With Good Behavior [Conduct Series #1] Page 7
Reluctantly she began to speak. “Nothing was panning out, but I—I was waiting to hear from a hospital yesterday. I thought for sure I was going to get the job. They promised they would call. And then suddenly it was five, and they hadn’t called, and human resources was closed. Yet another rejection. I didn’t know what to do.” Her expression turned sheepish. “I considered not showing up for our appointment.”
He shook his head. “That would only have delayed the inevitable, Taylor. I would have been a hell of a lot more pissed off at you if you didn’t show up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I told you to apply for more jobs! Demeaning jobs, stupid jobs, scum of the earth jobs … anything to keep you out of prison.”
“I did!” she insisted. “At least some jobs—I can’t work for minimum wage because I have student loans to pay off, but I did apply for some! And they all told me I was overqualified.”
“You’re telling me that in this massive city, there was not one job you could find?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bullshit.” She glared at him, and he added, “I think you want to go back to prison.”
“No, I don’t!” she shouted, then looked around, embarrassed by her display of anger. In a softer voice, she continued, “I don’t want to go back. I just couldn’t …”
“You couldn’t what?”
She sighed. “I couldn’t crawl back to my father and beg for a job.”
“You could’ve gotten a job with your father this whole time? Why the hell didn’t you?”
“Let’s just say I don’t want to work in construction.”
Jerry sat thinking for a moment. “That’s your father? Taylor? As in Taylor Construction?”
She smirked. “The very one. Will Taylor. Owner of the largest construction company in Chicago—in all of Illinois, probably.”
“Are you sure you have a PhD? Because you might be the dumbest parolee ever to cross my doorstep! You’re returning to prison instead of working for your father?”
Her eyes flashed with anger. “You don’t know my father.”
She couldn’t hold in the tears in any longer. Why was Officer Stone arguing with her? She had acted unethically and unlawfully. She had selfishly brought on the death of her own mother. She was a horrible person. She should go back to prison. It was where bad people belonged. Where she belonged.
Tears slid down her cheeks, and frustratingly, she could not brush them away with her hands cuffed behind her back. Jerry averted his eyes, unable to watch her looking so broken.
“Maybe you’re right,” she muttered darkly. “Maybe I do want to go back to prison. We both know I can’t make it on the outside.” She exhaled derisively. “I can’t even find a job. I’m a fucking felon.”
Jerry was taken aback. Still puzzled by the woman across from him, he gently asked, “What is so bad about your father that you would choose to go back inside instead of work for him?”
Sophie sniffed. “He hates me.” Sniff. “He blames me for my mother’s death. She died six months ago, when I was inside.” Sniff. “She died because of the stress caused by her only child going to prison.”
His chest ached upon hearing her explanation. He couldn’t bear the death of yet another mother, not when his own mother was hanging onto life by the thinnest of threads. As Sophie continued to sniffle helplessly, Jerry plucked a tissue out of the box and walked around his desk, kneeling next to Sophie and raising the tissue to her face.
“Go ahead, blow your nose.”
Her eyes registered surprise, and she felt simultaneously touched and mortified by his paternal gesture. Not knowing what else to do, she gave a dainty blow into the tissue, and he wiped her nose for her. “Well, I couldn’t have you getting snot all over my officers,” he gruffly explained, rising and tossing the tissue in the garbage.
Jerry folded his arms across his chest and sat on the edge of his desk. His tone softened. “How did your mom die?”
“Heart attack.” Sophie looked down. “I almost had a heart attack myself coming to your office today. I knew I was going back to prison.”
He gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry about your mom.”
His unexpected kindness, minutes after handcuffing her, started her tears anew. “Thanks.” She took a few breaths before asking, “How is your mom doing?”
“Not good.”
There was silence between them. “It gets easier,” she offered. Neither of them believed her words.
“Maybe you should try to make peace with your dad, Taylor. I bet he misses you.”
