by Ari Reavis
“They live nearby?” he inquires.
“No. Two hours away. I told my dad not to let my mom come, but I should have known better. Whatever she wants, he gives. It’s the way it’s always been. I can’t even be mad at him for it.”
“That’s the key to a happy marriage.” He laughs. “When it comes to my wife, I’m all yes, honey and right away, baby. We’ve lasted twenty years, so there’s gotta be something there.”
“I can picture twenty years with Mariah,” I murmur low.
“You marry someone who you can picture forever with. Is that what you see with her?”
I nod. “Without a doubt.”
“Well there you go.”
“Damir Lewis,” an officer shouts.
“I’ll be back,” I say over my shoulder.
“Believe it or not, I’ll be here waiting.” He chuckles.
I walk to the visitation room like I’m floating on air. The officer directs me to a booth in the middle of the row and when I get my first look at Mariah, nothing else matters. Her hair is down and curly again, her eyes, full of love, looking at me, and those beautiful lips curling up at the corners as she reaches for the phone.
“Hello, love.” I smile.
Chapter 19
Sitting through the entire visit and not telling Damir that I’m pregnant was harder than I could’ve ever imagined. Constantly wondering if telling him would stress him out more or if it would give him some type of hope for what he has to look forward to. Instead of telling him, we discuss some of what Terry called and told his parents and me on our way here. I stay for the first hour and go to the waiting room so his parents can go in for the last hour. When we get back to my house, my brother is waiting on the steps. I introduce him to Evelyn and Damien before they walk inside.
“And you didn’t use your key because...” I ask him once we’re sitting on the top step.
“I didn’t wanna give his parents a heart attack. Excuse me.” He chuckles. “How’s Damir holding up?”
“Okay, I guess. I hate seeing him from behind some dirty glass.”
“Well hopefully it won’t be for much longer. And trust me, the other side of that glass is even dirtier. They don’t give a shit about how it looks on the prisoner’s side.”
I cringe. “I can’t even imagine. I have some news.”
“I’m all ears.”
“I’m pregnant,” I state.
“Well... Then I guess it’s too late to tell you to cut and run.” He snickers.
I smack his arm. “Asshole. Can you be serious for even one moment in your life?”
“Sorry, sorry. Are you happy about it?”
“Strange as the timing is, I am.”
“And if he’s convicted?” He looks at me out the corner of his eye.
“I really don’t know, but that possibility doesn’t change the fact that I want this baby.”
“Well then I’m happy for you. And I’ll be even happier if Damir gets out and can be a dad to my nephew.”
“Nephew?” I arch a brow. “Are you a psychic now?”
“I just see you running after a little boy for some reason.”
“I’m surprised you see anything at all. I know you don’t want kids.”
“I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to have a bunch of ‘em for me to spoil.” He laughs.
“I’m scared,” I say low. “I have no idea how to be a mother.”
His hand quickly lays on top of mine. “Yes, you do. You would never do or say the things our so-called parents did. I know that. You don’t even have it in you to be that cruel to your child. I know you well enough to know you already love your kid, and I can’t say I believe Lisa and Ken ever felt anything for us. Plus they’re gonna have the best uncle ever, so.” He shrugs with a smirk.
“Come inside. Eat dinner with us. I cooked it.”
He cringes. “Uh... I’ll pass.”
“Okay, I helped cook it.” I roll my eyes. “Evelyn did most of the cooking.”
“Well in that case.” He chuckles.
“And just like that, you go back to being an asshole.”
A week slowly passes by in nauseous mornings, days at work feeling like I want to throw up, and visits to Damir at night before dinner with his parents. Apparently the legal system works extremely slow. The prosecutor offers another deal, this time one with a longer sentence, and when Damir refuses it, Terry requests a hearing to get the case dismissed based on the lack of evidence. But even that isn’t for another two weeks.
Seeing Damir every day, talking to him every day, makes keeping this secret so hard. A few times, he’s even said I looked pale and if I was coming down with something. If only he knew. Evelyn is practically bursting at the seams to tell Damir. Hell, I’ve had to put her off from starting a nursery. Damien’s no help in refusing her anything, but goodness, I can’t wait until Damir caters to me like that for the rest of our lives.
Evelyn comes with me to my first appointment, but stays in the waiting room as I see the doctor. Although I’m told it’s too early for an ultrasound, the doctor confirms my pregnancy and tells me I’m seven weeks along.
“Oh, I just can’t believe it,” Evelyn claps when we’re back at my house. “A baby. I know it sounds incredibly selfish, but this couldn’t have come at a better time for me. I needed good news in the worst way since the moment you called telling us what happened.”
“I know the feeling. My brother swears the baby’s a boy.”
“Oh, I hope it’s a girl. I never got to dress a girl up in all the poufy dresses and sparkly shoes.”
