Chapter 9 - Eighteen Months Without HimDeari hated prison for reasons that surprised him.
It was not the lack of luxury.
He had lived in rough places before wealth hardened around him.
It was not the food.
Luigi had once made pasta so terrible federal prison lasagna felt competitive.
It was not even confinement.
Deari had spent most of his life trapped by obligations nobody could see.
The hardest part was being unable to fix things.
Caitlyn called every Tuesday and Saturday.
When Tommy had a bad week, Deari could not go.
When the foundation opened its first new residential wing, he saw photographs instead of attending.
When Caitlyn developed pneumonia, he spent four days fighting the urge to threaten medical professionals from a prison phone.
“You realize I have antibiotics?” she said during a call.
“You sound terrible.”
“I am sick.”
“Have they checked your oxygen?”
“Yes.”
“Twice?”
“Deari.”
“Where is Rafael?”
“I dismissed Rafael nine months ago.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't need a bodyguard at the grocery store.”
“That sounds incorrect.”
Caitlyn laughed, then coughed.
Deari gripped the phone.
“Not funny.”
“You're adorable when powerless.”
“I will remember this.”
“Good.”
Letters became their private world.
Deari wrote by hand because Caitlyn said his prison emails sounded like corporate memos.
His first letter contained three paragraphs.
Dear Caitlyn,
Everything is fine.
Food is acceptable.
The counselor believes I repress emotions.
I told him I efficiently prioritize them.
He wrote something down.
I dislike him.
—Deari
Caitlyn's response was twelve pages.
She mocked him for four.
By month six, Deari's letters changed.
He wrote about his father.
About Daniel.
About being thirteen when Charles Hamilton took him to an abandoned warehouse and told him fear was the only reliable loyalty.
About the first man Deari hit.
The first gun he fired.
The first time he understood his family expected him to become something cold.
Caitlyn read every word.
She never responded with easy absolution.
She did not tell him none of it was his fault.
Some of it was.
That honesty mattered.
Instead she wrote:
I understand why you became who you were.
That is not the same as saying you had no choices.
What matters to me is that now you know you do.
Deari kept that letter beneath his mattress.
He joined a financial literacy program for inmates.
Initially because boredom was killing him.
Then because he discovered young men who could move illegal money through six shell companies but did not understand credit scores.
One twenty-two-year-old named Marcus asked Deari why someone who clearly knew business had ended up in prison.
Deari answered:
“Because knowing how to build something doesn't mean you know what is worth building.”
Marcus stared.
“That's deep.”
“No. It's expensive.”
Word spread.
Former mafia boss teaches budgeting.
Deari hated the description.
Caitlyn loved it.
At month eleven, Tommy visited.
Deari entered the visitor room expecting Caitlyn.
Instead, Tommy sat there with Luigi.
Deari stared.
“Where's Caitlyn?”
“Working,” Tommy said.
Luigi grinned.
“Kid insisted.”
“Not kid.”
“Sorry. Young gentleman.”
Tommy had grown more confident.
Deari sat.
Tommy placed something on the table.
A model steam locomotive.
Deari looked at it.
“For you.”
His throat tightened.
“Why?”
“Because prison boring.”
Luigi looked away.
Deari touched the model.
“Thank you.”
Tommy smiled.
“Cait loves you.”
Deari froze.
Luigi immediately became interested in the ceiling.
“What?”
“Cait loves you.”
“Tommy.”
“She says name in sleep.”
Luigi's shoulders shook.
Deari glared.
“If this leaves this room, I will destroy you.”
Luigi laughed.
“I wish I had recording equipment.”
Deari looked at Tommy.
“Does she know you're telling me this?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Tommy leaned forward.
“You love Cait?”
Deari's answer came immediately.
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No fear.
Tommy nodded.
“Okay.”
That was apparently the entire interrogation.
Deari felt absurdly relieved.
At month fourteen, Caitlyn visited in person.
She wore a blue dress.
Deari forgot half his vocabulary.
They sat across from each other.
“You're staring,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Prison has destroyed your manners.”
“I had limited manners beforehand.”
“True.”
Deari leaned closer.
“You look beautiful.”
