Cam put her elbows on the table and clasped her hands. She bumped her chin with her fists. “I have to keep reminding myself that what I’m doing is more important than what other people think of me, but it’s hard to keep up your self-esteem when people who used to be friends look at you with disgust and you have to deal with people like that parole supervisor. She treated me like a fuck-up.”
“She probably has to. A lot of people in your position really are fuck-ups or they would not be in a situation like yours.” Michael looked across the table at Cam’s posture. Her shoulders drooped and there was a scowl on her face. “Let me get you something to drink. Latte? Cappuccino? Mocha?”
Cam looked up, her lips clenched in thought. “A macchiato. Something very strong. I think I deserve a good treat after that meeting. When we get back home I’m headed for the scotch bottle.”
“Are you allowed to drink on your parole rules?”