Chapter 2

That was six months ago now and I was back in practice in Jason's clinic in Columbus Ohio. We did only high profile cases, working mainly in the area of reconstruction, and the money was wonderful. I was already making more than I had ever had before and I was adjusting to living free again without looking over my shoulder every time I wanted to do something or go somewhere. It was hard at first, jumping at every loud sound or ducking whenever I heard someone shout, but it was getting easier. I always looked around when I went into a building and looked for the exits and I still had difficulty looking directly into someone's eyes. The guards took that as a threat and we were instructed to look at our feet when talking to one of them.

The only restriction on my freedom was that I had to physically report-in every two weeks to my parole officer but he told me that it wouldn't be too long before he let me slide and just make random visits. He had all my information, my address and my work number. I was his for the next two years which meant that I had to remain nearby for that same period. But otherwise, it was freedom and more than I had for the last five years.

I took the first month's money and found a small apartment on the outskirts of the downtown area. The rent was cheap since it was in a run-down neighborhood but the apartment was large and had a lot of windows. It was full of light and that's all I cared about. It had two big bedrooms and a full kitchen but that wasn't too important to me. I just needed a microwave to nuke some frozen dinners and I was fine. I had enough to swing the first and last and some left over to buy a mattress and some blankets. The rest of the furniture would come later as I got more money. I was used to a cot, a stainless steel john and a washbasin. This place was heaven to me. I moved in and made it home.

Over the next few months, I bought more stuff from yard sales and adds in the paper for miscellaneous. That was fine for me: the need for expensive toys and goodies was gone, prison putting it in its proper prospective. By the end of five months, I had a real bed, a dresser and a chest, a couch, a TV, and a kitchen table with three chairs. The second bedroom was empty and I had no need to fill it. I was satisfied and settled in. I let Eileen know where I was and gave her my new phone number and she promised to keep in touch. She wanted to know what my plans were but all I told her was that I wanted to let myself get used to dealing with normal people again and doing the job I was hired to do. The rest would come with time.

When I was fully settled and found myself bored, I got hold of a contact that Tiny gave me before I left. Tiny was from Mansfield, a town not too far from Columbus and he had a lot of contacts in the outside world. One was a PI and I called him to locate my ex-wife and my son. I just wanted to know where they were and what name they were using. I had no desire for anything more at this time. I gave him my last address, her name and SS number and my son's number. I didn't know what name she was using now so I left it up to him.

In less than a week, he came up with all of the information I had requested. He filled me in, shook my hand and refused my money saying "You're a friend of Tiny's so your money's no good here. I know what you did for him. Anything else you want to know, you call. I'll get it for you."

I thanked him and watched him walk away. Prison! Not something I would recommend but the friends I made in there were friends for life and the benefits more than anyone in the outside world could imagine. I would make use of some of them later.

When I got home to my apartment I nuked a meatloaf and mashed potato dinner, took it over to the small table that I had located right next to a full wall of windows and sat down with my envelope. I opened it and read what the PI found.

Nancy Montoya, age 35. Son, Ruben Montoya, age 14. Address: 1145 Lexington Avenue, Groveport, Ohio. Phone numbers: cell 614-555-1478, home 614-555-8923. No phone listed for Ruben.

Interesting that she hadn't changed her name. I guess it was to keep the same name as our son. I was surprised that she hadn't remarried and that no one had adopted Ruben. She was a gorgeous woman, one most men noticed, and could have any man she wanted. Maybe she was just living with one now. I took a bite of the meatloaf, telling myself that I didn't really care, and continued.

Ms Montoya and son live together in a small bungalow in a subdivision of Groveport. There are no others living in the home and Ms Montoya works at a veterinary clinic in Groveport proper. Ruben goes to school in Groveport and is in the ninth grade. There is no record of any civil or criminal activity for either Ms Montoya or the boy. No known associates for Ms Montoya. No male friends but she does go out with several female friends. Names are available. Ruben has many contacts but one, Eddie Clemons, also 14, is frequently at the residence. Ruben also stays with Clemons on occasion.

