Redeemed

by Maggie Blackbird

  “What’s that.” Adam grabbed his cigarettes off the dresser.

  “They talked about sponsorship at the meeting tonight. They said the best way to pick a sponsor is, duh, a no-brainer—someone with more sobriety than you and who works the program. They also said this person should have what you want. Y’know. I was wondering...” Pleading reflected in Logan’s blue eyes.

  Adam gripped his lighter.

  “I was wondering if you’d be my sponsor.”

  Logan’s request was a pointed shotgun fired at Adam’s chest, spraying him with a cartridge of pellets. “Me?” I’m a fucking ex-con.

  “Yeah. I want you.”

  “They’re other guys who—”

  “Nope. It’s gotta be you.”

  They were living in the same digs and someone had to watch this kid’s back. “You got a Big Book?” Adam motioned at his blue copy of the twelve-step program on the dresser.

  “Yeah. They gave us one in ‘hab.”

  “What steps you already take?”

  “Only up to three. They said we have to do the rest with our sponsor.”

  “I got rules.”

  “Rules?” Logan squinted.

  “Yup. No using. Meetings every night. Mornings—daily meditations. Read your Big Book before going to sleep. Got it?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I got it.” Logan shook his head a good eight times.

  “Let’s go smoke.” For some strange reason, anxiety inched up Adam’s spine. He wasn’t sure why. But it was the same dreadful feeling that had seeped through his veins and buzzed in his head whenever something bad was about to happen as an enforcer for the Winnipeg Warriors. The last time he’d felt this way, he’d gotten jumped at a drug pad he’d been checking and had received a bullet in his thigh.

  Chapter Ten: I Won’t Pay Your Price

  All week Adam had stopped himself from picking up the phone and calling Bridget. After what he’d pulled, she needed space, and hopefully the space leaned toward the positive instead of the negative.

  He kept himself glued to the windowsill in the visitation room where the old crab sat in her usual chair, taking notes. With the amount of writing The Hawk did, she must be penning his biography, a real nasty one, probably called Fucked-Up Failed Felons.

  The door opened. Kyle bounded into the room, grinning. Behind him, Bridget meandered in, nodding, and plopped in the chair beside Mrs. Dale.

  At least she hadn’t yanked a tomahawk from her purse and cracked open Adam’s skull.

  Kyle sprinted forward. Adam scrambled to his haunches. He opened his arms, and his boy landed straight on Adam’s chest. The scent of Kyle’s clean soap and innocent warmth smothered Adam like a comfortable blanket.

  “You’re getting bigger, ya little rug rat.”

  “Uncle Emery said the same thing. I always make him catch me.” Kyle flashed his missing front tooth. “What’re we doing today? Can we go outside?”

  “No can do. Mrs. Dale says we have to stay here.”

  “But why?” Kyle turned to Mrs. Dale who watched them over her narrow glasses. “Can we go outside? Please?”

  Mrs. Dale’s upturned lips bordered on cracking her ice-like face. “We have rules to follow, as you do at home and school. My supervisor expects visits to happen here.”

  “Will you ever let us go to the park together?” A tinge of whining floated on Kyle’s question.

  “That will be up to your father. His progress depends upon it.”

  Great. The old bat was going to make Adam play the heavy.

  Kyle frowned. “What does she mean?”

  “She takes notes.” Adam pointed at the clipboard. “The more she takes when she sees us together, she’ll be able to tell her supervisor our visits are going great.”

  “Mom, do you have to take notes, too?”

  Bridget blushed. “No. I’m asked to come to the visits so you’re comfortable.”

  “Will you always bring me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you always sit here?”

  Bridget shifted in the chair. “We’ll talk about it later. Okay?”

  The Hawk had said in time Bridget would be asked to leave the room for Adam and Kyle to bond personally under the old hard-ass’s supervision. Obviously, Bridget hadn’t bothered to tell Kyle this because she’d expected Adam to fail.

  “Why later, Mom?”

  “Because you’re visiting your dad right now.”

