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Stumbling through the door, I yell out for Charlotte and Amanda, the anxiety obvious in my voice. I hear them both in the kitchen, and I rush through the house towards their muffled conversation. As I approach, bits and pieces of the discussion are clearer, and I can feel the emotion radiating from the room.
“What happened? Is Mom okay?” I shout as I burst through the doorway. I’m met with grim expressions; Amanda’s reddened cheeks are smeared with black mascara, and Charlotte’s cool demeanor is one usually reserved for when she’s angry.
Amanda wipes away her tears and dabs her nose with a tissue, but even surrounded by the sniffles next to her, Charlotte’s strength doesn’t falter as she pats the chair next to her. “Mom is fine, but something has happened; please sit so I can explain.”
My stomach twists into knots, and I feel the dread of the atmosphere absorb into my pores. I slowly pull out the chair and sit down, my body rigid, preparing for the blow that is sure to come. I square my shoulders and face Charlotte, signaling my readiness for the impending bomb.
“Yesterday, Mom got a letter from the state parole board. It was notifying her that Raymond Michaels was being released,” she states calmly, as the finality of the situation is out of her control. Amanda sobs, unable to bear hearing the words again.
“What do you mean released?” I demand. “When was the review; why wasn’t I told? We have written letters to the board in the past; they can’t just let him go without letting us speak to the parole board.” My voice raises an octave with each word of my rant. I had a million possibilities of why Charlotte was here, but never did I think that Raymond Michaels’ release would have been the reason.
“There was a review and we were notified, and both Mom and I wrote letters,” she responds.
“What?” I say incredulously. “Why wouldn’t Mom include us? Dad’s death impacted all of us; it is not okay that you kept this from us.”
Charlotte exhales loudly, and Amanda swiftly dries her remaining tears; she is also insulted by our sister and mother’s secret.
“Guys, Mom thought that both of you had enough on your plate without worrying about this. Amanda, your job has you travelling all over the country and spread so thin. And Vivian, with you still healing from Will’s accident, you know that this was an added stress that you didn’t need.”
“I appreciate the concern, but our involvement was something that we should have been able to decide for ourselves,” Amanda snaps, the sarcasm dripping from each word.
“Look, I’m sorry that Mom didn’t want to tell you, but we thought it was for the best. It was very likely that he was going to be released and we didn’t want to worry you both until it was done.”
My mind quickly computes the math, and when I realize that he hasn’t even served the minimum of his 25 to life sentence, my blood rises and my face warms in rage. “What do you mean? It’s only been 23 years; how could he even be up for parole if he hadn’t served the minimum sentence? That doesn’t make sense.”
I begin taking out my aggression on the placemat in front of me, wringing the cloth between my white-knuckled grip. Amanda takes it from my hands and straightens the now-wrinkled placemat. “Easy there, tiger, these are my special harvest mats and Pottery Barn has discontinued them.”
I smile and exhale the breath I had been holding, thankful for her slightest comic relief from our tense situation. “I’m sorry; it’s all just a little overwhelming.” My eyes slide to Charlotte, who has cast her glance down. “So tell us the rest; we won’t interrupt, just explain. We want the whole story, everything, Char.”
“Okay,” she resigns. “When he was up for parole the last time, we knew that he had been making progress in prison. He hadn’t had any behavior issues, and he was about to finish his Bachelor’s degree. When he was transferred to a minimum security facility, and soon after became a leader in a mentor program for younger inmates, we both knew that his parole probably wouldn’t be denied again.” She looks back and forth between us, and we gesture her to continue.
“So when the state sent notification of the hearing, we sent the letters like we always did. But we knew that with the combination of his good behavior and the current overcrowding of the system, our efforts would prove futile, and he would be released early.”
Footsteps interrupt her explanation, and all three of us look to the entryway to see Brooks standing there, his arms folded across his chest, emphasizing a threatening and daunting stance. He has been upstairs long enough to know that he has more than likely gotten all of the kids to sleep. I wish he had stayed up there as well, though; I don’t want to scare him away with this conversation. The idea of my father’s killer back on the streets scared him away once before, I can’t risk that happening again.
“Where is he now?” he asks, his gruff voice causing me to slightly startle. I’ve never really seen Brooks angry, but his tone suggests that we should tread lightly. Once my nerves settle, I’m a little relieved to see him take such a huge interest in my safety.
“I’m sorry; who are you?” Charlotte asks, looking perturbed and her tone matching her attitude of disdain.
“Um, this is Brooks, my boyfriend.” Her head twists around to face me so quickly that I wouldn’t be surprised if she experiences symptoms of whiplash in the morning. Her look of utter disbelief matches her movement. She disapproves.
I give her my best please-be-nice glare, as I continue with introductions. “Brooks, this is my older sister, Charlotte.”
Charlotte purses her lips, but since she was raised to be polite in all situations, she turns and reaches out to take Brooks’ hand. “Good to meet you. I wish it could have been under better circumstances,” she says.
“Nice to meet you as well and I agree, the circumstances could be much better,” he reciprocates as he moves into the kitchen and shakes her hand. Instead of taking a seat at the table though, he continues to stand, his rigid demeanor unwavering. “Please continue. Where is he now? I want to make sure that he can never come in contact with Vivian.”
“He was released to a half-way house in Greeley, where he will be on a strict probation for the next eighteen months. Then if he hasn’t violated any of the stipulations of the probation, he will be officially released. He will still have to check in with his parole officer, and there will be rules surrounding that release over the next five years, but officially, he will be out and among us.”
“This is so surreal,” Amanda adds. “I could be walking down the street or standing in line for coffee and just bump into the man that killed our dad. It seems so twisted.”
“I know; I mean I don’t know what I would even say to him.” I look to Brooks, whose eyes are burning a hole in the floor. His hands are now at his sides, but are balled into fists. I push my chair back, the wooden legs scraping against the tile flooring, and walk across the kitchen until I find myself standing toe-to-toe with a conflicted Brooks. I lace my fingers with his, drawing his attention from the floor.
There is a fire behind his eyes, causing my worry to no longer lie with the villain of my childhood, but with the man I love, who seems to be plagued by his own demons. “Hey, you,” I whisper, rousing his eyes from their veil of fury. I stroke the backs of my fingers across his cheek, attempting to soothe his torment. “I’m okay, Brooks. We are going to be all right. He can’t come anywhere near us, and the likelihood of ru
Brooks shakes his head. “How can you say that? That man is a monster; he killed your father, and now he is out like it never happened. How can you forgive and forget?”