I laugh. “Well thanks for letting me know what I’m in store for.”
She sighs. “I just wish you guys were gonna be closer.”
Damien calls her and saves me from having to say anything back to that. I just got my job. I shouldn’t be thinking about moving, right? And I wouldn’t want to be that far away from Liam. But do I really think Damir has a chance to be free of all this bullshit if we stay here? If he does come home, will the police just cook up something else to get him arrested?
When we get to the county jail, Evelyn and Damien go in to visit Damir first this time. Whereas I’m usually letting my mind spin while I wait, imagining too many possibilities for the future, good and bad, today I’m glad for the time it gives me. I reach into my purse and take out the letter that was in my mailbox when I got home from work today. I hadn’t had any private time to read it yet, so I open it now, unfolding it and smiling at just seeing Damir’s handwriting.
I’m not very good at writing letters. I don’t even know quite what I want to say, only that I want to write to you, want to connect with you in as many ways as possible while I’m in here. Although, I have to admit, I hope this doesn’t need to become a regular thing.
I have a lot of time to think in here, but when I find my thoughts consumed with you, I don’t mind the time so much. I can let myself drift away from this cell and pretend I’m with you, seeing your beautiful smile, hearing your infectious laughter, having you look at me with the softness in your gaze that’s just for me. I long for when I can be with you again, your head on my shoulder as we watch a movie, your hand in mine as we walk, your lips on mine as soon as we wake up. I need all of that again. And to be honest. I’m so afraid I won’t get it.
Why is that so much easier to write than say? Easier to admit knowing you’ll be reading it instead of hearing me say it. Because saying it feels like giving up, like I would be going against your faith in me. But writing it feels like...just speaking the truth.
I’m afraid the last time I held you will be the last. I’m scared that our last kiss will be our last kiss. It breaks my heart a little to even think that our last night together might just be our last. Because if I don’t get any more of those things with you, it would do more than break my heart. It would break me. I don’t have any doubts about that. And I know, it would break you too.
And that’s what keeps me going more than an
ything.
That I’ve spoken with you about the future, our future. We’ve talked about houses, kids, growing old together, and I can’t take that away from you. I won’t let these circumstances take that from both of us. I just cannot. So when those moments of doubt, despair kick in, I remember what I want for myself, what I want with you, what I’m determined we’ll have together. And that gives me a new hope, a new drive, a new, deeper determination.
No matter what happens, no matter how hard and how long I have to fight, no matter what comes my way, I won’t stop. I won’t give up. I won’t let go of everything we have and can have, will have.
I started out writing wanting you to know how much you mean to me. But now that I’m nearing the end, I’m realizing no words could explain how much of my heart you hold in your hands. I hope you know that, and never doubt it.
I love you,
Damir
“Here you go.”
I blink and look up to find the woman next to me, holding out a tissue. A surprised chuckle bursts out of me because I hadn’t even realized I was crying until right now.
“Thank you,” I say, taking the tissue from her.
“It gets easier.” She gives me a small smile.
It just did. Holding this letter in my hand, reading words that Damir could never know just how much they mean to me, it’s made things better. To know I’m not the only one afraid of the future, but still ready to face it head on, to fight for the future I want. That he feels the same fear and doubts, but that we’re both never going to give in to those emotions. To know he thinks of me as much as I think of him, that his heart is in my hands just as much as mine is in his. It’s made it easier.
I reread his letter two more times, falling more in love with his weird cursive each time. Running my fingers over the letter as if I am touching the man who wrote it himself. I take each word from paper and stitch them onto my heart, to have them there to help me during the hard times.
I will have the future I have imagined so many times with Damir. The baby is already a reality, even if he doesn’t know it yet. We will have the perfect house, built by Damir. We will have family picnics in the backyard, Damir smiling over at me when he notices me watching him play with our child. We will have it all.
I realize as I picture all of this, I don’t see it here. Because here no longer feels safe. Here hasn’t felt like home, but now I fear it never will. Here is where I know, am being shown, that the future we want does not reside. But will Damir see that too?
These thoughts are still plaguing me when I sit down to visit Damir. I smile at him, but his eyebrows crinkle with concern as he reaches for the phone.
“What’s wrong?” he immediately asks.
“Just a lot on my mind. Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Please. Give me something to worry about other than why I’m in here.”
“Have you considered moving when you get out of here?”
“I haven’t thought about it too much, but yeah, it’s crossed my mind. Why?”
I shrug. “I don’t think you should stay here. Clearly there’s nothing to stop the police from overstepping their bounds and doing some shady shit to have you right back in here. I don’t think it’s safe here for you.”
“We,” he states.
“Huh?”
“You don’t think we should stay here. I’m not going anywhere unless you go.”
I smile at his words. “We.”
