“Considering your standing in the community, there’s a pretty solid chance I can keep you out of McAlester, have you serve in the jail here instead, and that’s a much easier place to do time. There are other penalties which are likely, too, including the revocation of your license. Permanently. For now, though, I’ll see about a plea deal—and Alec, I cannot stress this enough. You have to stay in line. Completely. No drinking, anywhere. No driving, anywhere. At any time. Go to at least one meeting a week.”
“Without driving?”
Mr. Vermeyer turned to Petra. “Show your father about Uber, okay?”
She nodded. Now her own words were bottled up at the back of her throat, hardened into an impossible mass by terror and grief. Her father was going to jail. Orange jumpsuits and shackles and ...oh god.
“There is no wiggle room here, Alec. For any chance at all of a favorable plea deal, you cannot risk giving the prosecution any more to work with. Do you understand me?”
“I understand.”
Petra heard it and wondered if Mr. Vermeyer heard it as well: her father understood, but he wasn’t sure he was capable of complying.
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~oOo~
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“Absolutely not! I won’thave it!” Dad slammed his fist on the small pedestal table and their cups jostled, splashing coffee into saucers.
Now that they were away from the lawyer’s office, her father had a lot to say, and loudly. The other patrons of this coffeeshop across the street from said lawyer’s office were getting quite the show.
“And I won’t have you making everything worse! You just said you’ll ‘do your best’ to do what Mr. Vermeyer said. Do your best? That’s fucked up, Dad.”
“What more can I do than my best? How can I do any better?”
“By having help. That’s why I’m moving home for a while. To help you do what you have to do.” She hadn’t worked out any detail for how she’d make it happen, but the only thing she could think to do was be there, watching him. Making sure he didn’t drink, didn’t drive, did attend meetings. She had to watch him.
“You arenotmoving home. I won’t allow it. I won’t have a babysitter, and I won’t let you upend your life to take care of me. You have a home, Petra. One you worked hard for. You have work. Which you work hard at. You have a life. As you should. You do more for me than I should let you do already. I will not have you ruining your life to come home and ruin our relationship by becoming my warden. I have to live my life and do the best I can.”
“But Daddy ...”
“You know, I was sad when you stopped calling me Daddy when you were in high school. It meant that you were growing up and would leave us. But now I hate it when you call me that, because you only do it when I’m disappointing you.”
“Not disappointing.” That was a lie, but she stuck to it. “Scaring.” And that was very true.
He shook his head. “I don’t see much difference.”
“I don’t want you to go to jail,” she said, giving up the argument. Her voice was small and pathetic. Pleading.
He softened and set his big, hairy hand over her small, shaking one. “I don’t want to go. I hope I don’t. I’ll do my best to try not to. But if I do, Petey, I will deserve it. That’s a fate I have earned.” He picked up his phone. “Now, how do I call this Lyft?”
“You don’t need it now, Dad. I’m taking you home.”
“No, sweetheart, you’re not. I’m going home on my own. I’m going to use this fancy app we just put on my phone to get a ride, and you’re going to go back to your life andliveit.”
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~oOo~
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Her father actuallytook a Lyft home. She stood on the sidewalk and watched the Prius carry him away, and then she stood there whole minutes more, awash in a paralyzing sense of dread.
Her father was very likely going to jail. For a year, or maybe as many as five years.
Her father. In jail.