My knee jiggled nervously, the ball of my foot bouncing up and down on the floor as I waited, and waited… I'd been waiting for the past hour and a half. I'd never bailed anyone out of jail before, let alone my father. I had no idea what it entailed. I figured once I had the money in hand, I'd go to the police department, hand over his bail amount, and within minutes he would be out, hugging me gratefully, smiling, ready to go home. No, nothing was that simple. First I had to go to a bail bondsman.

Even before that, I learned from Wyatt that he'd set up a separate account for me. At first, I protested, wanting the money to go into my parents' bank account. He looked at me as if I was nuts, then asked a question that I should've already thought of.

"And how would you explain how that money mysteriously appeared in your parents' account? Wouldn't they call the bank to find out why it was there? Who deposited it? That would provoke a myriad of questions that I would think you don't want to answer, don't you think?"

I hadn't thought about all that. I wasn't naïve. I considered myself relatively street smart, but I have to admit, when it comes to finances, I'm a bit slow on the learning curve. Of course, he'd set up a new bank account for me in a bank not associated with that of my parents or any of his accounts. So, it wasn't at his bank either. That would also pose too many questions. I figured that one out all by myself. It was a local branch, one that he told me I would have no trouble accessing, located between my house and my workplace. How he knew all that I wasn't about to ask. I suppose he'd done his research on me, just as I'd done my research on him. To find out if he could trust me? To verify that I was who I said I was? At this point, I didn't much care.

I felt really stupid when he told me that a bail bondsman would expect a debit or credit card payment, not a check that might bounce, and certainly not cash. The ones he dealt with did not like cash. I only had a chance to vaguely wonder how he knew that when he handed me a debit card from 'my new bank'. I glanced at the teal blue card with the logo of a bank I'd seen advertised on TV a couple of times, my name stamped neatly at the bottom. Riley Hunt. My heart skipped a beat. It was real. This was all real, not a figment of my imagination, not a bad dream, not even a not-so-funny fantasy. I felt even more embarrassed when he handed me a slip of paper with the name of several bail bondsmen and their phone numbers.

"Take your pick, but the guy on the top is closest to the jail, so it might be more convenient to choose him."

I stared at the paper, shame and embarrassment flushing my cheeks warm when he placed both hands facedown on the table, making sure I had his attention, and looked at me.

"You take care of your father, get him home, and then we'll think about the next step. I'll contact you in a couple more days, okay?"

Dumbly, I nodded, afraid to speak lest I start crying. This is what I wanted, wasn't it? A way to help my family? Then why did I feel so bad? Why did I feel so… so dirty?

As he rose from the table and left, I watched him until he made his way out of the diner, his broad shoulders, that narrow waist, the confidence with which he walked. Then he was out the door, turned around the corner and was gone. I couldn't even begin to describe my feelings because there are so many of them - ranging from regret to an odd sense of excitement. Well, life was an adventure, wasn't it? I had a fifty-fifty chance of coming out of this intact. The same? Not at all. I had no doubt at all that this little adventure of mine, this daring and perhaps foolhardy adventure, was going to cost me, and from this day forward, I wouldn't be the same Riley Hunt that I had been before I stepped into this diner.

After Wyatt left, I left the diner as well, on the way to a quiet corner of the parking lot, where I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed the number first on the list of bail bondsmen. To my surprise, the male voice that answered sounded relatively young and even more surprising, polite. In halting words, embarrassment once again surging inside me, I explained what I needed. He put me on hold while he checked a few things, and then told me that my dad was being held on a five-thousand-dollar bail. I nearly had a heart attack, must've made a noise or a squeak or something, because the bail bondsman quickly assured me that I didn't have to put down that amount, but ten percent of it. Five hundred dollars. Even though it was a paltry amount considering our debts and the amount we were behind on mortgage payments, it was still a lot of money. I considered myself lucky if I could make five hundred dollars a month working my ass off at the diner, but it was typically less than that especially if I had to work the breakfast shift. Most of my customers left ten percent tips, and breakfast was one of the cheapest meals of the day.

At any rate, the bail bondsman told me exactly what I had to do, where he was located, and that he would have the paperwork ready for me to sign when I got to his office. After I signed the papers and paid him, he would take me, or I could meet him at the jail, where he would take care of the details, and all I had to do was wait in my car or in the jail lobby for my dad to appear.

So, on the way home I stopped by my new bank branch. Wyatt told me that the advance had already been deposited and the funds cleared. He cautioned me about taking more than I needed for any specific task, even went so far as to suggest that I bail my father out of jail first, then worry about my mom's overdue medical bills. I wasn't sure why he was giving me advice, but at this point, I suppose I was glad to have it. My head felt like it was going to explode. Stress, apprehension, regret… all of the above. Interestingly, he hadn't mentioned a meeting place where we would have sex. I didn't ask him either. While he certainly wasn't hard to look at, I wasn't the type of woman who fell into bed with any guy who winked at me, or whistled, or made suggestive, lewd comments. Or one who had promised to relieve the financial strain burdening my family. So, I guess you could say I appreciated that. The delay. It made me feel less like a… I didn't even want to say the word.

