She shrugged. “No idea,” she said. “He didn’t leave me much in the way of details. I’m just following his orders.”

I kept my gaze riveted on the brake lights of the car in front of us.

“You have to meet with the parole officer within three days,” Lisa added.

“I know.” My responsibilities had been drilled into my head. “Is it possible … I can get an advance on my pay?”

Lisa looked at me sharply.

“I need clothes for the outside,” I said. “I mean, for … I just need clothes. I don’t have any with me except what I have on. And I’ll need a phone.”

“Could your family send you your clothes?”

“My parents and I aren’t talking.”

“Do they know you’re out? Would that make a difference?” Lisa’s phone rang and she looked at it. Pressed a button to stop the call. “I mean, would they talk to you now?” she continued.

I hadn’t called them. What was the point? If I’d learned anything at all those AA meetings I’d attended this past year, it was that I needed to cut toxic people out of my life.

“No, it wouldn’t make a difference,” I said.

Lisa didn’t respond and we drove in silence for a few more minutes. Then she made a call using the speaker on her phone. Something about a house. A contract. She was a real estate agent, I realized, and the little house pin on her lapel suddenly made sense. As she spoke into the phone, Lisa’s voice was higher, friendlier, more upbeat. A completely different person. When she hung up, she glanced at me. “Yes, you can have an advance,” she said. “You are going to need a phone. We need to be in touch all the time, and you’re going to need a laptop computer for restoration research, I’m sure. So I’ll advance you four thousand. Get what you need.”

“Thanks,” I said.