  Kyle stared at Adam. “What’re we going to do?”

  “First, we’re gonna eat these.” Adam reached behind him where he’d left the package on the square table. “Look what I made for you.”

  Eyes dancing, Kyle peeked inside the white box. “What are they?” He licked his lips.

  “Nanaimo bars.”

  “Oh boy. Mom... please, please, please can I have one?”

  “You may eat only one. We’re going to have supper soon.”

  Better get this show on the road. His visits lasted one hour. From what he understood, Bridget was done work for the day. She must have arranged with the board of directors to have the last hour off from her fancy office on Wednesdays.

  * * * *

  Clutching his box of Nanaimo bars, Kyle strolled between Bridget and Adam. Mrs. Dale brought up the rear. At four-thirty on the second floor, no telephone conversations, clients complaining, or the usual voices invading the sterile white hallway came from the many offices.

  They reached the elevator. Much to Bridget’s surprise, Adam accompanied them. Normally, he disappeared into Mrs. Dale’s spotless office after visits.

  Kyle twirled. He pushed the down button.

  “Have a good evening.” Mrs. Dale vanished behind her office door.

  Adam pressed his big hand on the wall. “You have time to think it over?”

  “Think what over?” Kyle gazed up at his dad.

  The elevator doors opened, and they piled inside.

  While Kyle went through his usual routine in an elevator, Adam leaned against the wall, staring at Bridget.

  “Yes, I did. It’ll have to be next week. I have a lot to do.”

  “When next week?”

  “I thought Friday, since it’ll be busy then.”

  “Friday it is.”

  The doors opened.

  Nobody sat on the gray chairs or stood at the main counter where the receptionist greeted clients as Bridget ushered Kyle through the reception area. They headed outside.

  “What’s keeping you busy?”

  Bridget withdrew her keys and steered Kyle to the parking lot. “We’re nearing the end of August. Classes are starting. Students are making full use of the center.”

  “Maybe I’ll be one of those students one day.”

  “You’re going to school, Dad?” Kyle exclaimed. “With me?”

  Adam chuckled. “Nah. I already took grade two. I’m talking about the university.”

  “Are you going to be a professor?”

  “Not a professor. Maybe an entrepreneur.”

  “What’s that?” Kyle rested his index finger on his lip.

  Bridget stopped at the truck and opened the back door.

  “Someone who owns their own business.” Adam plopped Kyle in the backseat. He reached over and drew the seat belt across the boy’s chest and lap.

  There was no point in Bridget telling Adam that Kyle could get in the truck and buckle his own seat belt. He probably welcomed any opportunity to help his son.

  “I’ll see you next Wednesday. Okay?” Adam’s palm grazed Kyle’s stubble of hair.

  “Okay, Dad.”

  Adam shut the door. He followed Bridget around the truck.

  “And what’re you up to tonight?” Bridget kicked herself for asking. As if she needed to engage in small-talk.

  “Meeting. Always a meeting.” Adam opened the door. He motioned for her to get in.

  They were not behaving like a family. Adam was only being polite. And Bridget would keep telling herself this over and over.r />
  “What about you?”

  “The usual. Laundry. Dinner. Bath for Kyle.”

  “Yeah?” His dark eyes crinkled.

  She slid inside the truck. “What time’s your meeting done?”

  “I get back before nine.”

  “Have a good meeting, then.”

  “Always do.”

  “Mom, aren’t we going to give Dad a ride?” Kyle called from the backseat.

  Bridget’s throat seemed to shut closed. If she didn’t invite Adam, she’d disappoint Kyle. “Do you need a ride?”

  “Sure. Would save me on bus fare.” Adam rounded the truck.

  He sure hadn’t hesitated. Bridget trembled while Adam opened the door and got in. His masculine scent invaded the interior, skimming Bridget’s skin.

  Squirming, she glanced at the screen image on the dashboard and backed from the parking spot.

  Adam drew the seat belt strap across his strong chest and flat stomach.

  Huffing out a breath, Bridget guided the truck to the street.

