We finished our meal without further discussion and left for the hour-plus drive north to Courtenay. There was very little talk along the way. I thought Charlotte might drop off to sleep once more, but each time I looked over at her, she was still awake, looking out the windshield into the darkness beyond my headlights. I wondered what was going through her mind at the time.It was a quarter past nine when I walked her to her apartment lobby. She thanked me for the ride and I reminded her we would meet at the house at nine on Tuesday morning. She said she would be there and I watched as she entered the lobby and unlocked the door into the main building. Driving off toward my home, I wondered if I hadn't screwed up our potential relationship by overdoing it with the description of her face. In retrospect, I wasn't very articulate, but I felt I was honest. I hoped she felt that too."Good morning," I smiled as Charlotte strode up the winding incline path to my front door."Hi, Nolan. I. .”“Yes, I know, your Dad’s in prison. But, your other Dad, your bio Dad?” he said.“Yes, he’s been more of a dad to me than the one who raised me,” she said.A psychologist would have been able to explain it, maybe as a self-defense mechanism of sorts. Jenna’s attitude, at least her outward attitude, toward the father that had saved her, had morphed. She now avowed how the man, David Carter, though he had undeniably saved her, was a criminal and deserved his punishment.The morphing had been a slow process, and one that had been aided and abetted by her bio Dad and her Mother. Their motive, their stated motive between them, had been to get Jenna to lighten up on herself and to dump the seemingly endless melodrama that had been so in evidence during the first year of her Father’s incarceration.“But, well, never mind I guess we can tell them, mom and dad Ronald,” she said.“You gonna bother to tell your other dad. I mean I know what you think of him, but...” he said.“I guess. I do kind of.
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