“I was defending the other survivors, more than myself.”
She looked over the rims of her glasses at him. “I see,” she said, opening another file. “I’ve got letters here from Penelope Sandoval, Mayor Jorge Sandoval, Sam Rutherford, Donald Creswell, Cadence Creswell, former fellow inmate Owen Jackson and San Diego paramedic Lauren Boyer. They all have amazing stories.”
Garrett shifted in his seat, concerned that they’d overdone it.
“Your parents, Gary and Janine, have also written on your behalf.”
“Really?”
“They feel that you were suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder after your return from Iraq. Staff Sergeant David Castillo calls you ‘an honorable Marine who made a mistake.’ He mentions the possibility of PTSD, as well.”
Garrett couldn’t challenge those accounts, so he remained silent.
“Your medical records indicate that the prison psychologist gave you the same diagnosis. Is there a reason you didn’t appeal your conviction or sentencing?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“I agreed with the judge’s ruling.”
“How so?”
“My mental state wasn’t so deteriorated that I didn’t understand right from wrong. I knew what I was doing. I killed someone. The maximum sentence seemed fair. I had no interest in changing my plea or appealing the decision.”
“And now?”
Garrett struggled for an honest, diplomatic answer. How could he claim the sentence was no longer appropriate? “I’m not a threat to society anymore. That’s something I couldn’t say at my initial sentencing. But I still don’t think the punishment is too steep. I took an innocent life. No amount of reform or good behavior will ever make it right.”
After a brief pause, the deputy commissioner referred to a list of topics to address over the course of the hearing. For the next two hours, they discussed every piece of character evidence brought before the board. The questions were endless. Garrett didn’t know how to answer half of them. His actions in the cavern had been instinctive, not thoughtfully considered. He’d done what he needed to do to survive.
The most invasive questions revolved around his sexual relationship with Lauren. He had no excuse for touching her.
“Ms. Boyer claims the contact was consensual.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable.
“Do you agree?”
“I didn’t tell her I was an inmate. My dishonesty was a form of...coercion. In my opinion.”
The board members sifted through his intimate, personal information as if it were accounting records. Garrett endured the indignity, praying for the hearing to be over. They weren’t going to grant him parole.
At last, they finished picking through the bones. “We have two guest speakers on the behalf of victim Jonathan Hough.”
Garrett’s shoulders stiffened with unease as Mr. and Mrs. Hough were led into the room. They took a seat at an empty table to his left.
The Houghs were a wealthy couple from La Jolla, one of San Diego’s elite communities. Mrs. Hough was dressed in white slacks and a silk blouse. Mr. Hough looked like he’d just stepped off the golf course. Neither glanced Garrett’s way.
This wasn’t going to be good.
“Can you tell us about your son?” Deputy Commissioner Charles invited.
Mr. Hough spoke first. “Jon was an athlete. He played soccer, football, basketball. He loved sports, even as a toddler. His first word was—” He broke off abruptly. “Excuse me. His first word was ‘ball.’”
Garrett wanted to die. Fuck getting out early, or getting out ever. At that moment, he wanted to stand before a firing squad and end it all.
Mrs. Hough patted her husband’s shoulder. “We loved him very much,” she said. “He was so energetic and full of life. Sometimes it’s difficult to remember that he had...flaws. Because, in my heart, he was perfect.” She paused for a second, collecting her thoughts. “But I’m not here to talk about how wonderful he was, or how much I miss him. I’m here to say that he wasn’t perfect. He was troubled.”
Mr. Hough nodded his encouragement.
“Jon struggled with school and dropped out of college. He had a drug and alcohol problem. We were considering an intervention, but he was only twenty-four. We thought...we hoped he’d straighten out.”
She took a Kleenex out of her purse, dabbing her eyes with it. “We’re here because, after all this time, it finally occurred to us that Jon would have wanted us to let go. If it was my son, sitting over there,” she glanced at Garrett, “I’d pray that anyone on this side of the room could find a way to forgive.”
Garrett couldn’t hold his emotions at bay any longer. Tears burned his eyes, and he pressed his fingertips against the sockets, trying to stanch the flow.
“The situation could easily have been reversed,” Mrs. Hough continued. “Jon had two DUIs. He might have killed someone, driving drunk. I want to believe that he’d have turned his life around.” She cleared her throat. “I’d like to give another troubled young man the opportunity to turn his life around.”
Garrett broke down and wept. He couldn’t help it. He’d killed this woman’s son, and she’d done him an incredible kindness.
The deputy commissioner asked Mr. and Mrs. Hough if they were finished. When they said yes, she looked at Garrett. “Do you have a response?”
“Thank you,” Garrett managed, his voice choked. He wiped his face and looked both parents in the eye. “And...I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Mrs. Hough said they would be at peace with whatever decision the board made. The couple left the hearing, holding hands.
