He sat at his desk and brought his computer to life. “I was looking at your file earlier. Do you have any questions about the terms of your parole?”

“No, sir. Do you have noted my job at Amy-Jo’s Café? I begin on Thursday.”

He nodded and told me he had the verification. I gave him my address, cell phone number, and plans to design jewelry.

“I see you earned a master’s degree in business while incarcerated. The education will serve you well with your jewelry endeavor and reclaiming your life.” He squinted into his computer screen. “A 4.0 average too. Well done.”

“Thank you.” I removed my backpack from my shoulders and reached for my denim bag, a gift from my parents on my sixteenth birthday. Inside were two envelopes. “Here are my release papers and cash payment for the monthly parole fee.”

He examined the contents of each envelope, then counted the money. “If there’s ever a problem in paying the fees, let me know ahead of time. Don’t wait until past the due date.”

After the formalities and scheduling a weekly appointment, he gave me his card. “Parole is a privilege not a right. My goal is to help you succeed. We’ll begin with high supervision for six months, and Pastor Emory will handle the weekly counseling. If all goes well, we’ll drop to moderate level. Do not hesitate to contact me for any reason. How are you doing with your family’s request for no contact?”

“Their stipulation is one of the reasons I’m in Valleysburg.” While he typed, my mind wandered. My family broke contact right after sentencing. My sister and I were raised with the knowledge of unconditional love, but I learned some deeds were unforgivable. How could I fault them?

Mr. Peterson leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over a trim stomach. “What’s your biggest concern right now?”

Honesty . . . “Someone wants me out of town in a bad way.” I told him about last night and earlier today, omitting my intuitiveness. “I have no idea who did it or why. Edie Campbell has helped me tremendously, and now she could be hurt by association. Officer Hughes gave the note to Sheriff Wendall. If he’s in his office when I leave here, I’d like to talk to him.”

“The sheriff’s a good man. He’ll untangle what’s going on.” Mr. Peterson picked up his cell phone and pressed in numbers. “This is Jim. Shelby Pearce is in my office, and she’d like to stop by. Will you be there for another hour or so?” He paused and laid the phone on his desk. “I’m going with you.”

Why was I so paranoid? I hadn’t done anything to warrant a nightmare trip back to prison.

“Is there anything I should know before we talk to the sheriff? A threat from inside or outside prison? I see you’d received severe beatings from fellow inmates.”

I pushed aside the memories. “I stayed to myself to avoid too many problems.”