Page 3 of Hurricane Love

But his mother didn’t understand that. Her Catholic faith was what had gotten her through her only son’s rampant drug addiction, his reckless decisions, and subsequent incarceration. Diego had tried going to church services in prison a few times–mainly for her–but it always ended up making him feel worse. More guilt, more shame.

So, he’d spent his free time working out in the yard, the one arena where he felt competent. He’d even made a few… well, not friends, but acquaintances, men who would watch his back, if needed. Their camaraderie, along with that of the kitchen crew where he’d been assigned to work, was what got him through the seven long years of incarceration.

The conversation with his mother ended as most of them did, with Diego agreeing to do better, a perpetual promise never fulfilled.

“Diego Abarca?”

The familiar voice of his PO, Shakonda Watson, brought himout of his thoughts. Her makeup, including her vivid red lipstick, was expertly applied, but even still, she looked tired. Maybe just tired of the bullshit. No doubt she had to deal with enough of it in her line of work. But there would be no bullshit from Diego, none whatsoever. His mind drifted back to his ballsy coworker. Nope, absolutely not.

Diego stood and smoothed down his shirtfront before offering his hand. That was an appropriate greeting, right? “Nice to meet you, Officer Watson,” he said while trying to calm his racing heart.

She may have smirked at that–he wasn’t sure–and after shaking his hand, gestured for him to follow her through the maze of cubicles. They took a series of turns, and Diego wasn’t confident he’d find her office again if left to his own devices. Once there, he took the seat across from her and from an old manila folder, produced the paperwork he’d been instructed to bring–an intake form with proof of employment, his net worth statement (nada), and payment receipts from court fees. He also included the results of his most recent drug screening, which he’d been told would be filed electronically, but he brought a paper copy just in case. There were no traces of anything in his system, not even alcohol. Diego wasn’t fucking around.

Officer Watson flipped through his paperwork with her long, acrylic nails, pausing to study one page in particular. “Frank’s Pit Barbecue,” she mused. “Great hot dogs there.”

“They’re deep fried,” he told her, not exactly a trade secret. It made them extra juicy with a thick, slightly burnt skin.

“Makes sense why I’d like them then.”

“The Cuban sandwiches are good too. Authentic,” he said.

“I’ll have to give them a try. How’s the job working out for you?”

Employment was a requirement of his conditional release, a non-negotiable, which would have been more difficult to find with two first-degree felonies on his record if it weren’t for his uncle.

“My uncle is the owner,” Diego said. She lifted her eyebrows as if that didn’t answer her question. “We get along well. As well as can be expected, considering…” This wasn’t the direction he wanted to take the conversationat all.“It’ll be a good fit for me, as long as I don’t mess up.”

Christ, was it hot in here?

“Are you planning on messing up?” she asked, eyebrows rising even farther on her forehead.

Diego tugged at the top button of his shirt. Should he have worn a tie? “No, ma’am. Not at all.”

She nodded, studying him a moment longer. “It can be a hard transition from prison to the real world. To go from every minute of your day having structure to a lot of unknowns. You might be tempted to look up old friends. The same ones who landed you in jail. Don’t do that.”

Diego shook his head vehemently. “No, ma’am. Not me. I’ve cut those people out of my life completely.”I’ve learned my lesson,Diego wished to tell her.

“You have family here, Diego?”

“My mother and uncle, a lot of cousins. My grandma’s sisters too.”

“Good. Family is important. What do you like to do when you’re not at work?”

“I exercise. Running and lifting weights.” Also staring at his wobbly ceiling fan, regretting every dumb decision he’d ever made in life…

“It’s important that you find productive ways to spend your time. Surround yourself with people who are going places. You get what I’m saying?”

She sounded like his uncle back in the day, ever critical of his friends, though as it turns out, he was right. “Yes, ma’am, one hundred percent.”

She leaned across the L-shaped desk to grab a single sheet of paper from a stack of handouts, then placed it in front of him. “Have you read over the terms of your release?”

He’d memorized this sheet of paper when the correctional officer at PCI told him he was being considered for the program. Weekly check-ins. No traveling outside of Pinellas or Hillsborough Counties without written permission. Employment was mandatory. No non-prescription drugs or illegal activities. Regular drug tests.

“Yes, ma’am, I’ve read them and I understand.”

“And do you have any questions?”

Diego swallowed, overwhelmed by the number of questions he had, none of which had easy answers.Who am I now? What’s next for me? How do I keep from screwing up again?