“Is there anything else you’d like to add?”
Garrett shook his head. He wasn’t capable of speech.
“You’re dismissed, Mr. Wright. You’ll get a notification of acceptance or rejection within fifteen days.”
A pounding of the gavel ended the hearing.
* * *
LAUREN COULDN’T WAIT to see Garrett.
His parents had emailed her last month with great news—he’d made parole. She’d cried when she read the message. On October tenth, exactly six months after the earthquake, he was being released from prison.
According to the conditions of his parole, he couldn’t go home to Nebraska. He was set to enter an RMSC in San Diego, the jurisdiction where he’d been arrested. The Residential Multi-Service Center was like a work-release program, or a halfway house. He’d have a curfew, a probation officer and a job on a construction crew.
San Diego’s housing industry was booming again. Businesses and residences were being rebuilt in leaps and bounds. Lauren had accepted a position as a recovery unit nurse at Scripps Hospital. There were thousands of local earthquake victims who needed ongoing critical care. She’d been working around the clock.
She hadn’t seen “the group” since the post-ceremony dinner. Sam had cornered the mayor and engaged in a heated discussion with him. Later, she’d learned of their visit to the correctional facility, which resulted in Owen’s transfer and Garrett’s special hearing. Lauren had thanked Sam for stepping in. She’d also encouraged the other survivors to write the parole board on his behalf, and contacted Garrett’s parents.
Mr. and Mrs. Wright were flying in from Nebraska to pick him up from Santee Lakes. They’d booked a hotel and arranged for a weekend visit. Garrett didn’t have to report to the RMSC until Monday.
A
lthough he’d returned all Lauren’s letters, she wrote him one more time to ask if she could be there on his release date.
His response: Yes.
She took extra care with her appearance that morning. Her hands trembled as she applied lip gloss, eye shadow and mascara. She looked pale, so she dusted her cheeks with blush. It was important that she make a good impression on Garrett’s parents. They were from the Midwest, and probably conservative. For Garrett’s sake, she didn’t want to wear anything too revealing. She chose a calf-length skirt and a tank top with a demure neckline.
Pulse racing, she drove to the prison and searched the parking lot for Gary’s rental car. She found a couple standing by a beige Taurus, looking as anxious as she felt. Smiling, she pulled into the space next to them.
Janine took a hesitant step forward as she approached. “Lauren?”
“Yes,” she said, greeting them both with a friendly handshake.
“You’re so pretty!”
“Thank you.”
They looked puzzled, as if they’d expected her to have warts. Gary was a big man, like Garrett, with a barreled chest and a balding head. Janine had short, faded brown hair and a kind, careworn face.
Lauren inquired about their flight and they chatted about the weather. It was a hot, glorious October day. Before they went inside, she pressed a palm to her stomach, hoping she wouldn’t throw up.
The release process took several hours. There were forms to sign and procedures to follow. Janine gave the clerk some new clothes for Garrett to wear. “I hope they fit,” she said. “He’s a size larger than when he left home.”
When he came through the electronic door, Lauren’s heart jumped into her throat. He looked fantastic. His eyes sought hers and held, but he greeted his parents first.
The Wrights didn’t strike her as demonstrative people. Garrett embraced his mother, telling her how great it was to see her. Then he released her and turned to his father. They exchanged an awkward man-hug.
Lauren stood back and watched, tears pricking her eyes. Maybe she shouldn’t have come. Her presence was interrupting their family reunion.
Garrett slapped his dad on the back a few times and let him go. Lauren wanted to leap at him but she forced her feet to stay put. He approached her with a tentative smile. Although she’d imagined this moment a thousand times, she had no idea how he’d react. Since his return to prison, he’d only communicated a single word to her.
Yes.
The instant he wrapped his arms around her, she knew everything was going to be okay. He lifted her up and held her tight, almost squeezing the air from her lungs. She laughed at his enthusiasm, pressing her nose to his neck. God, he smelled good. Like freshly ironed clothes and shaving soap.
When he put her down, she cupped her hands around his face and looked at him. He was so handsome it hurt.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said, giving her an equally appreciative study.
She realized that he’d only seen her dirty, sleep deprived and in bad lighting. “I’m wearing makeup.”
He broke the brief contact, in deference to his parents. They were staying at the Hotel Del Coronado, and had planned an afternoon picnic at the beach. Lauren drove her car to the hotel and joined them on the sand.
The Wrights had never been to California or seen the Pacific Ocean. Rather than asking Garrett about his prison time, or posing uncomfortable questions about the freeway collapse, they spoke of the scenery and local tourist attractions.
Lauren was too keyed up to eat much. Garrett finished his sandwich and hers.
