I looked around the room and ran some numbers in my head. This was going to be an expensive stay. Really expensive. Even with her insurance.

I had never really worried about money. I made enough in the Navy to be happy. I lived in a comfortable but tiny house, and until recently, I had money coming in. Now I considered what my mom would need even after she was released.

Money might be one of my new worries.

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It was late by the time I got back to my house. I ran by my mom’s house to make sure it was secure, and I grabbed her mail. Mostly bills except for her copy of Sports Illustrated and her church newsletter, The Marlboro Message. Her house is only a few blocks from mine. I sat on my threadbare couch, with my dog, Bart Simpson.

He looked like a cross between a Boston terrier and a bulldog, but I knew he was just a mongrel. There was no intentional breeding to make him come out like this. He considered himself royalty. At least that’s how he was treated. My mom baked homemade dog treats for him. Unfortunately, I found out she was doing this when I stole one from a tray in her kitchen thinking it was some kind of holiday treat. She used some kind of natural fiber to help Bart Simpson’s digestion. I can say it works pretty well.

We had the news on, but we weren’t really watching it. Bart’s head lay across my lap and I rubbed behind his ears. There were a couple of brochures spread on the couch and on the coffee table in front of me. One was from the Newburgh Police Department, designed to recruit new officers. Bill had tried to sell me on it several times.

I looked into law enforcement jobs. It seemed like a natural fit for a Navy vet who wanted to help people. I was amazed at the good pay and the benefits, including a great retirement. But I didn’t think I had the right temperament for it. I was never big on following too many rules. That made it tough on me in the Navy. Besides, it was pretty dangerous to be a cop nowadays. Just stopping someone for a speeding ticket could lead to an ambush. Timmy Jones, my childhood friend who worked for the sheriff’s office now, told me about a couple of his close calls. I didn’t think I could live my life worried about stuff like that.