“He doesn’t,” she corrected. “He’s never approved of me, my whole life.” Sophie took a shuddering breath. “Jeez, I’m crying more than a psychotherapy client.” She flashed a wan smile. “You’re a pretty good psychologist, you know? You’ve got me telling you my family history, bawling like a baby. Your tissue technique could use a little work, though. It would be easier for your clients to wipe their own noses if their hands weren’t cuffed behind their backs.”
With a twinkle in his eyes, he said, “Well, I sure don’t want to wipe any more snot off of you, so you better stop the waterworks.”
“Sorry, I’ll try.”
Jerry could not believe what he heard himself say. “Maybe I’ll let you wipe your own nose. Maybe I’ll un-cuff you. If you go get a job today from your father.”
Sophie gasped. “But I can’t—”
“Taylor, don’t be an idiot! Tell him if you don’t get a job, you return to prison. I’m sure he won’t refuse you. No matter what’s happened in the past, no father could send his daughter back to prison.”
“You – you—you’ll give me another chance?”
“Against my better judgment, yes. But if I don’t get verification that you are employed by five o’clock today, I’m putting a warrant out for your arrest.”
She gulped. Getting released from the damn handcuffs did sound pretty good. After considering her less-than-stellar options for several moments, she finally gave in. “Okay.”
“Stand up.” He extracted a set of keys from his pocket and expertly unlocked the cuffs. Once she felt the cool metal leave her skin, she sobbed with relief, weeping into her hands.
* * *
“Jesus, Taylor, you’re crying harder now that I’ve let you go?” He shook his head disdainfully. “Women.”
Nervously jiggling his leg in a seat outside Jerry’s office, Grant’s eyes widened as two uniformed police officers brushed past him and entered the office. What was happening? Was that woman going back to prison? No, it couldn’t be! He hadn’t even had a chance to talk to her.
Grant heard raised voices in the office. Then the voices quieted, and the officers bustled out the door.
“Can you believe that shit?” one hissed to the other as they strode past him.
“As if we’ve got nothing better to do!”
Grant rose, wondering what the hell was going on as he watched the departing officers dash down the hallway. He turned back to the PO’s office, and suddenly she was there. She had just come out the door, and she was crying.
Her blond hair was swept up high on her head, accenting the splotches of pink on her alabaster cheeks and nose. A few tendrils had loosened from her ponytail to softly frame her face.
A small whimper escaped her lips when she noticed his expression of pure sympathy. Sharing such an intimate moment of emotional vulnerability, despite being virtual strangers, neither knew what to do.
Instinctively Grant gathered her in his arms. Sophie gratefully folded herself into his strong frame. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, feeling the comforting cotton of his navy-blue hoodie on her skin. His body was warm and solid and—God, he smelled good. His strong arms soothed away her tension and gradually slowed her tears.
Only then did Grant realize how inappropriate it was to just scoop an unknown woman into an embrace. She seemed to lean into him, creating a cocoon of coziness, but he had a fleeting worry that she might thin
k he was some kind of aggressive pervert for mauling her with a hug. He was suddenly aware of her breasts pushing into his chest, and he abruptly let go of her for fear that parts of his anatomy would also be pushing out.
He glanced at his watch and shook his head. “Wait for me?” he pleaded.
She stared and then seemed to come to her senses. “Oh! You must want your jacket back.” She patted her bag, “I have it in here.”
“My jacket? No, I don’t care about my stupid jacket. You’re crying. You’re upset, and I want to talk to you. Wait for me?”
Sophie nodded. “I’ll wait for you.”
With one last glance in her direction, he disappeared into the office.
“You’re late, Madsen!” Officer Stone yelled as the door closed. Sophie hoped he wasn’t in too much trouble. It was no fun to be in trouble with their parole officer.
Wiping her eyes, Sophie sank into the metal chair in the hallway. She realized how tired she was after her emotional freakout. She unzipped her bag and peeked in on the White Sox jacket folded neatly inside.
