Chapter 4
THEO
My grandparents’ estate attorney, Catherine, volunteers to pick me up from prison.
She brings coffee, and after a painfully awkward attempt at small talk, she pivots to explaining the inheritance again.
She visited me after Nana died, and we’ve gone over this before, but it’s a safe topic and it takes long enough to go through that we’ll be close to Astoria by the time she’s done speaking.
I barely listen to her as I watch the low, flat sprawl of Salem give way to the agricultural fields of the Willamette Valley.
Was this drive always so pretty?
I hum in response to whatever Catherine’s saying about the trusts as we navigate away from the wide interstate cutting through the suburban mess outside of Portland to the highway that heads towards the coast. The low, densely wooded hills slowly transform into dense copses of trees as the road narrows to two lanes, and I stop listening to Catherine entirely once we start driving through the Tillamook Forest. I never realized how much I missed how the light filters through the tall evergreens and illuminates the ferns and mossy tree boughs.
Even the fresh clearcuts we pass seem scenic to me, the mismanaged undergrowth fully visible around the tree stumps and through the mess of tree limbs scattered across the forest floor.
I start to get anxious once we pass through the coastal mountain range and start driving through the drab seaside towns with their squat, weather-beaten buildings. When I see Astoria rising out of the Columbia River, my body tenses and my knee bounces quickly.
I have no idea what the fuck I’m supposed to do with myself now.
Catherine drives us to her firm on the edge of downtown, and I follow her into the converted house and upstairs to her office.
I focus on breathing as I take my time pretending to reread the paperwork before signing it.
I’ve read it thoroughly before, but I want to delay facing my new reality for as long as possible.
Catherine hands over a large keyring with keys to the Anderson House, the house in Yachats, the safety deposit boxes, Boss’s old Chevy, Nana’s Prius, and my beater Subaru from college.
My head is buzzing looking at all the keys, and I excuse myself to the bathroom just to get some space.
As I walk down the stairs into the main level, a young woman gives me a warm smile as she heads into the reception area, and I catch the faint scent of her floral perfume as she walks by. I stop short on the last step and stare at her, but she doesn’t notice.
She’s fucking stunning. She’s short, with dark hair that falls at her shoulders and big brown eyes.
She’s wearing a loose, emerald green dress with a neckline that shows off her long neck and sloping collarbones, and I’m immediately, painfully aware that she’s the first attractive woman I’ve seen in person in nine years.
I lock myself in the bathroom, splash my face with cold water, and take a minute to calm down.
I take a few calming breaths, trying to compartmentalize.
I need to get the fuck out of here. I need to get to the house and be alone.
I need to not think about that woman.
As I head back upstairs to wrap up with Catherine, I can’t help but peer into the reception room.
The woman is completely unaware of me, mindlessly running her full bottom lip between her teeth as she focuses on the computer in front of her.
She’s not wearing makeup, and I can see she has a small spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks.
God, she’s so cute.
I shake my head and head back upstairs, vaguely listening to Catherine as she passes me a portfolio of paperwork and all the keys.
“Our receptionist will send you the final statement later this month. The statement is just for your records—Dottie put the money for the probate services in trust before she passed.” I nod and try to smile, thanking Catherine and taking the keys and the paperwork.
When I leave, the receptionist is chatting quietly with a tall woman with red hair, so I don’t have an excuse to talk to her.
That’s probably for the best.
***
“Good afternoon, Theodore. I’m Dr. Mills.” I shake her hand before sitting in the chair across from her, giving her a polite smile.
“Nice to meet you.” It’s not. This is bullshit.
“Is there a name you prefer to go by? Please feel free to call me Melissa.” I feel my mouth thin out. I have no fucking interest in being familiar with her.
“Theodore is fine, Dr. Mills.”
“Okay. You’re scheduled to meet with me every other Thursday as part of your parole. Does that work for you?”
“That’s fine.”
“Salem’s a long drive from Astoria. I can do virtual, if you prefer?”