Bank records show a modest savings account, a checking account with normal activity and only one credit card. Current balance is $235.67. Current savings account is $154,000 and checking account is $1,233.90. Public records show a sale of property in Brentwood subdivision of southern Columbus three years ago with proceeds deposited in a local bank. Transferred funds later into a separate account and to current bank account. No record under known SS numbers for the second account. (Could find out more if you request.)

Our home was worth a lot more than that and it didn't have a mortgage. I really couldn't remember much about that time so I just accepted the figures. It made no difference to me anyway. I gave her everything in the divorce. I wanted to leave that house and all its memories behind forever. It was rare that I saw flashes of Hugo on top of Nancy now and even those were fleeting. I didn't even feel the pain now. I guess the isolation for the past five years washed it all away. In curiosity, I tried to remember that afternoon but got nothing but vague images. No emotion at all.

I put the envelope aside and finished my meal. I washed it down with a diet Pepsi, my drink of choice now and settled down for an evening of TV. I was surprised when I looked at TVs to find those wide screens. I was so impressed that I bought one for myself. It was the only luxury I gave in to, but that was my choice as well. I wanted nothing more than to be left alone. No bars, no chance of fights, no restaurants or cafes, nowhere there were more than two or three people at a time, at least for the first two years. It was slow becoming used to people again and I was not in any rush.

After an unusually busy month, I found that my share of the partnership was large enough to buy myself some transportation. I debated on what to get and settled on a used Ford pickup. The idea of driving a truck took my fancy and I was pleased. I guess my past life was completely gone and the new me was beginning to establish himself. Actually, the new me was a completely different person now. I thought that was a good change, but time would tell.

The next year went by with nothing unusual happening. I had continued to furnish my small apartment with items and now had a second bedroom that was furnished with the usual. I had also bought some items for my pickup, like a new radio and new tires but that was the extent of my purchases. Then I got a phone call from my parole officer. I was sitting at home as usual watching the TV when he called.

"Carmine, this is Jack. Your parole officer."

"Christ, Jack, I know your voice by now. You call every damned month! What the hell do you want? It isn't time for me to report in yet, and anyway, you know where I spend my time. Hey, is my parole up yet?"

"Calm down, Carmine. You're still mine for the next two and a half months, then you're on your own. Reason I called, I got a call today; from someone you know. They're looking to contact you. Do you want to know who it was?"

"Sure. One of the boys from OSP? You know I can't talk to them, you prick! You're just trying to catch me in a violation aren't you, you SOB? You just don't want to let me go. That's not nice, Jack!"

"No, shithead. It was your boy, Ruben. He's the one that called. He found out you got out of prison and he's been trying to contact you. Left me a number after I told him I'd have to talk to you first. You don't have any restrictions against talking to family. I know you have him, your ex, your sister and her brood, and a couple of aunts and uncles."

"My son? Ruben was looking for me? Damn! What the hell do I do now, Jack?" What the hell did I do was right! "I haven't seen Ruben for over five and a half, hell, almost six and a half years now! He would be a teenager, grown up. What could I say to him?"

"He's your son, you idiot. You'll know what to say to him as soon as he opens his mouth. That's what parents do, you know? They talk to their kids. Usually talk way too much to the kids if you ask them. All he wants is to talk to his dad, the one he hasn't seen or talked to for a long damned time."

"But why would he want to talk to me? I'm an ex-con! A parolee! Why would a kid want a dad like that? It makes no sense!"

This was causing me to sweat, my hands started to shake and it was hard to catch my breath. I recognized it as a panic attack.

"How'd he find you, Jack? How'd he know where to look? I didn't even tell anyone except Jason and my sister that I was getting out."

"Seems your parole was mentioned in the local paper. 'Local Doc gets Parole!' or some shit like that. He saw it, or someone else saw it and told him. What's the difference?"

Shit! I hadn't thought about that. Now it was common knowledge. I wondered if the other kids gave him shit. Probably. Little peckers!

