Jackson sat in a cold cell in the men’s penitentiary down the road.
She swung her feet over the side of the cot, pulling herself up. “You in here for long? I’m sixty-two, a lifer, and it’ll be twelve more years before I come up for parole.”
“I’m thirty-six. I’ll be here for eighteen months.”
“Still young—and if you keep out of trouble, they could parole ya.”
When I’d made my bed, I sat down on the chair at the small wooden table between our cots. A stack of books, a tin soup-can ashtray, one cigarette, and a matchbook cluttered it. An old photograph peeked out of one of the books.
Waldeen pointed to my cast. “When ya getting that off?”
“They said in about two or three weeks.”
“Do you know your arithmetic?”
“I was schooled by Mama.”
“Okay, I guess ya can help me with my kitchen budget. Until they saw it off, I’ll assign you to light cleaning.”
Lighting a cigarette, she dug inside her pillow slip and withdrew a dollar, wadding it in a tight fist. “Over here, Teresa,”Waldeen called out to a girl busy sneaking glances over her shoulder for guards as she silently peddled a pack of Lucky Strikes. The cigarette dangled from Waldeen’s lips as she waved the money. Teresa snatched up the dollar, then passed her a handful of cigarettes and a tattered matchbook advertising a near-naked lady. When a pale, green-eyed woman stopped to sell her pills, Waldeen shooed her away.
Another woman came by carrying a stack of paperback books and darted her eyes between me and Waldeen. “Hey, hon,” she told the older women. “Thought I’d give you first pick and save you a trip downstairs. Just got in somenewnovels.” A secret played across her wriggling brows.
Waldeen stuffed one of Teresa’s cigarettes into a book on the table and handed it back to her.
“Was in a hurry, but you be sure and rip off these covers, Waldeen.” The woman winked and gave her two books.
Waldeen looked around, then held up an excitement novel,Shriek with Pleasureby Toni Howard, and tapped the cover of a busty blond tempestuously smoking a cigarette in bed with her lover. “This looks good.”
I gawked, astonished that the prison would allow such a racy read.
Mistaking my surprise for disapproval, Waldeen wrinkled her brow. “You don’t like books?”
“I’m fond of the books, sure enough.” I found myself relieved and also somewhat surprised she still hadn’t brought up my color, grateful the talk had shifted.
“You can borrow it when I’m done.” She tore off the cover. “Oh, look at this one, kid,” Waldeen whispered, picking up another novel. “I’ve been waiting forKiss Me Deadly. It’s Spillane’s latest.” The woman blew out a lusty sigh. “Our prison librarian made parole. She’s outta here in a few weeks. They’re sure gonna have a hard time getting someone to replace her.”
I watched the librarian pass out books, remembering my longdays on the Pack Horse librarian route in Troublesome Creek. Riding those swaddling hills with my mule, Junia.
“Well, kid”—Waldeen stubbed out her cigarette—“lights out in a few minutes. Four o’clock will get here soon enough. Better get some rest; you’re gonna need it tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.Measured minutes for another desperate day.
After I’d washed up in the facilities and changed into a nightshift, I climbed onto my sagging cot and pulled the threadbare blanket up over me.
Waldeen reached out, grabbed the small photograph inside her book, and held it up for me to see. The picture showed her holding a little boy who couldn’t be more than two or three. Leaning in closer, I studied the photograph, not daring to pry but wondering if he was a child or grandchild. Still, there was something vaguely familiar about the boy.
I smiled when she kissed the crinkled picture and placed it in her new read to bookmark a page.
Then my mind pulled to my own child back home, wishing I had a photograph of her, worried how sixteen-year-old Honey was faring down in Troublesome Creek after we’d hidden her from the law and sent her over to stay with a family friend.Was she safe? Would the law come after her too?
The lights went out.
I crooked my arm under my head, the cast smelly and loosely fitted now.
How I missed my old life. Missed everyone and everything, big and small. My husband. Honey. Junia. A cry escaped my breath. The old woman settled deeper into her bed, and I pressed a palm over my mouth and swallowed Jackson’s name, feeling it squeezing my breath until I thought it would shatter me.
“They all cry at first. Go ahead and let it out. The tears will nourish the courage to survive,” she croaked.
