the right hand side of the white lined paper. The word housing right at the top. “Okay, let’s start with the important stuff, where’s he going to live?”
“With me.”
“Okay, do you live by yourself? Married? Kids? Pets? Drugs? Guns?”
He hovers while I write, the pen and my mouth in sync, as I rattle off words faster than I can think them. I look up to see hazel eyes filled with hurt and regret, and acknowledge that this is about more than Jagger.
“I know you have to ask these questions, and with what happened, they’re logical. But for what it’s worth, that’s not how we are. That’s not the life we ever lived.”
“Hendrix. Please don’t think I’m judging you.” I plead. “The parole board are sticklers, and he can’t afford to get pulled up, no matter how minor it is. We just need to cover all our bases.”
“Okay,” he nods with a little more confidence. “I trust you.”
“Thank you. Now sell yourself to the parole board.” The mood a little lighter, I throw in some humour. “Tell me why it is in Jagger’s best interest to live with you.”
He taps his fingers against the wooden table top. “Well, I live by myself. No pets, unless you count the neighbour’s cat that occasionally finds herself roaming around in my house.”
“Employment?”
“I’m a Youth Work Coordinator for my local Police Citizens Youth Club.”
“That’s the PCYC, yeah?”
“Yep.” Writing down the details as he explains the work he does with disadvantaged youth, I butt in with my own responses when the occasion fits, multitasking as best as I can.
“Okay, the hardest thing will be him getting a job.”
Carefully balancing our hot beverages and the brownies on a tray, the waiter appears beside us, his facial expression apologetic for the interruption. “The short black?”
“That’s mine, thanks.” Raising his hand to the tray, he meets the waiter halfway, taking the drink from his shaky grasp.
“And that means the caramel latte goes over here.” The porcelain clinks on the wooden table as the plate of dessert is placed between us. “If you need anything else, just call out.”
“Thanks.” Adding sugar, I pour it in and stir before continuing, “if you know anywhere that’s hiring, that would take him on based on your recommendation alone, it would be ideal. But as long as he has a place to sleep and someone who will, for all intents and purposes provide him with a roof over his head and food in his mouth, it means he has less reasons to turn to shady behaviour to make some cash. Again,” I say with a warning tone, “this is the way the legal system approaches the situation, and I’m in no way implying this is the exact pattern of behaviour he’s going to follow.”
“I get it. I hate all of it, but I do understand.”
“I appreciate that. Now, when I met with Jagger there was lot we didn’t talk about. Namely his relationship with anyone from his past. In particular. Dakota.”
His back straightens, and the tapping on the table returns.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about his personal relationships. Otherwise, I wouldn’t ask. Because I’m facilitating his release, everything I do is based on knowledge of the future, not what happened in the past.”
“Is saying it’s complicated enough?”
“I don’t want to know everything.” The lie feels like acid in my mouth as I manipulate the questions to my advantage. “What’s his relationship like with his daughter’s mother? Will he move in with her after he’s spent some time with you? Work on reconnecting the family?”
“Oh, it’s not that kind of relationship.”
“Because of what happened?”
“Look, the stuff with Sasha is Jagger’s story to tell, but I know he’s going to want to see his daughter.”
Changing approaches, I dive into the brutal reality of what his brother could be up against and leave my own motives behind. “Hendrix, I need to know if Sasha is going to let him see Dakota. Regardless of how much Jagger may want to wrong his rights, Sasha has sole custody of Dakota. That means what she says goes.”
He exhales loudly. “I don’t think she’ll stop him from seeing her, but I don’t know that for sure either.” He pauses, running his hand through hair. “One way or another, she’s definitely going to make him jump through hoops.”
“Is he going to jump?”
“For Dakota? Of course. But going by the last time Sasha and Jagger saw each other, I don’t predict an easy road.”
“Do they know he’s getting released?”
“I told Sasha, yes.”
“And Dakota?”
“For now It’s on a need-to-know basis. She doesn’t deserve to be collateral damage between her parents.”
“You’re a good uncle.”
He smiles at my praise, the conversation losing the tension.
“It’s easy. She’s a great kid.” He picks his phone up and taps away at the screen. “Speaking of, if I don’t leave now, I’m going to be late to take her out for dinner.”
