“Please?” the boy says. “It’s been so long since we watched a movie together.”

The boy isn’t wrong. It has been a long, long time since they’ve watched anything in a warm, private place. Been just as long since the boy’s taken a proper bath, had a real scrub, and it is his birthday, so really, what’s one more hour? What difference does it make how early or late they actually hit the lights? Really, they might as well stay up all night. Almost seems a waste to ignore this temporary comfort under the cover of sleep, so—

“Fine,” Henry snaps, then corrects himself: “Yeah, of course. Tonight’s your night, bud.”

This will give him time to practice for tomorrow. Better now than later, while he’s still half-awake. He grabs his note cards out of the suit jacket’s pocket, before shedding the towel and settling into the bathwater.

It’d been nearly two years since he last saw or even heard from his parole officer. In their only face-to-face meeting, the PO was a gruff, toady man, like Churchill but black, chewing a stick of jerky in lieu of a cigar, any bulldog wit trimmed down to a sterile, clipboard script. When he turned to the computer, he punched at the keys with his middle fingers, muttering, and Henry wasn’t sure if the grumbles and upside-down gestures were meant for him or the screen. After a few signatures and stamps, the PO flicked over a piece of paper with an address, clock-in time, and rusty grease stains.

“Gold plating,” he said. “Temporary at best.”

He warned the gig probably wouldn’t last, the economy and what not, turning even good news grim, but whatever. Henry was as ecstatic to have a job as he was grateful to be spared further interactions with this warty buzzkill.

That was before the bathtub fiasco with Michelle, back when Henry was still riding the recently freed man’s high. He came home from the precinct grinning. Even though Junior, only six then, hadn’t quite warmed up to his pa, this new presence in their home, Henry scooped the boy into his arms and smacked a kiss on his cheek. With the boy trying to paw free from his embrace, Henry told Michelle about the new job, then went on to describe and joke about his PO, saying the acronym was short a letter. An S.

“Acronym?”

“Like, what letters stand for.”

“So whyn’t you say that then?” she said. “You and your big words, Hen.”

“You and your big mouth.” Which he then grabbed, kissed, and it felt so good to be back home that not even forever could scare him, not if forever meant living like this.