"What's the deal? Do I call him or do you call him? And what number did he give you. I didn't think he had a cell phone."

"Seems he bought his own prepaid. His mom doesn't know about that one. She seems pretty protective according to what he told me. Tough but fair, he says. Anyway, I'll give you the number he left. The rest is up to you. That's what I told him already so if you call him, fine. If not, he understands it's your choice."

I wrote down the number then hung up and just stared at the TV. Ruben, my son. It was one of the parts of the divorce and the jail sentence I hated: that I couldn't see my own son. I know it was my choice, but I didn't feel I had any other. He couldn't see his father stuck in a prison. Not a chance! I had caused him and his mother enough grief with my actions. He didn't need to remember me as a con.

When I made the decision to cut all ties, it was for two reasons. First, I couldn't forget what I saw that day and I knew that I would have a hard time forgiving Nancy, so a clean break was the best thing for both of us. I didn't want her trying to convince me that she loved me or that it was a mistake or any of that stuff. Why embarrass herself? There was no need. It was obviously over between us, so let it die.

The second was that a public trial would come back to haunt both of them for a long time afterwards. There would be press coverage of a trial, people judging all of us, my son subjected to ridicule and harassment, the details of my wife's affair public for all to see, and finally, the fact that I went nuts would impact both of them. The way I did it, without a trial and without publicity was cleaner, kinder and quicker for my wife. A clean break for him too.

Afterwards, it took me all of the time I spent in prison to forget, but sometime during those years, I did. Even now, the thrill of seeing my son again was all I could think about. Nancy was not an issue. I knew that I still loved her and probably always would but she was part of my past now and she would have moved on with someone else. She had begun her new life without me and she was better off if I stayed out of it. I thought about it for several days but I knew that I was going to call him.

Part 2-Nancy

My name is Nancy Montoya. My ex-husband Carmine is in prison for assaulting a man and almost killing him with a baseball bat. It was my fault that it happened but Carmine paid the price for it. I tried to help him when he was charged but he wouldn't let me. As a matter of fact, he refused to even talk to me when he was waiting for trial. I tried to bail him out but he refused to be released. I then hired an attorney, one of the best around but Carmine refused him as well. He got a court appointed attorney. Before I even knew what happened, Carmine accepted a plea bargain and went off to prison.

We have a son, Ruben, who was just nine when all this happened. The worst part was that Carmine refused to allow his son to see him in jail and then later, in prison. He refused to see either of us, ever. He sent me a note, a short one where he told me to keep Ruben away. I decided to divorce him a year later, hoping to get him to talk to me, to reconsider, but he refused again. This time the note he sent told me how much I had hurt him. I gave up, knowing I couldn't reach him and that he would never forgive me. I didn't blame him then and I still don't. I never forgave myself.

I still remember what happened as if it were yesterday. I still cry myself to sleep sometimes even now, almost six years later. I get so lonely sometimes that I want to do something, go somewhere, be with someone, but I won't! I refuse to be happy, to enjoy my freedom while he is in jail. I put him there and if he has to endure being alone, so will I. It isn't as difficult as it sounds because what I did to him is what I can't forget.

That day, that horrible day, when Carmine called to tell me he was held over at the hospital, I have to say I was angry. I didn't let on to him of course. It was his fault I was angry. After all, he was the one that wouldn't take the job at that fancy clinic. They wanted him to come in as a reconstruction specialist. Carmine was a genius at facial reconstruction. When someone was in an accident and their face was crushed and twisted, they wanted Carmine to be their doctor. Everyone said so.

Carmine told me about the offer a month ago and I was excited about it. He talked about the money, the hours that would be scheduled to fit into a normal life unlike those at the hospital emergency room where he was on call a week out of every month. I said we could live a normal life for a change. He knew that was what I wanted, what I dreamed of. I knew how much he loved the trauma ward, the emergencies that he attended, the battered lives he saved and that was in his blood and it made him happy, but I wanted him to put us first.