“I can come to Salem for our appointments.” It’ll give me something to do, at least.
“Will that pose an issue once you get a job?”
I smile politely again. “I won’t be needing a job. Money isn’t much of an issue for me.”
She nods and scribbles another note. “Well, financial stability is important, but jobs can also bring a lot of social fulfillment, and social connections are important for successful reintegration. Are you religious at all? Involved with churches, or any secular organizations?”
“No.”
“Do you have any friends you’re still in contact with?”
“No.”
“Did you have friends inside?”
“Friends of convenience, so, no.”
“Any family?” I try hard not to roll my eyes.
“My grandparents are both dead, and if you read my file, you’d know my father is dead.” Dr. Mills purses her lips in concern.
“What about your mother?” I can feel my jaw tense, so I force myself to relax.
“With one exception, we haven’t spoken in almost two decades.” She frowns at me.
“Theodore, reintegration can be extremely hard for people with robust support systems, much less people who don’t have one. There are lots of programs that can help fulfill the need for community.”
“I’ll be fine. I don’t have many social needs, honestly.”
“Well, what are your social needs?” I look out the window and shrug, thinking briefly of Catherine’s pretty receptionist.
“I’d like to meet someone.” Dr. Mills’s face is smooth as she considers what I’ve said.
“Given your history, I think you should deprioritize romantic attachment for the time being. I think it’s a good idea to focus on yourself first.” That is such bullshit.
I clear my throat and force another smile. “I’ve participated in therapy for almost a decade, and I’ve come to terms with the issues that landed me in trouble in the first place. I’ve done all the work I needed to do.”
Dr. Mills crosses her legs and gives me a patient, neutral look. “That’s wonderful, but there’s always more work to be done. Will you still be taking your medications?”
“No.”
“Why not?” My patience finally runs out, and I roll my eyes at her and her asinine questions.
“Because I’ve spent nine years feeling like a fucking zombie with no sex drive,” I snap. I take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Sorry. I don’t like the medication, and I don’t agree that I need it. I’m fine without it.”
Dr. Mills nods slowly. “Side effects can be difficult, but you might just be on the wrong medications. It usually takes some trial and error to find an effective combination. I think you should at least schedule an appointment with another psychiatrist and see what they have to say.”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Well, let’s keep it in mind as an option. Have you looked through the resources I’ve emailed you?”
“No.”
She exhales slowly, looking down at her notes. “Theodore, I’m going to encourage you to engage more deeply with this process. Reintegration is jarring and difficult. I’m here to support you and help you navigate it.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Be that as it may, I think we should create a support plan for you.” I glance at the clock. I haven’t even been here that long. I sigh and look back at her, trying to be polite.
“Fine.”
***
After nine years of a routine with very little autonomy, the most challenging part of being home is choosing what to do with my days.
I actually listen to one thing my therapist says and give myself structure right out of the gate.
Wake up, make breakfast, work out, find something to do, make lunch, find more things to do, make dinner, find another fucking thing to do, go to bed.
There’s so much time in the day to fill that I make a long list of projects and throw myself into them as hard as possible.
I clean out the house, box up everything I can’t handle looking at but don’t want to get rid of and donate things I don’t want or need anymore.
I get rid of the ornate wood pieces my grandfather cherished and replace most of them with pieces that remind me of the mid-century furniture my grandmother loved.
I donate everything in my closet and buy all new clothing, I set up a gym in the basement, I buy a nicer computer than I need and set it up in Boss’s old office, and I work on all three cars and get them running properly again.
I meet with Officer Dent, report on all I’m doing, take my drug test, smile, nod, and shake hands.
I work with Catherine to take care of all the bullshit paperwork I need to, like getting everything put in my name, getting insurance, whatever.
It’s not really her job, but she helps anyway because my grandmother paid her to.
I make a point not to talk to the receptionist, whose name is Alexandria, mostly because I don’t remember how to talk to women I’m attracted to and she’s so fucking gorgeous.