Her cheeks warmed.
Eighteen months of loving this man and that voice still affected her.
“How are you?”
“Three months left.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Deari smiled.
“Better.”
It was true.
He slept more.
Had fewer nightmares.
Saw a therapist weekly.
He still hated the therapist.
That apparently meant progress.
“What happens after?”
Caitlyn asked.
“I have restrictions.”
“I know.”
“No association with organized-crime activity.”
“Excellent.”
“No management position at Hamilton Logistics for three years.”
“Also excellent.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“What am I supposed to do?”
Caitlyn smiled.
“I have an opening.”
“No.”
“You haven't heard it.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Program development consultant.”
“At your foundation?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to work for you?”
Caitlyn's eyes sparkled.
“I find the power dynamic appealing.”
Deari stared.
She laughed.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don't.”
His expression softened.
“No.”
He lowered his voice.
“I don't.”
They fell silent.
Caitlyn's hand rested on the table.
Deari placed his over it.
Prison rules allowed limited contact.
He treasured every second.
“Caitlyn.”
“Yes?”
“When I get out, I don't want to return to Hamilton House.”
She looked surprised.
“Why?”
“Too many ghosts.”
“I understand.”
“I sold it.”
“What?”
“To the city.”
Her eyes widened.
“For what?”
“A community rehabilitation center.”
Caitlyn stared.
Deari looked uncomfortable.
“Luigi said it was sentimental.”
“It is.”
“Please don't cry.”
“I am not crying.”
“You are.”
She wiped her eye.
“Shut up.”
Deari smiled.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“I bought a house.”
She froze.
“With legal money,” he added quickly.
“That was not my first question.”
“Three bedrooms.”
“Deari.”
“Small.”
“What does small mean to you?”
“Two thousand square feet.”
“That is actually almost normal.”
“I know.”
“Why three bedrooms?”
Deari hesitated.
Caitlyn saw it.
His ears turned slightly red.
Deari Hamilton blushed.
She nearly fell out of her chair.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you smiling?”
“Why three bedrooms?”
“One for us.”
Her heart stopped.
“One for Tommy if he visits.”
“And the third?”
Deari looked directly at her.
“I don't know yet.”
Caitlyn understood.
Future.
Possibility.
Family.
Not a demand.
Just space.
Tears filled her eyes.
Deari sighed.
“I asked you not to cry.”
“You bought a hypothetical bedroom.”
“It was included.”
“Liar.”
“Technically true.”
Caitlyn laughed through tears.
Deari squeezed her hand.
“I don't want to assume.”
“Good.”
“I don't even know if you want children.”
“I don't know either.”
“That's fine.”
“Yes.”
He looked at her.
“The room can be an office.”
“Your office?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You'd organize it.”
She laughed.
Their time ended too quickly.
When Caitlyn stood, Deari did too.
They were permitted one brief hug.
She wrapped herself around him.
Deari closed his eyes.
“Three months.”
She whispered.
“Three months.”
Then she pulled back.
“Don't get in trouble.”
“I have become painfully law-abiding.”
“Good.”
“It's terrible.”
She smiled.
“See you soon.”
Deari watched her leave.
Three months later, Caitlyn stood outside the federal facility at seven in the morning.
Luigi waited beside her.
Tommy waited in the car because it was cold.
Caitlyn's hands shook.
“You nervous?” Luigi asked.
“No.”
“Liar.”
She glared.
Then the door opened.
Deari stepped outside.
No suit.
Dark jeans.
Gray sweater.
A duffel bag.
He stopped.
Saw her.
For a moment, the entire world disappeared.
Caitlyn walked toward him.
Then ran.
Deari dropped the bag.
She threw herself into his arms.
He caught her.
Eighteen months collapsed into one breath.
Caitlyn kissed him.
Deari held her like he never intended to let go.
Luigi shouted from the car.
“Public indecency! Great start to parole!”
Deari raised one hand without looking.
A familiar finger gesture.
Luigi laughed.
Caitlyn pulled back.
“You're free.”
Deari looked at her.
Not the prison.
Not the road.
Her.
May you like
“Yes.”
For the first time, the word meant exactly what it should.
