Page 110 of Just Ten Seconds

“About everything.” When his head lowers back to mine, he rubs his eyes beneath his glasses and leans on the table again. “I was hoping you’d help me get out of here, but I know you won’t. You were a good wife.”

I cross my arms in spite of his compliment. “A gullible wife.”

He shakes his head. “No. You’re smart. Too smart. I never gave you enough credit.”

If I keep my eyes focused on the table and my hands, I can imagine I’m anywhere instead of at a state penitentiary. When I glance down at his green pants and white New Balance sneakers I’m reminded exactly where we are.

“You want to know what was in those letters?” He leans forward, his knee shaking under the table.

“Not really, but I know you’re going to tell me anyway.”

He lets out a laugh-like exhale. “First, I was asking you to re-testify. I pleaded that it was Michael who had stolen the money, and I was only acting in self-defense after I found out what he had done. The next few letters were the same. One was even condescending and nasty, so I’m glad you didn’t read it because I had been in a really bad place.”

I pull on my sleeve and wrap it around my hand.

“But the last one …” He pauses for a moment. “The last one was me saying that I hope you have a good life. And I mean it, Mara. You have the world at your feet. There’s a tremendous difference between how you and I are going to spend the rest of our lives. Don’t cage yourself in any way. Do what you love. Be with the people who make you laugh. Sleep in a comfortable bed. Eat sushi and drink wine. God, I miss those things. Live, Mara. I might have stolen the future we thought we were supposed to have, but you have the chance to make a new one.”

I’ve had many people lift me up over the last three years. Jackie and Nick, Rita, and Manny. Dean most of all. Yet here I am, hearing the words I needed to hear because, most of all, I needed closure.

I stay until three o’clock when visiting hours are over. Once I knew there was only an hour left, I felt it was right to keep Benjamin from having to go back to his cell. I buy us burritos and Cokes from the vending machine and him three types of candy bars. We eat at our table in silence. I don’t finish mine. He inhales everything.

At the end of the visit, we hug. As my hands wrap around his back, it feels normal and awkward at the same time. I ask him not to write me anymore, and he agrees. I believe him.

It’s not until I’m walking back through the tunnels with a mob of people leaving their loved ones that I start to cry.

I feel bad, leaving Benjamin here. As terrible as his crimes were and although he deserves the punishment, it’s only human nature to feel bad about leaving a person to go back to a tiny cell.

I get my purse and walk outside. It’s early afternoon, and the sun is still out, shining in a cloudless sky. I halt on the steps and look inside my bag. Inside is the pocket watch stopped at 10:18 p.m. It was in my hand when I arrived that night. I squeezed it as I felt Michael’s life leave his body, stopping time. That was the moment I miscarried.

When I looked in my bag to grab my cell phone to call Jackie, I saw the watch. Its purpose was so powerful, the beginning of a new life, that when it started to signify the end, I stopped the clock.

That’s when I stopped living.

With a heavy breath and a steady hand, I wind the watch as far as it will go. When I open the door, I see the seconds ticking away.

Time has once again started to move.

I walk down the rest of the stone steps and into the parking lot. Just like the day she rescued me from my Park Avenue apartment, the Louise to my Thelma is standing outside her convertible with a scarf around her neck, holding a second one in her hand.

“Ready to bust me out?” I ask jokingly.

She walks up to me and puts the scarf around my head and then slides a pair of sunglasses on my face. “Let’s get you home, Louise.”

With Benjamin’s words ringing in my ears, I shower and dress. This is my time. A chance to start living.

I know Dean doesn’t want to talk to me, so I print the letter I started writing him days ago and seal it in an envelope, hoping he might read it and understand me better.

The drive is short, yet it takes forever. I park the car and stare at the house. It’s a fortress, nothing like the warmth of the lake house. Still, I’ve had some of the most wonderful times in this home with Dean and Amanda. Some of the simplest and peaceful.

I’m walking up the path when I hear the front door open. I glance up as Dean appears at the top of the steps. He’s showered, wearing jeans and a sweater.

The letter is in my hands, so I stare at it, wondering if I should give it to him. I step forward, but his posture changes.

“I don’t want you in my home,” he says. His legs are spread wide as his arms are crossed in front of his body, as if protecting his home.

“I just came to drop this off.” I hold up the letter. The mailbox is on the road behind me. I turn around, gripping it in my hands, but I don’t move further. I turn back around and face him. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to read it. Benjamin writes to me from prison, and I haven’t opened a single letter. I burn them.”

“You don’t read letters from your husband?”