  “Can Dad stay for supper, Mom?”

  Bridget gaped at Adam who simply grinned.

  “I don’t think Mrs. Dale would approve. Remember, she supervises you and your dad’s visits for a reason. She must be present at all times.”

  “She’s not here now, Mom.”

  “She isn’t, is she?” Panic thumped at the back of Bridget’s neck. “Will we get into trouble?” She slammed on the brake at the stop sign.

  “Dunno.” Adam shrugged. “Only if she finds out. I’m not saying anything. Are you?”

  “No. No. No. Why would I?”

  “Can we ask Mrs. Dale if Dad can come over for supper?”

  “I’d have to call, and she’s already done work for the evening. He can’t come tonight.”

  “Aww...” From the sound of the disappointment in Kyle’s voice, his lower lip protruded.

  “We have rules to follow. Mrs. Dale explained this earlier. We can’t disobey the rules.” Bridget used her firmest tone. She guided them onto the next street.

  Kyle’s downturned lower lip appeared in the rearview mirror.

  Adam craned his neck. “It’s okay, bud. There’s always next time.”

  “Really? For sure?” Delight gushed from Kyle’s mouth.

  How dare Adam finagle an invite by giving Kyle false hope. When Bridget called Adam tonight, he’d get an earful.

  “Easy, kwe,” Adam said under his breath.

  “Don’t call me that anymore.” Bridget also kept her furious voice low. “We’re going to talk when you return from your meeting.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You did, too.”

  “No, I didn’t. I was only trying to—”

  “You’re forgetting I’m his foster mother. You asked me to care for him after you screwed up and went to prison, which I’m trying to do, if you’d let me.”

  “What the... “ Adam grunted. “I’m his father. I’m trying to get my kid back.”

  She glared straight ahead. Everything always had to be about Adam. Nothing had changed.

  “Oh man.” He almost crushed his cowboy hat in his big hand. “What’d I do now?”

  “I said we’ll talk later.” End of conversation.

  * * * *

  Going to a meeting had been the smart thing to do. Whatever Bridget was pissed about, she’d give Adam a list of complaints in a matter of seconds. He should be able to keep his temper in check.

  He sat in the lounge at the halfway house, waiting for the phone to ring. At least everyone was in their rooms. They didn’t need to hear him and his ex-fiancée tossing angry words back and forth. Hell, there was always some poor sucker holding the phone to his ear, looking like he ate a mouthful of dirt while his wife, girlfriend, ex-wife, or ex-something blasted him over the wire.

  Too bad none of them could afford cell phones. At least they’d have some privacy by retreating to their rooms while getting bitched out. But guys fresh from the iron houses or rehab didn’t have a dime to fork over. Cell service in the Canadian Shield wasn’t cheap.

  Maybe Adam could afford one now that he was working. Bad idea. Every dollar must go to his new digs, such as first and last months’ rent, damage deposit, groceries since he’d have to buy the essentials of salt, pepper, ketchup, and whatnot.

  The phone rang. He picked up. “Joseph Howarth Society.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize you were allowed to answer.” Bridget’s voice was naturally tight, as Adam had expected.

  “Whoever’s around answers. Was waiting for you.”

  “I’ll get to the point. You gave Kyle a false impression when you said you’d come over for dinner the next time. There was no first time. And there’ll be no next time. Your supervised visits are happening for a reason.”

  The grit in her voice raked Adam’s skin. “Listen to me, kwe. He asked if I’d come for dinner. What was I supposed to say to my own son? Yeah, my son. My flesh and blood. Tell him never?”

  “Your son, who you abandoned and neglected, when you didn’t think of him—”

  “I did my time. I paid my debt. How long you gonna hold this over my head?” This woman’s mouth never stopped running. Adam stood, fisting and un-fisting his free hand.

  “And what happens the next time you get drunk and beat someone? Now that you know I won’t let you drag Kyle into your drunkenness, will you sneak him out of the city and leave him at one of your sisters’ places? You told me yourself the messes they made of their lives.”