The bail bondsman was a nice guy, maybe in his early to mid-thirties, looking more like a California surfer dude than someone who constantly dealt with the dregs of society. I shouldn't think of it like that, because I didn't feel like my dad was the dregs of society. I still wasn't even sure what he was accused of. Embezzlement? Fraud? We hadn't even had time to ask any questions before the police had knocked on our door a week ago, shoved a search warrant in my hands, and then came into our home. Everything had passed in a blur, my mom and I shocked, my hands firmly on her shoulders as I stood behind her wheelchair in the corner of our small living room, watching a couple of detectives and a police officer rummaging through the house, peeking in the closets, looking under the mattresses, even in my room. I had felt so violated, so hopeless. I couldn't imagine that what my father was accused of was true. Not my dad. And then, for just a moment or two, I thought, if it was true, I was very angry with him; angry that he would put us through this, especially considering my mom's mental stress, my exhaustion from working so hard to try and get things taken care of…

They had walked out of the house with a couple of paper bags that crinkled loudly, not holding anything heavy. I had seen one of the detectives slip several pieces of paper into a plastic evidence bag and put that into a larger paper evidence bag that looked like a grocery bag. They had asked my mom where we kept the budget book and checkbooks, and she had pointed them into the small alcove beside the kitchen, telling them that that stuff was in the small desk there, but that we did most of our bill paying online. They ended up taking the old desktop computer. They didn't take my laptop but left it in my room.

My mom had remained surprisingly quiet throughout the search. Even though my mom was in a wheelchair now, she was no pushover. When she didn't like something, she let you know. And did she know something? Did she have any suspicions about my dad? Could it be true? We hadn't really had a chance to talk about it since then. I'd spent every day working double shifts, so by the time I got home, my mom was already in bed. I checked up on her several times during the day on my phone, and though she was more subdued than usual, she assured me that she could take care of herself for the time being.

I was looking forward to seeing my dad, but I also had a lot of questions for him. What if—

I heard the sound of a metal door opening, beyond the door that stood in the lobby, closing off the inner workings of the jail. I quickly glanced toward the door, waiting for it to open, hoping that my dad would be coming through the door soon. My heart began to pound, my palms grew clammy again, and then the door swung open. A police officer emerged first, and the relief I felt at seeing my father approaching behind him prompted a tremulous smile.

"Dad!"

The police officer stepped aside as my dad took me in his arms, and in that moment, for the time being, everything was right with the world. He wore his work clothes, and though they smelled slightly musty, as if they had been stored in a plastic bag or something, I relished every scent. They smelled like his workplace, and his aftershave. Warm tears filled my eyes as I placed my forehead against his neck, trying to hold back my tears. He patted my back, soothing me as if I were a small child.

"It's going to be all right, Riley. It's going to be all right."

Leave it to my dad, always trying to provide comfort, even when he was in trouble like this. He was the one that tried to make everyone feel better. He released me, then, hands on my shoulders, looked me in the eyes as I wiped my cheeks of tears.

"Riley, where did you get the money for the bail? Where did you get five hundred dollars?"

My heart skipped a beat. He knew that I didn't have a savings account, and neither did he and mom. For the past month or so, every dime we had had gone to food, paying the utilities, and that was about it. I stammered, then closed my mouth.

I saw the serious look pass over his face. I remembered that look when I was a little girl and I had done something wrong. That I-love-you-but-I-need-you-to-tell-me-the-truth look. I gave a slight shrug and replied with the truth – or some of it.

"I managed to negotiate a loan with the bank."

His frown deepened. "You got the bank to give you a loan to bail me out of jail?”

I nodded. "I didn't tell them that was what the loan was for. I just told them that mom needed her medications, that after we got caught up on her medical bills, then our money could go directly toward repaying the back payments, and the loan—“

"What are the terms on the loan? When does that have to be paid back?"

I didn't like the direction of his questions. "Dad, let's just go home, okay? We can talk then, all right?"

He nodded, then hugged me, took the manila envelope that the police officer extended toward him, and we walked out the door, his arm around my shoulders, my arm around his waist. I knew he wasn't going to let this go. I knew I could expect more questions when we got home, but the most important thing, the first order of business so to speak, was to get him out of this jail and back home where he belonged.

I knew I had a lot of questions to answer, and my mom would be as shocked as my dad. So, between leaving the jailhouse and arriving at mine, I had to come up with some pretty good answers.

Whether I would be able to, I just had to wait and see.