I wanted him to take the offer in the worst way. I loved him so much that I knew it would not be his first choice. Not for him a routine job, fixing those who could afford the exorbitant prices the clinic charged. No emergencies, no sad people who were so disfigured they would live a life of shame; that life would bore him. No, not for my Carmine. But if I had to choose between having him home more often and making more money and him doing something that made him happy, I had no choice: I had to choose time with his family. Carmine was by nature a happy person and that was one of the things I loved most about him, but I would rather have him home with Ruben and I. We could also make him happy.

We talked about it, weighed the pros and cons and he finally made the decision. I voted for him to take it but he didn't agree. I knew he was pleased at the choice he made and I tried to convince myself that it was best that he be happy. I loved him and he was happy. What more could I ask for? Indeed, I asked myself then what more could I ask for? How naive was I?

That was a week before the phone call that morning. Carmine had just finished a long shift but was due home to take me to the mall to do some shopping for Ruben. School was starting soon and Ruben needed some new jeans and shirts. I wanted to go and Carmine promised to go with me. Ruben and I were still asleep when he called to tell me about the emergency and that he had to stay. He was in such a hurry that I didn't have time to remind him about the shopping so I just let it go. But the frustration was there and it was eating at me as I did some laundry. This had happened several times in the last few weeks and I was angry about it. This was what I had warned him about when he turned down the clinic job.

As I sorted the whites and the colors, I thought again about the job offer. God, it would have been perfect! Exactly what I wanted. More time, more money, more prestige, all those things we both talked about when we married. Carmine was a wonderful specialist and he was free to take most any assignment he wanted. But when he chose he always leaned toward the action, the emergencies, the excitement. I finally accepted that it was who he was. But the question nagged at me: why couldn't he choose us; me and Ruben, over the excitement? Why not us first? I had to admit, it really bothered me.

Usually I wouldn't ask myself that, wouldn't think that way, but today my mind was not feeling so forgiving. I was bored, I hadn't seen Carmine for almost twenty eight hours and since he hadn't called later, he must have decided to work his regular shift and then come home later this evening for two days off. I guess it made sense but I was still pissed. I was talking to myself when the doorbell rang. I pushed the start button on the washer and went to answer.

I opened the door to see Hugo Bentz, my boss at the Real Estate office. He was holding some folders and he looked frazzled. I invited him in, closed the door behind him and led him into the family room.

"What's up Hugo? What have you got there? You look like you're not happy."

Hugo held the folders out to me with a smile. "Can I ask you for a favor? Can you type the offers for me so that I can have them tomorrow morning? It would mean a great deal to me. I'll pay you the overtime."

I took the folders, glanced in and saw that they were routine offers, nothing special. I wondered why no one else could do this simple task but put it out of my mind. I quickly agreed and put the folders down on the end table next to me.

"Sure, Hugo, no problem. I'll have them done by morning."

I chatted with Hugo for a few minutes, enjoying the break and the company. To extend the visit even a little, I asked him if he wanted a beer. He quickly agreed, I got a couple and we sat down and began talking. I had always liked Hugo, and we often flirted with each other in the office just in fun. Today seemed like any other day and we joked back and forth, flirted outrageously and had another beer. I began to relax, having fun with a man I worked with. Nothing else.

To this day, all I can remember is that I started telling Hugo about my frustration with Carmine and his job. The story was dragging out so I made us a couple of mixed drinks, heavy on the booze, the small buzz helping the telling of the tale. Hugo listened, made some comments about leaving someone as beautiful as me alone so much and how he would never do that. I was flattered and when he moved closer to me on the couch, I didn't even mind. When he put his arm around my shoulder to soothe me when I said something in anger, I didn't mind. When I stood, almost crying about the frustration and the loneliness that I felt when Carmine worked these long hours, I didn't mind when he took me in his arms and held me tight against him. I felt his erection pressing into my stomach but I didn't say anything. We stood like that for a few minutes before I put my arms around his neck and tilted my face upward. He didn't hesitate, pressing his lips against mine, his tongue probing against my lips. I opened and accepted him inside.