“With all your belongings in the back seat of your car?” He snorted to let me know what he thought ofthat. “Next you’ll tell me you came by Jayce’s jacket innocently.”
I was at a loss for words. I didn’t even know where to begin. “I woke up with the jacket draped over me. He was already gone. I’m telling you the truth, last night I was in Savannah…”
“Jayce is a man who corrupts everything around him. Abadman.” The judge shook his head. “I’m giving you eighty hours of community service here in Eastland. Your license is hereby suspended, pending completion of the community service. If you would like to appeal the decision, you may file the paperwork with the courthouse in Macon county.” He nodded with finality. “Pretend you heard me bang a gavel.”
“Mylicense?”I sputtered. “I didn’t even… No! You can’t do this!”
Fire filled his wrinkled eyes. “I cannot dowhat, exactly?”
His words dripped with unspoken threat, daring me to say anything more.
“Never mind, your honor,” I said in a weak voice.
“One hundred and twenty hours,” he said.
I sucked in my breath and barely bit back another protest.
“You are lucky I am so lenient,” he declared, as if the river reeds were a courtroom audience demanding a performance. “If I asked the sheriff if he smelled alcohol on your breath last night, I’m sure he would say yes. I’m letting you off mighty easy, on account of I’m in such a good mood. You understand, honey?”
“Yes, your honor,” I said through clenched teeth.
He nodded, then added a new lure to the end of his hook. “Beautiful morning to be under God’s blue sky, isn’t it? You have a nice day, now.”
I trembled with anger as I walked back to the sheriff’s cruiser.
6
Charlotte
The sheriff didn’t say anything on the way back to the station. He could probably tell based on the look on my face. Or because my fate was predetermined the moment I was pulled over last night.
My anger faded away and was replaced by self-pity. I was stuck in this podunk little town with a power-tripping sheriff and an arrogant judge. Over a hundred hours of community service and a suspended license. And for what? Driving down the wrong road on a rainy night? Pulled over for no freaking reason?
There was a rumble of a motorcycle up ahead. It came around the bend in the opposite direction, passing us on the left. Without a helmet, I was able to recognize Jayce instantly. He wore wide aviator sunglasses and his dark hair fluttered in the wind. The sheriff shook his head as Jayce passed, the rumbling sound of his Harley disappearing behind us.
I looked at Jayce’s jacket in my hand. The judge seemed to be going easy on me until he saw that I had it. As if I somehow had a connection to the man in the cell next to mine.
My anger returned, this time at Jayce. It washisfault. I didn’t ask for his help. I should have left his stupid jacket on the floor of my cell.
The sheriff’s office was empty when we arrived. “Let me get the clerk,” the sheriff said, going around the desk and sitting down. He removed his hat and smoothed back his hair, then grinned like he’d made a joke. “Oh, right. I’m the clerk too.”
We spent the next few hours going through all the charging paperwork. Then I signed a form stating that I understood my Georgia driver’s license was suspended pending the completion of the community service, which was required to be performed in Eastland. Two hundred dollars in Eastland court fees, which Ireallywanted to protest since my court appearance had taken place at the banks of a river while the judge fished, but I signed my name reluctantly. Then there was the paperwork for the community service itself. The woman I would report to, the duties I would be expected to perform. A waiver stating I had no health problems preventing me from picking up trash or painting over graffiti.
Once the forms were signed, the sheriff spent over an hour sending them one at a time through the fax machine, which was so old the white plastic was now smoker’s yellow. I sat in the corner and thought about how long a hundred and twenty hours was. At eight hours a day, that would keep me here three weeks. Fifteen days. Over seven thousand minutes.
“All set!” the sheriff announced happily. He was in a much better mood this morning. “You’ll report to the community center over on main street to complete your work. Be there right at eight tomorrow. If you’re late, they’ll deduct an hour from your timesheet.”
He handed me a plastic bag containing my belongings that were confiscated last night. The cell phone screen was a flurry of missed texts and voicemails.My parents, I thought with alarm. I hadn’t arrived home last night. They must have thought I was dead.
“Where are my car keys?” I asked. “And for that matter, where’s my car?”
“We had it towed to the town’s motel. The driver has the keys. I’ll drive you there.”
I blinked. “Why the motel?”
The sheriff chuckled as if it were a silly question. “Well, you can’t exactly drive out of town with your license suspended, now can you? I figure you’ll shack up at the motel. It’s the only one we’ve got, so you’d better like it.”
I texted my parents on the way to the motel:Everything’s fine, I’ll call and explain soon. But I’m safe. Don’t worry.