CHAPTER 18
DIEGO
Diego loved Wylie Fox Sommers, and for the first time in a long time, the answer was simpler than the questions.
Yes, he was an ex-con. Yes, he still needed extensive therapy to work through his own bullshit.
And, yes, he’d probably make a few more missteps before all was said and done, but he was done with getting in his own way.
Now, he just needed to convince the man that this wasn’t just some fleeting impulse, that there were actual actions behind his words.
During his two-hour bus ride back to Largo, Diego resolved to demonstrate to Wylie, beyond any lingering doubts, that he was in this for the long haul, that he was willing to fight for their relationship. Because that was what the man deserved.
And while he was considering his next moves, he got a call from the reporting officer from the robbery at the pit, asking him to come down to the station and identify the suspect they believed to be Cody Wallace.
Diego decided to go directly there from where the bus dropped him off, and he arrived at the police station an hour or so later slightly rumpled, extremely sweaty, and still thinking about Wylie.
To say he was uncomfortable inside the police station would be an understatement.
He wished Wylie was there with him. He’d say something clever to lighten the mood or make some sharp observation.
As it was, Diego found himself falling back on his prison conditioning–only speaking when spoken to, avoiding eye contact, controlling his body movements so that he appeared compliant and non-threatening.
At least he wasn’t having a full-on panic attack. Not yet.
Diego was escorted to a room that looked like it might also be used to question suspects, with a mirror that was undoubtedly two-way glass and a flat-screen television mounted to the wall.
Diego had to remind himself that he wasn’t the one being interrogated this time, even as the back of his neck prickled with sweat and his heart pounded in his chest.
The officer, Sergeant Collier, introduced himself, then booted up the television.
Did the officer know he was a convicted felon?
Would that make his testimony less credible?
Diego searched the man’s face, trying to determine what he might already know about him, but the officer maintained a professional, if somewhat bored, demeanor as he clicked through the prompts to reach the screen he desired.
“Take a look at these,” the officer said and directed Diego’s attention to where there was an array of pictures displayed on the screen. “Get a good luck. Don’t rush it.”
The headshots were arranged in two neat rows.
The six suspects all resembled each other, if not in looks than in general bearing.
Diego spotted Cody immediately, and the man looked even worse for wear with a bloody scratch over one eye and a few bruises on his cheek as if he’d been in a fight.
Had Cody resisted arrest? Diego hoped not—that would only add to the charges against him.
“That’s him,” Diego said, pointing to the screen. “Row one, middle.”
“You’re sure?” the officer asked.
Diego had a flashback then to when they were in middle school, Cody’s high-pitched giggle that always cracked him up.
The first time they got high together off some dirt weed they got from Cody’s older brother and Cody couldn’t stop laughing.
They ate through all the snacks in his mom’s cupboard, and his mother bitched to Diego about it for years afterward, saying Cody had crocodiles in his stomach due to his insatiable appetite.
Diego later learned Cody was always hungry because his family didn’t feed him.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Diego said, and even knowing it was the right thing to do, didn’t make it any easier. “What are his charges?”
“Armed robbery, resisting arrest, drug possession, and theft. Apparently he stole the gun he used in the robbery from someone he’d been working for.”
The hairs on the back of Diego’s neck stood up on end. Déjà-fucking-vu. “Who was that?” Diego asked.
The officer shuffled the paperwork and said, “I can’t give you their name.”
“Was it Todd Mevis?” Diego asked.
The officer neither confirmed nor denied it, but the look on his face told Diego everything he needed to know. “I’d like to make an additional statement,” he said.
Diego then spent the next hour listing out all the rackets Todd Mevis had been running during the time that Diego had known him, including the incident where he pinned the theft on one of his workers who’d then been deported.
“Will I get in trouble for telling you this?” Diego asked. “I’m on probation.”
“Have you had any involvement in criminal activity since your probation began?”
“No, sir,” Diego said with absolute confidence.
“Then, no, you’re good. Can you provide dates for all of these incidents and the names of the parties involved?” Sergeant Collier asked.
“I sure can.”
It didn’t absolve him of his own past misdeeds. But sitting there, telling the truth, Diego felt like he was finally doing something to make things right.
In therapy that week, Diego shared with Dr. Bob his intentions to be in a committed relationship with Wylie, along with some of his fears–that he might go back to using, that he might detach and hurt Wylie even more, that he might never make anything out of himself, which was a kind of catch-all for his many insecurities.
“While I understand these concerns, a lot of them seem purely hypothetical at this point, don’t they?” Dr. Bob asked. “More like a derivative of fear, rather than anything based on your current actions or habits.”
“I guess so,” Diego said, still not completely comfortable with being called out for acting like an irrational scaredy cat.
“So, you’re merely speculating at this point, which, if that’s the case, then why not try to speculate in a more productive direction?” he suggested.
He made it sound so simple. As if overhauling his pessimistic personality could be done in a day, like switching out an engine. “I’m not the most positive person,” Diego said, a vast understatement.
“Well, instead of focusing on all the things you don’t want to happen, why not focus on some of the things that you do want to happen?” Dr. Bob reasoned.
Diego wasn’t wired that way, and it seemed every time he tried, he got stuck, or the future was too hazy for him to truly grasp. “I need help with that.”
“Try to imagine yourself a year from now. Where are you, what are you doing, who are you with?”
Diego took a deep breath and let his vision blur as he tried to imagine it.
He didn’t like his apartment, so he was no longer living there, obviously.
Maybe he was living in Gainesville, near Wylie.
Or, maybe they were living together? A year from now, it might be possible.
And if he was in Gainesville, then what was he doing for work?
Service, most likely. Working at a restaurant or for a catering company, somewhere that didn’t mind employing an ex-con.
He could lay floor or do landscaping too, if needed.
But he had to be contributing in some way, and the conditions of his release required him to have a job anyway.
But a job wasn’t all that he had going on.
He was taking classes too, working toward his associate degree.
And he was still exercising because that was critical to his mental health.
And, most importantly, he was with Wylie.
Did they have friends? That’s where the vision got a little dicey because Diego wasn’t sure he’d fit in with super smart, high-brow types.
Diego hoped they weren’t all pretentious snobs, but then, when he thought about the people Wylie gravitated to–Hannah, Rita, Pamela, and their friends at the pit–it was people like them.
Hard-working, a little rough around the edges, sometimes honest to the point of being rude.
“Are you going to tell me?” Dr. Bob gently nudged.
“What?”
“Are you going to share your vision?” the man asked, looking amused because it seemed Diego had gone silent for a while.
Diego laid out this potential future for Dr. Bob in rough strokes while his mind continued to fill in the detail, and in doing so, he began to believe it himself. Why couldn’t all of those things come true? If he worked toward them. If Wylie wanted it too.
“Now, what are the things you need to accomplish in order to make that vision come true?” Dr. Bob asked.
In addition to the logistical measures–transferring his probation, telling his family, moving his shit, and finding a job, there was one step that needed to happen first. He needed to talk to his key decision-maker.
“I need to convince Wylie that I mean what I say and that I want this thing too,” Diego said, feeling almost giddy at the challenge set before him. “That I’m willing to fight for it.”
Dr. Bob smiled, eyes crinkling. “Sounds like a great place to start. And there’s something else I’d like you to think about, Diego.”
“Okay, what’s that?”
“You’re allowed to want things. I know that you’re still in the process of rebuilding your life, but I want to keep that in the back of your mind.”
“I’m allowed to want things,” Diego repeated, trying to internalize Dr. Bob’s wisdom.
“That’s exactly right.”