[30]

ONE WEEK LATER

Steven pulled in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and decided he really could do this. Maybe.

Haley placed a hand on his arm. “You can do this.”

“Right.”

“I think you have to.”

“I know.”

Yes, he had to. Walter Phillips had killed his brother and Steven was going to forgive him if it killed him. Not today, though. Today was just a start.

According to Haley anyway. All Steven could bring himself to do was to reserve judgment.

He walked into the prison and followed the protocol that would allow him to face his demons. Personal effects, weapon, et cetera. Haley stayed at his side in silent support.

Together they followed the guard back into one of the private rooms where lawyers often visited their clients or detectives cajoled a confession.

Steven stopped at the door and looked through the window. The prisoner was already there, dressed in the standard orange jumpsuit and seated at the table. Steven paused and simply studied the man for a moment. Thirty-one years old. Twelve years of his life spent behind bars.

And he didn’t look like the monster Steven had been expecting. He was thin, but muscled as though he spent a great deal of time in the yard or the gym. His teenage face had morphed into a square jaw that sported a five-o’clock shadow. He was a good-looking man with blue eyes and blond hair. But prison had obviously hardened him. His jaw looked permanently tight and he had a scar that ran from the corner of his right eye to the base of his right ear.

The guard opened the door and Steven stepped inside.

Haley paused. “I can wait out here.”

“No.” He grabbed her hand. “Please.”

“Okay.” She followed him in and his pulse slowed a fraction. Now he understood what she’d been feeling the day she’d met her grandfather. Maybe. Her grandfather had never killed anyone.

Steven let go of her hand and slipped into the chair opposite the man who’d changed his whole life. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He held Steven’s gaze, but Steven saw his Adam’s apple bounce. “They said you wanted to meet with me.”

“Yes. Uh . . . thanks for agreeing to.” He wouldn’t hate him. He wouldn’t. He wasn’t going to love him either, though. At least not right now. “You’re up for parole again.”

“Yes.” He folded his hands on the table and Steven noted the bitten nails and scars on the knuckles. But no tattoos that he could see. “And you’re going to fight it, aren’t you?” The man’s resignation resonated.

“Yes. Or I was.”

Walter’s back snapped straight. “Was?”

Steven rubbed his eyes. This was even harder than he’d thought. “Tell me why I shouldn’t protest it—and don’t give me the speech you’re working on for the parole board.”

Walter sat still and stared at the table. “I was stupid. I was nineteen but oh so stupid.”

“Agreed.”

Walter flinched, but didn’t stop. “I’d been to a party that night, of course. I was pretty much partying every night. Harder and harder than the one before. It occurred to me that I might kill myself—and I was okay with that for various reasons. It never really crossed my mind that I might kill someone else.”

Steven stayed silent, his heart pounding, blood rushing. He wanted to shut the man up and encourage him to keep going at the same time.

Walter drew in a breath and looked at the door as though he’d like to bolt through it. He cleared his throat. “I’ve been seeing a therapist, and I’ve learned a lot about myself over the past ten years. I’ve found God. But everyone in here finds him when it’s time for the parole board to meet, so I won’t go there.”

Steven was surprised at the statement. “Yes, they seem to, don’t they? How did you find him?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

“Your mother forgave me.” Tears surfaced and he blinked. “The mother of the child that I killed forgave me,” he whispered. “That was the only thing that could have convinced me that God could forgive me too.”

Steven sat stunned. Speechless. Grieving. And, if Steven could believe Walter, in awe of his mother. He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. “That’s a pretty speech.”

“I’ll stay in here if it makes you feel better. I deserve it. No one knows that better than I do. I can never undo what I did no matter how much I want to. What I did was unforgivable in a lot of people’s eyes.”

“I know.” Steven locked eyes on him. “So how do I know you won’t do it again?”

Walter didn’t answer for a moment. “I don’t know. I can tell you I won’t, of course. I know that I won’t take another drink as long as I live, but”—he shrugged—“I don’t know what to say to make you believe it.”

“I’m glad you realize there aren’t words.”

Walter looked down at the table. “Thank you for meeting with me today.”

“You’re welcome.” He paused. “Why did my mother start coming to see you?”

Walter took a deep breath. “I asked her that the other day. I tried to kill myself a couple of years ago and wound up in the hospital.”

“And my mother was the volunteer that came to your room.”

“Yes.”

“She did that before my dad got sick. Visited people in the hospital, prayed for them if they wanted it, took them magazines.”

“She knew who I was the minute she saw my name on the door, but she came in anyway.”

Steven nodded. “Yes, she would do that.”

“Look—” Walter spread his hands—“I know I don’t deserve anything but what I’ve got. I’m not trying to convince anyone that I deserve to be out of here. But I want out. I want a chance to prove myself and make a difference in the lives of other people. Kids who are living like I used to. Kids that haven’t killed anyone yet, but might in the future.” He rubbed a shaky hand down his cheek, then shook his head. “I truly don’t know that any of that will happen. I just want the chance to try.”

Steven stood. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Sure.”

Steven walked to the door and the guard opened it. He turned back to look at Walter one more time. He simply sat there, his eyes sad. Resigned. Then he slowly stood as well. Steven motioned for Haley to exit first. She did and he followed her.

She slipped her hand into his and he squeezed. She squeezed back. And Steven thought he might be all right.

And so would Walter Phillips.