She sighed. That had been a close one in there, but she was determined to stay in the prison-free forty percent. Her mouth tightened as she thought about going to see her father. But first she would speak to the crystal-eyed parolee, and she did not dread that at all.
She drew her shirt collar to her nose and inhaled deeply, drinking in the transferred smell of his aftershave. Sitting up a little straighter, Sophie eagerly anticipated a real conversation with the man. There seemed to be a mystery behind those gorgeous blue eyes, and she couldn’t wait to learn more about him.
9. CONvocation
After what seemed like an eternity, Grant finally exited his PO’s office and was relieved to find the woman still outside, just as she’d promised. Her tears had stopped, and her cap-sleeved white blouse and beige skirt seemed less disheveled than they had ten minutes ago.
His face lit up. “You waited.”
“Of course. I didn’t want to steal your jacket two weeks in a row, ‘cause then you might have to report me for a parole violation.” Hearing the man chuckle, she added, “I hope I didn’t get you in any trouble with Jerry.”
Grant raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so you two are on a first-name basis now?”
Sophie smiled. “We ought to be after what we went through today.”
“I was worried when I saw two bulls go in there.”
“That was a close call. Fortunately, Jerry let me go after I started bawling like a baby.” Shrugging sheepishly, she continued. “Sorry for subjecting you to that cry-fest. I must look like a mess.”
He did not believe this strawberry-blond beauty was calling herself that. She could never look a mess. “Not at all,” he reassured her. Clearing his throat nervously, he added, “Speaking of Jerry, of, um, first names … I’m—I’m Grant.”
She was about to introduce herself when a scruffy-looking man approached the door. He gave them a suspicious glance before knocking and entering the office, and the couple suddenly felt awkward conversing right outside their PO’s door.
“Want to take a walk?” Grant suggested, extending his arm toward the exit.
She nodded gratefully, and they strolled in amicable silence, emerging into the bright sunlight outside the courthouse.
Perching on one concrete stair, she extended her hand to him, and his long fingers enveloped her skin warmly. He glanced down at the silver rings on her delicate fingers, particularly attracted to the band on her forefinger. The unusual placement of the ring made her seem both tough and sophisticated.
She smiled pleasantly. “I’m Sophie.”
“Nice to finally know your name, Sophie.” He reluctantly released her hand. “I probably should have introduced myself before I attacked you with that hug earlier.”
Gazing into his eyes, shining in the sunlight, she confidently informed him, “It was exactly what I needed. You, um, you give great hugs.” More demurely, she whispered, “Thank you.”
“Well, I owed you one after you warned me about our PO being a Cubs fan. If I’d worn that Sox jacket in there that day, who knows what would have happened … maybe those cops would have been coming for me.”
Sophie grinned and reached into her bag to extract the jacket. “I think it’s about time I give this back to you.”
He took it from her gratefully. “M-maybe—” he stuttered, then ducked his head nervously before starting again. “Maybe we could go to a White Sox game together some time?”
He looked absolutely adorable when he was all anxious like that. Sophie shot him a bright grin. “I’d love that.”
Grant beamed. Enraptured by her beauty, he barely registered what she told him next. But when she sat on the steps, smoothing her skirt beneath her, he finally understood that she had asked him to sit with her. He eagerly folded his long, lean body next to hers.
They basked in the warm morning sun for a few moments before Grant inquired, “Why did those cops come for you today, if you don’t mind me asking?” Watching her react to his question with reddening cheeks and a dip of her head, he added, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I just wanted to know if there was something in particular I needed to avoid so I don’t return to prison myself.” He stared off into the distance. “I can’t go back there.”
“It’s okay,” Sophie said with a sigh. “The truth is I haven’t found a job yet. Jerry told me I would return to prison if I didn’t get a job in two weeks, and stupidly I decided to test him on his word.” Grant watched her rub her wrists absentmindedly.