“That’s ok, I understand. Sydney traffic is a bitch.”
Standing up, he reaches for his wallet and pulls out a business card. “I really appreciate your transparency,” he says, handing it to me. “Jagger wasn’t lying when he said you’d be willing to answer any questions I had.” My stomach flutters at the mere mention of his name. I take the card from his grip, and with a small smile I give Hendrix the words he wants to hear. Even if every one of them is a lie.
“He’s my client. I’d do the same for all of them.”
4
Jagger
“Hey Michaels,” the correctional officer calls out. “You’re popular these days. Someone’s here to see you.”
I look up from the book I’m reading. “Is it a guy or a girl?”
He looks at me with confusion. “Firstly, I don’t know. Secondly, what does it matter?” He waves his hand in the direction of the visiting area. “They’re waiting, and I don't have all day Michaels. Lets go.”
I fold the top corner of the page and close the book. “Can we drop it off on the way? I want to finish this book.”
“Sure,” he chuckles. “I can see the other inmates fighting with you for the chance to read about Germany in World War Two.”
“I still want it in my room,” I persist.
“Yeah, yeah. Come on.”
After dropping the book on my bed, I follow the guard to the visiting area. It’s an odd feeling to go from not coming here, to actually be expecting people.
“Legs apart.”
“Dude, you’re new here. I don’t even know you that well,” I joke.
“Quit playing. They’re waiting on you.”
I stand against the wall and let the awkward pat down begin. “Okay, you’re all good. Just let the guard out there know when time is up, and someone will walk you back in.”
I run both my hands over my face. My instincts tell me it’s Hendrix, and I don’t think anything could prepare me for this. I awkwardly straighten out my prison greens before walking into the open space.
“Don’t bother, son. The way you wear your clothes doesn’t change that they’re out there and you’re in here.” His words pour all over me like a cold bucket of iced water. Positivity is like gold in here--it’s a rarity.
The door opens, and I stand there paralysed with anxiety. I keep my head down, not ready for the assault of emotions to wash over me. “Come on Michaels, I got to get back.”
I catch a glimpse of the top of his head, glad that I’ve noticed him first. With each step, my feet drag. Shame, fear, embarrassment; each feeling wraps around my ankles like sandbags.
He rises at the exact moment I reach the table. We both silently stare at each other as twelve years
of shock and sorrow fade away. I thought I would want to break. To crumble and walk back inside like the coward I am, but the sense of reprieve at seeing him here in front of me overshadows years of silence and bitterness.
I see him, and I see the plans we had to grow up and spread our wings, before my actions clipped us both. I see the brother who never hesitated to have my back, no matter what fucked up things I did. And I fucked up. Epically. Ruining all their lives, and leaving him alone to pick up my mess.
His heart must bleed forgiveness, because he doesn’t even hesitate to grab my shoulder and pull me in for a hug. I squeeze my eyes shut, and keep the tears at bay. Grateful and proud to call him my brother and have him on my side.
“I fucking missed you, bro.” His voice is muffled, his breathing a staccato of sadness, regret, and hope. Hugging him back, I let the memories of two young kids running amok flood through me. A time where everything was simple, and the future was ours for the taking.
We pull apart, and I wonder what life would be like without a brother like Drix. “You look good, bro.”
“You don’t look too bad yourself,” he jokes.
I gesture to the table beside us, and we take our seats opposite one another. I’m stunned into silence this day has actually come. When I first stepped foot in here I made it clear no visitors allowed. I would pay penance for my mistakes, and I wouldn’t put anyone I loved in anymore pain.
“I can’t believe you’re getting out of here in five weeks,” he blurts out. “The years were slow, man. So fucking slow.”
I give a tired smile, knowing very well what he means.
“I don’t even know where to start.”
“”Let me,” I interject. “I have a lot of explaining to do and a lot of apologies to make, but I need you all to hear it at the same time. Especially Dakota.” I press the palms of my hands to my eyes and try to quell the regret that chokes me from the inside out. “I owe her the fucking world, Drix.”
“You’ll get to make it right, Jagger.” He grabs my wrists and pulls my hands away from my face. “I had a photo to bring you, but they didn’t let me bring it in. She’s an amazing young girl, and I know she’s desperate to see you.”
Reclaim: (A Redemption Novel) Page 3