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“I had to get special permission to do this.” Benjamin Hightower slid a manila folder across his conference room table toward me. “No one has ever asked to do community service before serving their time.”
“Most people go to jail as soon as they’re sentenced.” I glanced up and caught the self-satisfied look on Hightower’s face. Lawyers.
He nodded. “That’s true.”
It was true. Most prisoners went right to jail, but some of us, those with money, non-violent crimes and good attorneys could delay those sentences until a time that was more convenient. Hightower was able to convince the D.A. of two things – the first, that my confession had saved the county a ton of money and the second, that he owed him for that confession. In return the D.A. agreed that I could recuperate from my Caesarian section stillbirth at home and that I could have a spot in the local county jail. Local and fairly nice, as county jails went. That meant Henry County.
I’d had my medical release a week ago, but the jail was full, so we had to wait for an opening. Hightower further called in a favor with the D.A., asking to allow me to report after Christmas. To my shock, the request was granted. I hadn’t been able to buy myself out of my mess, but the money Mekhi had sure helped make it more palatable.
“It was Mekhi’s idea to get it out of the way. I’m driving him a little nuts these days. He wants me focused on something other than my problems.”
“It’s a good one. The judge was agreeable as there was nothing in the law that prohibited it. I also threw in that you wanted to contribute to the improvement of society sooner rather than later and it was all good.”
All good. Was he trying to meet me at some lower level or something? I smiled coyly and opened the folder. It held a list of non-profit agencies that accepted help from people doing community service.
I opened the folder and began scanning the list. I could see it was just an alphabetical listing of businesses that included the street addresses.
“Flip to the back,” Hightower said interrupting, “It’s broken down by the type of organization on the second list.” He stood. “Let Mae know which one you’re interested in.” He spoke of his secretary. “She can make the phone calls to see if they need someone and get everything set up for you.”
I looked up at him. His full height towered over me.
“Let me know if you need anything else. As soon as we get your date for confinement, I’ll call and send a letter.”
“Thanks,” I replied and then I dropped my eyes to the list as he exited the door.
Date for confinement. God, I hated hearing those words. The water works came on, but I didn’t let the tears fall. I suppressed the emotional storm raging inside of me and focused instead on my task.
The first few pages that listed agencies that I had absolutely no interest in working at and a few healthcare types that I probably, legally could not, seeing that I stole my drugs from a hospital. It was the subheading on the third page that caught my attention. Women’s Support Agencies. I ran my finger down the list of businesses for women and noted, Samaritan House, with the identifier: Homeless Shelter. I was immediately taken back to my meeting with nosy Abby and that shelter I had never managed to notice.
I tilted my head as I considered it. Nice location. Good parking. My favorite store across the street and plenty of good eateries within walking distance. I checked a few more names on the list, but then finally settled on Samaritan House. It was the perfect place for a high-maintenance chick like me to do community service. I stood and went to tell Hightower’s assistant to make the arrangements.