“I know,” Cam says in a low voice. She twists the cap on the nail polish, securing it. “Look at it this way. Gabriel has already been in one month. Thirty-five more to go, but he’ll probably get early release.”
I press lightly on one nail, to see if it’s dry. “Don’t hope, Cam. Hope has no business existing.”
Cam tosses the bottle back in the box. She doesn’t look at me when she says, “I think I’ll stay the night tonight.”
CHAPTER 26
The prison isin the middle of nowhere. There is nothing but dirt and dust, and sprawling, ugly cacti. Mountains jut up in the distance, incongruous to the flat landscape.
I’ve made this drive for almost three months now, and each week it’s harder than the time before it.
I thought I’d lost Gabriel all at once, but no. Each Saturday, I find a little less of my husband in his dark eyes. At last week’s visit the vacancy in his gaze took my breath away. It is as if I’m holding an ice cube in the middle of July, watching it slowly melt and slide between the cracks in my fingers.
My husband is slipping away.
I’m here now. I park, and take the kind of breath that fills my chest and burns my lungs. I swipe on two extra coats of lip balm, after learning the hard way that false smiles crack the corners of my mouth. I pass through the metal detector while they check the contents of my purse. I step into the visitor’s room, and sit down at a table to wait for Gabriel.
A man a few tables over from me smiles in this sad way and nods. I nod, but do not smile. I cannot force the muscles to movethat way right now. False or not, I have to save all my smiles for Gabriel.
The man gets up, pushes in his chair, and approaches me. He stands behind the seat across from me, the seat meant for Gabriel. He's balding, his belly a paunch beneath his starched white shirt and navy blue jacket. His long fingers grip the chair, all bare save for a simple gold band on his pinky.
“Mrs. Woodruff?”
I stiffen. “Yes?” Has something happened to Gabriel? Has he been beat up? Hurt? Worse?
“I’m Peter Whalen. A family law attorney.” He holds out his hand. I let it hover in the open space before shaking it woodenly.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
He gestures to the chair. “May I sit?” He drops into the seat without waiting for my response. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here.” He digs into his briefcase, coming away with a small sheaf of papers.
Instantly, I get it.
I’m shocked, but maybe not really. Not deep down.
It makes sense.
It’s so Gabriel.
The lawyer straightens the papers. I clutch my purse to my chest, as though it can provide any measure of safety against the pain bending my heart in two.
“You don’t look surprised.” He tips his head to one side, surveying me.
“Peter…Mr. Whalen…”
“Peter is fine.”
“Have you ever watched a movie where you had no idea what was going to happen, but somehow you guessed the ending anyway?”
He pulls a pen from his jacket pocket. “I don’t watch movies. But I understand the point you’re making.” Peter taps the penon the papers, nodding slowly as he thinks. “Gabriel’s world has become tiny. He controls nothing. He hates what he’s done to you.”
“He told you that?” My eyebrows pull together. How long has this man known Gabriel?
“Not in those words. I’ve done this long enough now that I know what’s going through his head.”
I don’t care how many other clients there were before, and why it means Peter thinks he knows my husband. “How long have you known Gabriel?”
“He contacted me a few weeks ago.”