  Oh man, Bridget sure knew how to deal low blows. And she’d never forgive him, much less forget the biggest mistake of his life. Anger management. Adam couldn’t say things he’d regret. The twelve steps. He was responsible for his reaction to her actions.

  “Yeah, my family’s fucked up. I hear it from you all the time. Yours ain’t so perfect, either.”

  “No, my family’s not, but we’d never do what you did. Have I gone out drinking while watching your son? Have I gone into a bar and beat on a man?”

  “You don’t know all the details. He deserved it.” Adam squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t supposed to blame others for his behavior.

  Bridget gasped.

  “Never mind. I shouldn’t have said that.” Adam flopped in the chair. “Man, you really know what buttons to push. I did my time. I paid for my crime. All I want is a second chance to raise my son.”

  “Jude’s right.” The anger left her voice, and Bridget’s tone dropped a few decibels.

  “What’s that?”

  “He said you’d benefit from Healing the Spirit.”

  “Healing the what?” Cripes, this woman could switch gears. Now what was going through her brain?

  “Healing the Spirit. It’s a workshop my parents are hosting at the reserve. It’s been in development for a few months now. It’s for survivors of the Indian Residential Schools and their children and grandchildren.”

  Adam rubbed his chin. They’d spoken about the Indian Residential Schools many times during the healing workshops for aboriginal men in the iron house. His grandparents had been forced to go to those schools. The same for his parents. During sharing circles, older inmates had spoken about the horrors they’d endured at the schools.

  “It’s legit?”

  “Yes. Healing the Spirit was developed by a chief, an apostolic sister, and a bishop to address the legacy the schools left on First Nations people and Christian communities. My parents hosted the first workshop about five years ago. It was a huge success, so successful, the people asked for another one.”

  “When is it?”

  “After the Labor Day weekend. I’ll be gone a full week. A day to set up and a day to clean up.”

  “You’re... you’re... you’re... going?” Adam did his best not to sputter.

  “Of course. I volunteered for the last one. Cooking. Cleaning. Wherever they need me.”

  “What about Kyle?” She couldn’t leave Adam for a week.

  “I already ma
de arrangements. Jude’s watching him.”

  “Jude’s not going?”

  “No. School’ll have started. He’ll be at work, and Kyle will be in class.”

  Adam clenched his teeth. “I’m his father. You could’ve told me.”

  “Why? Jude’ll take Kyle to his Wednesday afternoon visit.”

  “Classes are starting at the university. Won’t the center need you? You’re the executive director.” Somehow, he must convince Bridget to stay.

  “I already cleared my holidays with the board of directors. I have a great staff. They’ll be fine.”

  Was this Bridget’s sly way to convince Adam to attend Healing the Spirit? If so, she’d done a good job. His parole officer would approve. The ornery cuss was supposed to help Adam rehabilitate. “Fine. I’ll talk to my PO. He’ll talk to my supervisor. If they approve, I’ll go.”

  Bridget’s sharp intake of breath almost deafened Adam. “What’re you talking about?”

  “I’m gonna attend that healing workshop. Shit, I might as well. I’ve attended every other healing workshop the prison offered.”

  “I wasn’t inviting—”

  “You recommended it. Not me.” The woman could take some damned responsibility for once, instead of blaming him for everything. “I’ll talk to you later. I’m over my limit on the phone.”

  A lie, but big deal. Adam had to hang up before he lost his temper. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He set down the receiver.

  Chapter Eleven: I’m Your Man

  Bridget paced the living room. The clock read nine-thirty, which meant eight-thirty in Ottertail Lake. Mom and Dad would freak when they saw Adam’s name on the workshop participant list. She snatched the cordless phone and speed-dialed Emery’s number.

  “Hello.”

  Thank goodness he’d answered. “It’s me.”

  “How’re you doing?”

  Instead of giving Jude’s what’s up Bridget received whenever she called him, Emery, of course, took the time to ask, so Bridget might as well blurt it out. “Adam’s coming to Healing the Spirit. I know you and Darryl offered to billet participants.”