C.E. Murphy - Truthseeker

A blocky man with just enough grown-out fuzz to suggest he shaved his head to avoid obvious male pattern baldness got to his feet as she approached the church. “Miss Jansen?”

“Please, it’s Lara. And you’re Pete, right?” Lara shook his hand, smiling. “I remember you from the last time I was here. How’s it going?”

“Sixteen weeks, three days. That meeting you were at was my first. It’s not easy, Miss … Lara. My parole officer comes to these things to make sure I’m staying the course. No flippin’ pressure. And he’s an asshole.”

Lara laughed. “All the more reason to prove him wrong by sticking with it. Ruth didn’t tell me she’d have someone meet me. Thanks. It’s nice to see a friendly face.”

“It’s no problem, I live around the corner. Hey, Pastor.” Pete left Lara behind as a slight older man came up the road, a ring of keys in hand. “This is Lara Jansen, she’s running the meeting for Ruth today. Ruth’s kids have chicken pox.”

“Ah, the poor woman. Nice to meet you, Miss Jansen. The door will lock behind you when you leave, so just tidy up a bit and you’ll be set when you’re done.” He let them into a chilly open space littered with community projects, then departed still clucking over Ruth’s misfortune. Pete turned the heat on as Lara pulled chairs into a circle and blew warm air over her fingers.

“I should have brought coffee for everyone. Maybe next time.”

“It warms up fast,” Pete promised. “I know you’re not the regular leader, Miss … Lara, but I wonder if you’d take a minute to talk to my parole officer? He never believes me, he likes someone else to tell him I’m staying dry. I don’t know how they’d know if I lied, but that’s just how he is.”

“Sixteen weeks, three days,” Lara said comfortably. “I don’t mind at all. I’m sorry he doesn’t believe you. That must be a little undermining.”

Pete shrugged. “The guys believe me, that’s what counts.”

“It’s mostly what counts, anyway, hm?” Lara said to the faint discordant note in his voice, and he threw her a wry look that turned into another shrug.

“Mostly. Like I said, he’s an asshole and, I mean, he’s my parole officer, shouldn’t really matter what he thinks, but it kind of does. I got in over my head when I was nineteen, a bunch of stupid shit and I deserved to go to jail, but I straightened up. The meetings are a condition of my parole, but I want to be here, you know?” He went on, comfortable honesty in his litany that didn’t end as others arrived. He greeted them, introduced Lara, and left her smiling at his ease. Ruth had probably noticed already, but Pete would—did, in fact—make a good group leader, taking over most of the duties that Lara was in theory there to provide.

The only pall came near the end, when a chiseled blond man stepped into the meeting room. Pete’s good nature faltered briefly and the others glanced toward the door, then subtly straightened and lost the edge of humor that had sustained them. Lara glanced from one suddenly tense face to another, then touched Pete’s shoulder as she got up to talk to the newcomer. He put his hand out, and without bothering to keep his voice down as she approached, said, “Officer Rich Cooper. You’re not the usual leader.”

“Lara Jansen. Ruth’s kids have the chicken pox, so I’m standing in today. Do you mind if we step just outside the door so we don’t disturb everyone?” Lara shook his hand but walked outside, happy for once to do away with the pretense of polite behavior and insist, through action, that the officer oblige her. “Pete said you’d be dropping by. He’s doing very well. He’ll be a group leader if he wants to be, I think.”

Cooper scowled over his shoulder as they left the community center, then scowled at her, though the expression smoothed over as if he was reminding himself that he was one of the good guys.

Or at least, Lara thought sourly, that he was putting on a performance as one of the good guys. She’d met any number of parole officers while working with the various twelve-step groups, and only rarely had they been as this man came across: eager to be a peace officer not for the sake of the community, but for his own perceived power. Pete, whose intention to stay straight was geninue, deserved a parole officer more willing to believe in him. Lara hoped he had the wherewithal to prove Cooper wrong.

“How can you tell, if you’re not the regular leader? I think the guy is trouble.”

Lara put on a smile she didn’t feel, uncomfortable with the deception but certain anything else would be taken as aggressive. “I suppose he must have been once upon a time, in order to warrant a parole officer. I studied psychology. I know it’s not the same as being an officer on the street, but I hope it gives me some insight into how people can and might behave.”

Cooper hesitated, then looked pleased, taking her phrasing as a compliment. “I studied criminal justice, myself. Psych always seemed pretty soft to me.”

“And you’re clearly not soft.” Lara bit back a laugh as the officer looked even more pleased, then put her hand on his arm and deliberately steered him a few steps away from the community center’s front door. “Pete’s at sixteen weeks and counting with the program. I’m confident your presence is a continued inspiration to him.” She was absolutely confident, though not at all in the way she expected Cooper to interpret her meaning. “Thank you for checking in, Officer.”

“My pleasure, Miss Ja …” Cooper trailed off, frowning, then walked away looking uncertain of how he’d lost control. Lara, pleased with herself, waved a good-bye and went back inside. Mindful of the pastor’s warning, she pulled the door closed behind her, its locking click! loud enough to make people look around. Surprise washed over Pete’s face and Lara shrugged as she rejoined the group, nodding encouragement to continue at the woman who’d been speaking.

Sometimes, she thought with satisfaction. Sometimes the truth, applied judiciously, could make someone’s life easier, at least for a little while. Maybe it was all she could do, but some days it was enough.

That was it, then, the decision made. If it was what she could do, then it was enough. At the meeting’s end, she closed up the hall, steadied her nerves, and called Dafydd ap Caerwyn.

Fashion dictated that modern men rarely came hat in hand to anything, but Dafydd, standing on Lara’s threshold, looked very much as though he would like to have a hat to wring. Everything about him suited the old phrase: nervous worry in his expression, caution in his slightly hunched stance, as though he expected a blow. His entire aura was one of abject hope. Lara had seen similar demeanor before, usually on puppies who knew they’d done wrong and were pleading for clemency. Unexpectedly entertained by his attitude, she stepped out of the door and gestured him in. “Am I that frightening?”

He murmured, “You have no idea,” then gave her a frown so curious it was clearly a question.

“No,” she agreed, “I don’t. You’re telling the truth. Not even exaggerating, since I really don’t have any sense of how or why I’ve become frightening.”

“Your decisions stand between me and eternal exile,” Dafydd said a little drily. “It awards you an astonishing amount of power and therefore no little ability to terrify.”

“I suppose it would. May I take your coat?”

“Thank you.” He slipped it off and she hung it in a closet as he surveyed her living room. Tidy, she thought: he would find it tidy and perhaps boring, with everything in its place and the colors well coordinated. But it suited her, all the pieces fitting together so when she glanced around nothing tore at her eyes or made jagged music play in her mind. To her surprise, Dafydd turned back with a smile. “I expected more neutral colors, I think, but it’s how I imagined you would live. Beautiful form and function as one.”