Head straight ahead. Eyes too. Don’t look at anyone you’re not intending to.
Candace taught me the rhyme the first day she sat next to me. I’d been terrified I’d be forced to do unspeakable things considering how old she was and how much it was clear even to a newbie she was respected. I quickly learned it was just that. As one of the oldest women in prison, Candace helped people get acclimated. Didn’t mean she wouldn’t take you down. She was still tough enough to if she felt like it, but thankfully she’d never felt like that with me.
The memory made me shiver and I squeezed my eyes closed, blanking it out.
You’re not there. It’s okay to glance at someone. Smile.
Nancy’s voice poked through. Reminding me how to acclimate. Still, smiles felt stretched and fake and more like I was cringing. I even practiced them in the mirror. A crooked, broken smile to match the rest of my broken parts.
It was better for all most days if I didn’t try.
I headed toward the hostess stand. I was right on time but Ellen would have been early, either knowing how anxious I got when I had to wait in a crowd or because she believed being on time was being late. Either way, it worked for me.
“Two for Ellen Porter. I think she’s already here?”
“Yes, ma’am. Follow me to your table.”
She was sitting in a back corner where there’d be little traffic. God, some days I loved her. I didn’t know if she cared because it was her job and she really wanted to help people or if it was because she liked me. Either way, she always seemed to do the simplest things I appreciated.
Far from the bathrooms and kitchen, few people would walk by us. More, I spotted the back of her head before I saw her face because she left me the seat where I could see everything.
My racing pulse from the entryway and long walk slowed to a more normal rhythm by the time we reached her, and I slid into the booth the hostess gestured to.
“Thank you.” I glanced at her name tag. “Michelle.”
“You’re welcome. Enjoy your meal.” She grinned. One that wasn’t wonky and crooked and left me to reach for my ice water.
“Nice walk?”
“It was.” I set down my water. Considered trying on a smile but it was too much work. “I don’t usually see you on a Friday.”
She shrugged. “Nothing else going on, figured we could catch up before your shift at Judith’s. How’s that going anyway?”
If Chaz hadn’t already told Judith about the incident with the drunk guys last night, he would. Judith would lose her mind and tell Ellen. If anyone thought I couldn’t handle it, I’d be looking for another job and I didn’t want that. I didn’t mind it there. It was easy work for crappy tips, but I didn’t want to start job-hopping and seem undependable to future employers.
“Some jerks were there last night, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.”
Although, I was thankful for Chaz’s interference. For such a large man, he sometimes seemed invisible. I didn’t know he was paying attention and there was no way for him to see what was going on unless he watched through the small windows in the swinging doors. But he got there so fast.
And then there was David’s son. Hudson. He’d jumped from the stool so quick it would have slammed to the floor had it not been bolted down. He moved right in, hands fisted, chest out, looking like some superhero ready to avenge my honor—or rip their heads from their neck.
“You’ll graduate in the spring, correct?”
“I should.” With a two-year degree, that would maybe get me an entry-level position somewhere. But it’d be something. Not law school like I’d desired when I was younger, but those dreams died long ago. No, a decent job, where I could do good work, maybe work hard and move up over time would at least give me the ability to rent a nicer apartment, provide for myself even if it was on a discount store budget.
“You shouldn’t have taken so much time off.” Her criticism was said gently, but it still sent a slither of disappointment down my spine.
I shouldn’t have had so much time stolen from me.
“I know,” I said instead because recovery and parole and becoming reacclimated to society meant taking responsibility for actions, not placing blame.
When I was first sentenced, it took me years to see the point in even getting my GED. Since the accident happened before graduation, I was unenrolled the last semester of my senior year, leaving me four credits shorts of graduation. Candace finally convinced me two years later to take the high school completion courses and even then I only attempted it half-heartedly.
What good would it do when I wouldn’t be out of prison until I was almost thirty?
I was newly twenty-five, a two-year degree on the horizon and I still felt just as hopeless.
Except for two strangers who offered me help, and I threw it in their face and their business cards in the trash.
A waitress came and we ordered, and afterward, I was still thinking about Mr. Valentine and Hudson. He left in a huff, didn’t exactly seem like he wanted to help me and was only there for his dad, but what kind of man inspired that much loyalty?
And his statement. What was it?
It’d make Dad sad and he’s had enough of it.
I saw that enough in Mr. Valentine’s eyes and smile.
It made me curious what they saw in me.
For the first time, a nugget of regret settled in my stomach. Was it possible they were just trying to do something nice?
We waited for our food to come and Ellen and I talked about life. She tried to talk to me more about plans after graduation, checking out the career placement office on campus, but I was stuck on dark eyes, heavy black eyebrows, and the sharp-edged features of the man who’d jumped to my defense.
I once had everything going for me. Money. Family with status even if it was screwed up. I was popular, pretty based on the attention I got from guys. Hell, I could look at myself in the mirror and see what others saw and feel good about it. That hadn’t happened in years.
I had dozens of friends before the accident, a packed social calendar with plans to head to Purdue in the fall.
Now I had nothing. And it was my own stupid fault.
I was only half paying attention to Ellen, answering questions with shrugs and mumbled answers when our food came, and I poked at my fries.
“Have you… have you ever looked into my case, or the sentencing?” Sometimes, the desire to scream my innocence even after so many years became a tightly coiled ball in my gut, threatening to break free. Not that it’d do any good now.
“I review all cases when an inmate is paroled, so yeah, I’ve looked into it a bit. Why?”
I often wondered how my dad had all of it fall so perfectly into place. It didn’t help I’d lied in the hospital. After I’d done that, who else would have believed me anyway? My dad hired the lawyer, so he was beholden to the man paying his fees, not the teenage girl who’d killed her brother.
I was sentenced in a different county to minimize the notion of getting special treatment, and I’d still gotten a judge he was friends with. Like I had to worry about that. My dad ran campaigns based on his tough on crime approach. It was no wonder he never once tried to save his daughter. It’d ruin what he cared about most—his chance for reelection.