Moonstone: Gems of Wolfe Island One

I’m gazing at the waiting area. A sculpture of an Arabian horse sits in the corner next to a ficus. Leather couches and chairs surround a large marble coffee table that’s piled with books on Renaissance art, the state of Montana, and Harley Davidson motorcycles.

An odd combination.

“Have a seat,” the receptionist says, nodding toward the area. “Mr. Wolfe will be a few minutes. Can I get you some coffee or water? A soft drink?”

I shake my head. Anything that goes down is going to come right back up at this moment.

And it nearly does when Reid Wolfe walks into the reception area, a smile on his handsome face. He’s dressed impeccably in a navy suit with a red silk tie, his dark hair short and styled. The man could be walking a runway.

“Good afternoon, Katelyn. Come on back.”

36

Luke

I can’t catch my breath.

Fuck! What’s wrong with me? I somehow make it out of the visiting area, out of the prison. Cab. I need a cab to get home. Or to work. Where am I going? I grab my phone to check the time, but the screen is blurred.

God, get a grip!

I walk away from the building and then turn.

But for the grace of God, I’d be behind these very walls. Not these actual walls, but the walls of a prison somewhere in California.

Am I any better than Anthony DeCarlo?

Than Derek Wolfe?

Are there degrees of evil?

Derek Wolfe was evil. That priest was evil.

Tony DeCarlo? I can’t see him as evil. He’s a normal guy who got involved with some bad people and made some bad decisions. He’s paying for it.

But damn. Katelyn paid more for it. How many others did he “give” to that priest?

I should have asked him. I should have found out so much more.

Anthony DeCarlo isn’t all that different from the man I used to be. Sure, I can blame the alcohol, but no one poured it down my throat, forced me to swallow it. I can blame my old man, but no one made me leave home and go underground. No one held me at gunpoint.

I did it.

I did it all.

And only I bear the responsibility.

I treated people badly. I treated women badly. I never drugged anyone, but I inflicted damage.

And the only reason I’m alive today is because…

Fuck!

I can’t think about it. My phone screen gradually comes into focus and I order a cab to meet me outside the prison.

You can find a cab instantly in most of New York City, but apparently not in front of an upstate prison. Can’t blame the cabbies. Who the hell wants to hang around a prison?

I stumble to a bench and sit down to wait for the cab.

But for the grace of God.

That’s BS and I know it. It wasn’t the grace of God that saved me from a lifetime behind bars.

It was my father.

My old man, who’s no longer a part of my life.

I used to long for this day, and now… Now I want his advice. I want to see him. More than him, I want to see my mother. My beautiful mother who, even after the life I chose, refused to turn her back on her firstborn son.

No one would have blamed her if she’d written me off.

Hell, even I wouldn’t have blamed her.

But she didn’t.

So here I am. A new life. A new start. A new everything.

I’m no one and I’m everyone.

Luke Johnson. Every man.

I don’t like to think about how this all happened, about what this new start cost me. I don’t care about that old life anymore, but I do care about those I harmed, and I do care what I had to do to leave it.

Canary. I called DeCarlo a canary.

When right here, inside my own skin, is the worst canary of all.

Funny how things become so much more clear when no alcohol clouds my thoughts. When I actually allow myself to consider my actions, consider their effect on others.

I’m not proud of my past, and I wish…

I wish I truly were Luke Johnson, no man and every man.

I wish I were because then I could have Katelyn. I’d be free to give her the kind of relationship she deserves. I’d be free to protect her.

Free to love her.

To fucking love her.

I’ve always been quick to fall in love, except it wasn’t actually love. It was obsession. I learned through therapy that alcohol was part of what made me that way, and the first step to change my obsessive ways with women was to get off the sauce.

I did it.

But am I going the same route with Katelyn?

That’s the question I must answer, and to answer it, I must be honest with myself.

I was a powerful man in LA. A powerful and corrupt man. I can blame the alcohol to an extent. I can blame my father to an extent.