This Much is True - Tia Louise Page 0,56

incorporate my recommendations regarding location, and send me your proposal when you’re ready. I’ll share it with my business partner, Remington Key, and he and I will discuss it. We usually trust each other’s instincts.”

My heart is beating so hard now. He’s talking about my restaurant like it could actually happen. This man could make it happen. I think about my song. I believe in angels.

Picking up the small bottle of body spray, I decide it must be lucky.

Slipping it in my pocket, I pause at the door. “Why are you doing this? You don’t even know me.”

“I can tell good people when I meet them.” His brow furrows like he’s sorting a riddle. “We’ll get through this time, but we can’t lose faith in each other.”

“I wasn’t sure people still had faith.”

“Of course, they do.” Placing his hand on my upper arm, he gives it a squeeze. “I think you’ve got what it takes, Hope Hill. Don’t let me down.”

My brow furrows, and I smile carefully. “I don’t want to let you down.”

That makes him smile, and pride warms my chest.

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

Jr

“Piss test.” A young woman in a navy uniform and black mask with a name tag reading Blank claps a plastic cup in front of me. She has short brown hair and brown eyes, which never meet mine. “Place it in the window. Come back here when you’re done.”

Taking the small cup, I go to the bathroom and fill it, following her instructions. It has a label bearing my name on it and a lid. Washing my hands, I swallow the fresh anger at being in this system—peeing in a cup, being forced to ask permission to go home to visit my son.

I sit in the metal chair across from Deputy Blank and study her thin face, thin wire-framed glasses. Her uniform seems designed to make her appear bulkier. A pistol is on her hip, and she looks like she just graduated from high school.

“Have you applied for work or secured full-time employment?” She reads the sheet on the clipboard like a drill sergeant.

“No.” My eyes are focused on her hands, bare, short fingernails.

She hesitates a moment. “Did you try?”

Blinking up at her, I sit straighter. “There aren’t a lot of options right now.”

Also, I’m a felon.

Her jaw moves as she chews her gum. “I’ll give you that.” Her eyes return to the clipboard briefly. “Dunne.”

I shift in my chair. “I was wondering, Deputy Blank, I have a son in South Carolina. What do I need to do to be able to see him?”

She blinks up at me, and my request seems to piss her off. “You might have thought of him before you started dealing drugs.”

Tightening my lips, I swallow the burn. “I don’t deal drugs. I was set up.”

Her eyebrows quirk as she returns to the list. “Not what the judge said.”

“Maybe not, but it’s the truth.”

“Sure it is.” She’s not interested in my story, so I don’t press it.

“Anyway, what do I need to do to be able to see him again? I’d really like to get permission to relocate, or—”

“Relocate?” The corners of her eyes crinkle, but it’s more of a wince than a smile. “What do you think this is? Summer camp? You don’t go home. Your butt’s staying right here in San Francisco where it belongs.” She mutters under her breath. “It belongs in jail, but that’s not up to me.”

My throat is tight. I want to argue. I want to snap back I didn’t fucking do it.

I don’t.

I swallow those feelings and force a smile. “I’m sorry. I just miss my son.”

“How about you answer my questions, and we’ll take it one week at a time.”

One week at a time.

I promised Jesse I’d be home soon.

I said soon.

Walking from the precinct to the studio apartment I’m renting on Divisadero Street, I think I should have punched my dad when I had the chance. I called one of those rocket lawyers, and she said the only way to get a conviction overturned or “set aside,” is to find new evidence—DNA or some kind of written or verbal confession.

I almost laughed in her ear. Then I almost threw the phone across the room. How the fuck am I supposed to get something like that? For all I know Clyde Shaw is long gone by now.

For all I know…

Standing in the street, looking up at the ancient, second-floor apartment, I decide I’ve got nothing to lose and nothing but