“He handcuffed you?” Grant asked quietly, wrapped up in his own memories of cops and cuffs.
“Yes. I thought I was going back inside, for a whole year … I’m not sure I would have made it this time. But then I let it slip that my dad would probably hire me, and Jerry pounced on that. He told me if I got a job today from my father, he wouldn’t arrest me.”
Observing her face, Grant ventured, “I’m guessing you and your dad don’t get along so well?”
Sophie snapped her head toward him, meeting his concerned gaze. “How did you know?”
“I know it would have to be quite bad for you to risk going back to prison.”
“Really bad,” she said. “My dad pretty much hates me, and he hasn’t exactly been father of the year.”
Grant sighed. It seemed that they had something in common besides rooting for the Sox. “My dad and I don’t get along so great either.”
Sophie nodded sadly and then mused, “I bet most convicts come from awful family backgrounds. Long family histories of dysfunction … It’s like we never learned how to ‘get along’ in society, you know?”
Grant took in her comment and looked at her, as if he were seeing her for the first time. Not only was she attractive, but also intelligent and insightful. “Never really thought about it,” he admitted. “But ‘awful’ describes my family perfectly.”
Thinking about family dysfunction, Sophie’s thoughts drifted to her mother. Laura Taylor had been a high-maintenance, emotionally needy woman who could drive Sophie crazy with her controlling personality, but she still missed her deeply. At least her mother acted lovingly once in a while, in contrast to her father’s stern, cold demeanor. Feeling tears threaten once again, Sophie said, “Let’s not talk about our families. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Okay.”
Tentatively she asked a question that had been troubling her since she first encountered Grant. “Um, why did you go to prison?”
Grant was quiet for a few moments. “Well, if we’re not talking about families, then I can’t really answer that.”
His gemstone eyes scorched her with an earnest intensity.
“Tell you what. Let’s make a pact, okay? No talking about family, about prison, about why we were inside, about how long our sentences were. No questions that cons might ask each other. No talking about the past. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather never think of the past again.”
Sophie nodded vigorously.
Grant continued to outline his plan. “We’re both trying to move forward, to rebuild our lives. Let’s focus only on the future.”
She continued to nod, secretly hoping this handsome man might somehow be part of her future.
“We’ll concentrate on the future—starting today with getting you a job.”
“Getting me a job?”
“Yep. C’mon, let’s go.”
Grant bounded down the stairs of the courthouse. Sophie stared after him. Should she follow? She didn’t even know him. A nagging voice in the back of her head urged her not to trust this con, this criminal, this delinquent.
But she was a criminal too. Would she want others to refuse to give her a chance because of one mistake? Would she want others never to trust her again? Taking a deep breath, she jogged down the steps and into the taxi Grant had hailed.
* * *
Grant paid the cabbie, and they stepped out at the Chicago River docks. Rays of sun bounced off the blue-green water in a dazzling array.
“You ever been on a Chicago architectural cruise?” Grant inquired.
“I always wanted to,” Sophie said. “But like most Chicago natives, I never got around to it.”
He grinned. “Here’s your chance then.” Grant stepped onto the deck gracefully and turned around, extending his hand and beckoning to her. She cautiously grasped his hand, and he guided her over the gunwale.
“Rog?” Grant called out. “Rog?”
“Well, hello,” Roger boomed as he emerged from the bridge, eyeing the blonde who had just walked onto his ship. He stood up a little taller and tried to suck in his gut as Grant brought her over.
“Roger Eaton, I’d like to introduce you to Sophie, um …”
“Taylor,” she supplied. “Sophie Taylor.”
Obviously smitten as he shook her hand, Roger said, “You must be the prettiest passenger we’ve ever had on one of our cruises.”
Sophie shot Grant a nervous glance and he interrupted. “Um, Rog? Sophie is not a passenger. She … well actually, she’s looking for a job on the ship. We, um, met outside our PO’s office, and I thought there might be an opening for a server on your cruise now that I’m doing navigation?”