“Look what the cat dragged in,” Whit said, dropping into a chair at the table.
Poe pushed the soda and Doritos toward Whit. “Gramps and Gran have the flu.”
“They asked you to come?”
Poe nodded. “But I was overdue a visit anyway.”
Whit’s gaze drifted to me.
“Maeve, this is my brother, Whit.”
I held out my hand.
“No touching,” the guard near the wall barked.
I withdrew my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“This is your wife?” he asked Poe.
“Not officially,” Poe said. “But i wanted you to meet her.”
Whit studied my face, like he was looking for my life story there. “Nice to meet you.”
He leaned back in his chair and cracked open the Mountain Dew, took a long drink.
“Your commissary account topped up?” Poe asked.
“That you?” Whit asked.
Poe nodded.
They were talking in the shorthand of siblings. I recognized it and felt June’s absence all over again.
“Thanks,” Whit said.
“How are you feeling?” Poe asked.
Whit touched his stomach. “Better.”
They were talking about the incident that had happened a couple of months earlier when Whit had been stabbed.
“Good,” Poe said.
The rest of the visit was no less stilted. Poe caught Whit up on their grandparents, including the old car his gramps was restoring and his grandmother’s diabetes. Whit talked about how he spent his free time: reading mostly, and working out, although he was half the size of Poe.
I mostly listened, drinking in this new view of Poe as big brother, feeling the tension and pain that came from their shared history. It was more than a little awkward to witness, but I felt lucky to be let in, to see this side of Poe and the life he kept mostly separate from the one we lived together with Bram and Remy at the loft.
The visit only lasted an hour. Then we were saying goodbye, Poe and Whit standing a few feet apart, an ocean of words between them that neither could say.
We watched as the guard escorted the prisoners out of the room. The dark-haired girl was crying, the older man staring helplessly after his son. The little girl played with her Barbie, already on to the next moment of her life.
Childhood was probably the ultimate in mindfulness. Too bad we didn’t realize it while we could still enjoy it.
Poe held my hand as we backtracked through the prison: out of the meeting room and into the lockers to collect our things, past the second checkpoint and onto the first, where we signed out before stepping outside.
The cold was biting, but Poe stopped and inhaled a deep breath, like he was in no hurry to get to the car.
I got it. The prison had felt confining even though we’d been there by choice, like at any moment someone might lock the doors, trapping us inside with everyone else. Being outside felt like a gift, even in the cold, and I stood alongside Poe, breathing in the cold clean air until he was ready to go to the car.