After lunch, they took off their shoes and strolled along the shore. She tried to hang back and let Garrett visit with his parents, but they weren’t loquacious types. He ended up beside her, staring while she dipped her toes in the surf.
“My mother can’t believe how beautiful you are,” he said.
Ocean spray dampened the hem of her skirt, so she gathered it in one hand. “She’s just being nice.”
His gaze skimmed her bare legs. “I don’t think so.”
“I like her. I like them both.”
He dragged his attention out to the water. “I hope you know that you don’t owe me anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay with me.”
“I wish you’d accepted my letters,” she said, shaking her head. “If you’d read them, you wouldn’t say things like this.”
“I’ll read them now, if you’ll let me.”
She nodded her agreement and took his proffered hand, continuing their walk. They rejoined his parents and whiled away several more hours before heading back to the hotel. In a giant pink ballroom, there was a large, buffet-style dinner.
Hungrier now, Lauren filled her plate and took a seat next to Garrett. The table offered a spectacular view of the sunset.
Garrett seemed overwhelmed by the food choices, and distracted by the constant movement in the room. Two young women in skimpy dresses drifted by, catching his attention. In San Diego, undergarments were optional.
“Excuse me,” he said, rising to his feet.
She watched him from beneath lowered lashes as he crossed the room. His tall, well-muscled form caused quite a few heads to turn, including those of the braless young ladies. He skirted around them, approaching the dessert table.
Lauren turned her gaze to the sunset, afraid he’d catch her checking up on him. A moment later, he slid a slice of coconut cake in front of her.
“Your favorite, right?”
“Yes,” she said, touched by his thoughtfulness.
His mother beamed.
She picked up her fork and took a bite.
“How is it?” he asked.
“Yummy,” she said, licking frosting from her lips.
After dinner, his parents made their excuses and said good-night. She’d enjoyed meeting them but was eager to spend time alone with Garrett. No longer inhibited by their presence, he leaned back in his chair and stared at her openly.
“Do you want to go upstairs?” he asked.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Is your room next to your parents’?”
“It’s adjoining,” he said with a wince.
“Let’s go to my apartment.”
His eyes darkened at the bold suggestion, and she inhaled a sharp breath of anticipation. “Okay,” he said.
The drive from the hotel to her apartment took longer than usual. Most of the roadways had been repaired during the first few months after the quake, but the areas near the epicenter were still under construction.
“Have you been back to the interchange?” he asked.
“No, it’s blocked off. Both freeways were rerouted.”
He nodded, staring out the window. His behavior had been subdued, but she hadn’t expected him to be exuberant. It would take time for him to process his surroundings. He’d have to get used to freedom and traffic and...choices.
“We don’t have to do this, you know.”
She exited the freeway, giving him a quizzical glance. “What do you mean?”
“There’s no rush. We can go slow.”
“Are you trying to get out of having sex with me?”
“No,” he said, smiling. “I just don’t think I deserve you.”
She smiled back, determined to convince him otherwise.
When they arrived at her parking garage, she was filled wit
h nervous energy. She got out of the car and took his hand, leading him down the garden path toward her bungalow. It was a small apartment with a single bedroom. Balboa Park was less than a mile away.
“My humble abode,” she said, tossing her purse on the couch.
His eyes stayed glued on her. “It’s great.”
Laughing, she twined her arms around his neck. “Do you still want to go slow?”
He answered her with a kiss, pressing her back to the wall. Heat exploded between them. She’d spent the past six months dreaming about this moment, longing for his touch. He threaded his hands through her hair and groaned, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. His erection swelled against her belly, hard and hot.
She ended the kiss, panting. Pushing him backward, she yanked off her tank top and unhooked her bra. His throat worked in agitation as she reached beneath her skirt to remove her thong panties.
The sight seemed to break his lustful stupor. He tried to unbutton his shirt, but his hands were shaking. She did it for him, popping a few buttons in her haste. Then his hair-roughened chest met her bare breasts, and his mouth came down on hers, and nothing else mattered but this. His body, her body. His heart beating in time with hers.
He unbuttoned his fly, fumbling with a condom.
“Hurry,” she said, tugging up her skirt.
Making a strangled sound of urgency, he lifted her against the wall and filled her with one hot stroke. She gasped at the sensation, gripping his strong shoulders. Her body accepted him easily, despite his size. It was all she could do to hang on as he pounded into her, his buttocks flexing, pants around his ankles.
His lack of finesse thrilled her down to the soul. He was so wild for her, so hungry. When he let out a hoarse cry and stiffened against her, burying his face in her neck, she felt like the most desired woman on earth.
“So much for going slow,” he said, short of breath.
She smiled as he put her down, watching him walk away to dispose of the condom, hitching up his pants. When he returned, he drew her back into his arms and carried her to the couch as if she weighed nothing.
Aftershock Page 32
