My time in front of the judge is about the only thing that's happening quickly tonight. The judge seems to be pushing through his pile of cases in record breaking speed.

"Who's next?" he asks his clerk.

My public defender is a young woman who seems to care quite deeply about women's rights, and seems utterly outraged by my arrest.

"This is ridiculous." She leans over and speaks quietly in my ear. "Do you want me to fight this or do you want to plead and pay the ticket."

"Will it be on my permanent record if I plead? I just want to get this over with."

She shuffles a couple of papers in her hand then speaks again.

"If you plead guilty, I could probably get it expunged. In fact, I know I can."

"Okay, then I'll take a plea."

"Are you sure? Because this arrest was a colossal waste of everyone's time and taxpayer's money."

I know. I know. I should probably fight this whole thing, but I just don't have the energy. I want to get out of here, climb into my bed, and forget this whole day ever happened.

"I'm sure. I'll take the plea."

I sign about a thousand pieces of paper including one to agree to the deal and one to get my belongings out of lock up. When I exit the building, tears of relief flood my eyes. It's been a long night and according to Glitter, I was lucky to get out of there when I did.

"Some squares have to stay locked up all weekend, because they don't have any prints in Harrisburg. Takes them longer to process."

None of the arresting officers gave me a second to turn off my phone when it was confiscated, so now it's dead. There's no way for me to call my father to see if he made it back to Philly yet. I just hope and pray that he's made it here already. I won't be able to drive my own car.

The court was on the second floor, so as I make my way down to the main floor, I barely place my foot down on the third step when I hear my father's weakened voice.

"Baby girl."

"Dad!"

I run into his arms like I did when he picked me up from overnight Girl Scout camp the first and last year I ever attended. He holds me tight then grabs me at the shoulders and moves me back so he can look at me.

"You okay?"

"Yes, just tired."

"They let you off?"

"I had a public defender, and I plead guilty to the charge."

He makes a face. I can tell he's disappointed in my decision. My father is a big believer in fighting for what's right, so he probably wanted me to challenge the charges.

"I'm sorry, Dad, but a hot shower and a half decent toilet were calling me. I didn't realize how dependent I am on the creature comforts of life. Like privacy and running water and not having to eat bologna sandwiches."

I kiss his cheek.

"You ate a bologna sandwich?" He chuckles.

"Absolutely not. Luckily for me I just had dinner out before my arrest. So, I skipped the sandwich."

"Whores and bologna." He shakes his head in disgust. "Jail is no place for you, baby girl. You're my little princess. This is definitely not a place that I ever thought you'd see the inside of."

"I wasn't in Alcatraz. It was literally just four hours of my life spent with some prostitutes and drug addicts. Relax." I smile. Trying to put him at ease even though it was actually the scariest four hours I think I've ever spent. Not because of the women I was in there with (because a few of them weren't that bad), but simply because I didn't like the feeling of being powerless and waiting for the unknown.

"Joanne is probably turning over in her grave."

"You cremated Mom," I deadpan.

"You know what I mean."

My dad tries to hold back a couple more deep coughs, but I can hear the mucus rumbling around in his chest and his skin looks sallow.

"You don't look so good. Let's get you home."

"Yeah, I'm a little tired. I parked over there, hun. Maybe you should drive."

Now I know he's sick. He never lets me drive the Chevy.

"Where's your car by the way?" he asks.

"They put it in some police impound lot that's five miles away. It's closed now, so I'll have to come back and get it tomorrow."

"What a pain in the ass. Do you have to work tomorrow?"

"Nope."

"Good. So, once you pick it up tomorrow, bring it by the shop. I can get one of the techs to fix the light. In fact, I'm going to have them give that car a thorough work up. Not sure how I missed your taillight being out."

I interlock my arm with my father's as we walk side by side to the truck.

"You're not responsible for everything, Dad. You're my superman, but you're not the superman."

"When did you find me out?" he jokes.

"So, where's this infamous son of Jack at? Why didn't he come with you?"

He smiles. "I dropped him off at the mall on my way here. The boy needed some toiletries, fresh underwear, and things like that. Had to twist his arm though. He doesn't like to accept help. I can tell it's going to take him some time getting used to kindness. Probably hasn't seen that in a very long time."

Probably not, I think. Even I have to admit that if I had to endure five years of what I just did for four hours, I would be crawling up the freakin' walls.

"Do you think he's dangerous?"

"Anyone has the capability of violence, baby girl."

"I'm not talking in abstracts. I'm asking you if he did time in prison for more than drugs. Five years is a long time for just possession."

"What do you know about any of that?" he asks somewhat visibly shaken. Sometimes he treats me like I'm still a naïve teenager.

"I watch the news, Dad."

"Drug laws are often enforced arbitrarily and vary from state to state. I don't know the details about Stone's case, and honestly, I don't need to know. It's over and he's home. That's all that matters."

Home? This isn't his home.

"Correction, that's all that matters to you. I just spent four hours of my life in a cell with eight lightweight criminals. So, excuse me if I'm not so keen on sharing my house with a potentially dangerous one."

* * *