“And this will improve the community,” Rebecca said. It was a statement but I heard it as more of a question.

I shrugged, trying to come up with a response that wouldn’t sound argumentative. “I hope so,” I said.

“Well.” Rebecca lifted a clipboard from her desk and handed it to me. “I have some paperwork for you to fill out,” she said. “Your supervision is for one year.”

I looked down at the stack of papers attached to the clipboard. “I’ll only be in Edenton a couple of months,” I said.

“We’ll worry about that later.” Rebecca looked down at my file. “And during the time you’re under supervision, you need to work twenty hours a week.”

“I’ll be working a lot more than that,” I said.

“Fine. That’s the minimum. Just so you know. And once you complete the work, you’ll still be on parole until the twelve months are up.”

“All right,” I said. I would do whatever it took to stay out of prison. I glanced at her file. Took in a long breath. “I have a question,” I said slowly. “Do you have any information on … Do you know how the victim of the accident is doing?” It was hard to get those words out. I shut my eyes, an involuntary reaction, as if I could block out the image of Emily Maxwell’s bloody, mangled body from my memory.

“I have no idea,” she said. “You haven’t had any contact with her? There’s nothing in your postrelease supervision preventing it.”

I opened my eyes and looked down at my hands. I was afraid I was going to lose it. “I don’t want to see her,” I said quickly. “But I dream about her. Nightmares. I just wish I could know how she is.” Emily was my age, almost to the day. When I thought about what Trey and I had done to her life … Sometimes I didn’t think I could bear it.

“I can’t help you with that,” Rebecca said. She returned her attention to her paperwork. “So, here’s how we work out your restitution and the payment of your court costs, et cetera,” she said. She handed me a chart filled with dates and numbers and dove into a long explanation of how I could try to make up for the harm I’d done using dollars and cents. The numbers swam before my eyes.

“You were in AA while in prison?” Rebecca asked, breaking away from the chart.

“Yes.”

“I’m going to require that you attend at least one meeting a week.” She handed me another sheet of paper.

“I don’t think I’ll have time,” I said. “But I’m completely over alcohol. I was never an alcoholic. I just drank when I was with—”