Chapter 3

That evening I passed a small restaurant with a sign taped to the door saying they were hiring a server.

The owner asked, "Can you handle long shifts?"

I nodded. "I can."

She gave me a form, my pen stopped at the line about a criminal record, and she saw it, and her smile went away. "You've done time?"

I said, "Yes."

"For what?"

"A traffic accident."

She pulled the form back. "Never mind, then. We're a small place. We can't take the risk."

It started raining as I walked out, and the rain was light and fine, more like a net dropping over everything.

My phone rang with a number I didn't know.

"Ms. Shaw, your electric bike on Maple Avenue is blocking traffic and has been towed. Come deal with it."

When I got to the impound lot, the staff told me I could have the bike back once I paid the fine and the towing fee.

The total was nine dollars more than my account balance.

I stood at the window with no idea what to do, rain running off my hair into my collar.

The clerk slid the window half shut. "Come back tomorrow."

I begged, "My delivery box is in the bike. I need it for orders tomorrow."

"Nothing I can do."

I crouched down outside the impound lot, and my phone screen was wet and wouldn't respond no matter where I tapped.

I thought about the look in Charles' eyes that day, about the cake Vanessa had handed me, and about the loose, easy laughter in that private room.

They never had to do anything themselves. One word, one look, one small arrangement made in passing was enough to leave me nowhere to go.

It turned out that living after prison was harder than prison itself.

I called everyone in my contacts who might lend me money, and there weren't many.

My college classmates still called me Emily when they picked up, and their voices changed as soon as I mentioned money.

She said, "It's not that I don't want to help. Things are tight for me right now too.

"You're out already? I thought you had longer to go.

"Why not ask Charles? He's got plenty.

"Sorry to bother you." Then I hung up.

In the end it was Ben Holland, who ran the shoe repair stand downstairs, who lent me ten dollars. He didn't ask why, and he only pushed the money into my hand.

He said, "Take it. Pay me back whenever."

I muttered, "Thank you."

"Don't keep thanking me. It makes you sound pitiful."

I gave a helpless smile.

After I got the bike back I ran deliveries all day, and at ten that night, I picked up a pharmacy order.

It was an old building, sixth floor, no elevator, and by the time I reached the door my chest was tight and my vision was going dark.

The man who opened it looked at me and frowned. "What took you so long?"

I handed him the medicine. "Sorry, traffic was bad."

The door slammed shut, and I braced myself against the wall for a long while before I could make it down the stairs.

The rain came back as I pushed the dead bike home, and a black sedan was parked at the mouth of the alley.

The headlights came on and lit up the fine threads of rain, and Charles came around the car with an umbrella.

His suit was perfect and his shoes were clean without a speck of mud on them. He walked up to me, and his eyes went over my delivery jacket and my fingers, white with cold.

Charles asked, "Still making trouble?"

I smiled, "Mr. Rivers, I'm staying alive. That isn't trouble."

He held out a business card. "Call this man. Start work tomorrow."

I didn't take it, and his hand stayed in the air for a long moment.

He said, "Emily, don't make this uglier than it has to be."

I looked at the card, then asked, "Were those complaints your doing?"

Charles didn't deny it, and the rain got louder all at once.

I gripped the handlebars until the brake lever dug into my palm. "And the tow fee?"

He still didn't say anything.

I tried to go around him, and he put out an arm to stop me.

He said, "Emily, I'm giving you a way out."

"I don't need one."

"You do."

He looked down at me and passed judgment in a level voice.

Charles continued, "No family, no friends, no job. With that record, nobody will hire you to carry plates. What are you going to live on?"

I looked up at him and let the rain hit me. "Charles, you said you'd be grateful to me for the rest of your life."

Something in his eyes caught for a second.

I continued, "You also said we'd be square once I took the fall for Vanessa."

He frowned. "So this is you settling the score?"

"I'm not settling anything. I'm reminding you that this isn't what gratitude looks like, and this isn't what square looks like."

He laughed, short and low. "Emily, did you really think you could get clear of me?"

He stepped closer and dropped the umbrella low enough to block the streetlight, and everything in front of me went dark. "You still haven't finished paying Vanessa back."

"What exactly do I owe her?"

"You know perfectly well."

The whole thing was a joke.

I said, "If I knew, I wouldn't still be asking."

He stared at me.

I added, "Charles, I don't have a driver's license."

His eyes narrowed.

I said, "The crime you had me confess to was a hit-and-run."

Rain ran down my lashes and I couldn't make him out anymore. All I could hear was my own voice going hoarse under the rain.

"A woman with no license somehow left driving records in Vanessa's car. A woman three months pregnant drove off alone in the middle of the night. When you made me sign, did none of you notice that none of it added up?"

Charles' grip on the umbrella tightened.

I held his eyes and asked it one word at a time. "Or did all of you know it didn't add up, and you only needed somebody to go to prison?"