“I’ll think about it more seriously now that I know you’re willing to go with me. What brought that thought on?” he inquires, leaning forward as if he knows there’s something else going on.
“Just thinking about the future.”
“And I’m definitely in this picture, right?”
“The shining star.” I chuckle. “What’s going on with the site?”
“Remember the guy I said mentored me?” I nod, and he continues. “There was another guy who he employed through the outreach program before I came to him, Aaron. He was the foreman for a lot of projects with Mr. Roberts until he started his own business. He’s filling in for me until all this is over. Keeping the men in order and the developer happy, for now.”
“Wow. That’s nice of him.”
“Nice, right. I’m paying him a shit load of money for it, plus this is just the excuse he needs to have me owing him a favor for the rest of my days.” He grins and shakes his head.
And Lord if that grin doesn’t make me wet in an instant. I rub my thighs together in the seat, and Damir’s eyes don’t miss the movement. They shoot back up to mine, and it’s impossible to miss the desire in them. My lips pull to the side in a smirk, and he groans.
“My butterfly misses you,” I say low.
“You’re killing me.” His head falls back. “If these fake ass cops didn’t look at all the mail, I’d ask you to send me a picture of that butterfly.”
“Other parts of me miss you too. Maybe you should write them a nice, long letter.”
“Well I’m suddenly stricken by the writing bug. I think I just might be able to write one when I get back to my cell.”
“Make it good and I might just write you one back.”
“You better.”
“And you’ve already been struck by the writing bug. I got your letter today.”
“Oh,” he says and I almost smile at the nervousness I see suddenly take over his face. “Like I said, I’m not very good at writing letters. I haven’t...”
“It was beautiful. It had me crying.”
“I don’t know if I like that.”
“Happy tears. With you, always happy tears.”
“Hopefully it’s always that way. I still never want to give you a reason to cry though.”
“For a letter as amazing as that one, the tears are worth it. Those words...They were everything to me. Everything.”
His smile is small and soft, and my heart feels so at ease from just seeing it. “I’ll write you again then.”
“Well yeah. You just promised me a sex letter.” I chuckle.
His smile grows into a grin. “I did huh?”
The rest of the hour passes much too quickly, and before either of us wants, the guard is behind Damir, telling him the visit has to end. The way Damir’s eyes fill with both aggravation and sadness, the way his chest and shoulders rise and fall with his deep breath, cut me deep. Even if we got to hug each other at the end of the visits, it would be something. Something to hold on to after we’ve gone our separate ways. A touch to tide us over until the next visit. But instead, we only have words through a phone, looking at each other with mournful eyes through a dirty glass.
“I love you,” I say.
His eyes meet mine again, and there’s fight in them, perhaps a drive to hear those words whispered in his ear again.
“I love you. I’ll call you tomorrow. Have sweet dreams of me.”
“I always do.” I smile.
But he doesn’t see it because he turns around as the guard nudges him to hurry up. He gives me one more long look before he stands. I wave as the guard walks him out of the booth. The feeling of the tears rising, tingling the bridge of my nose, threatening to spill from my eyes is instant. Although, I wish I only had happy tears to cry, I haven’t yet figured out a way to leave this jail after each visit without crying, without feeling like I’m just leaving Damir here.
When I reach the waiting room, Evelyn is quick to throw her arms around me.
“It’ll be okay,” she says low.
I nod. “It will.”
I say it with certainty. I don’t know how the future will turn out, or even what tomorrow will bring. But I know with certainty that it will be okay. I will make it okay. Damir and I will have a future, no matter how imperfect it may be. That I’m certain of.
Chapter 20
“So the main thing we’re really fighting against,” Terry says. “Is not knowing what influence the police have had on the judge. We can already expect some type of crooked
ness going on given that another judge even thought this evidence was enough for a warrant.”
“So how the hell do we know if the judge is going to hear you out?” I ask.
“We don’t. We hope. That’s about all we can do really. The prosecutor and I will both be calling witnesses and arguing over the validity of the evidence against you before the judge. The prosecutor just needs to show probable cause while we have to show the evidence, by some detectives I’m sure he already trusts to do their jobs correctly, was basically gathered incorrectly.”
I shake my head. “This doesn’t sound good at all.”
“It’s not, and I’m not going to pretend that it is. People like to say it’s innocent until proven guilty, but it’s quite the other way around, especially in your case. I don’t think anyone sees a black man as innocent first. Especially when you’ve basically got a cop like Miller going around telling everyone you’re some career criminal, which is what he’s doing by the way.”
“The funny part is my dad tried to warn me last time I went to see them. He told me the cops wouldn’t stop, that things would get worse, but I didn’t listen. Didn’t believe anyone would stoop so low just to see me in here.”
“Well if this doesn’t get your ass moving away from here, I don’t know what will.”
I chuckle. “Been talking to my mom, have you?”
“She has a point though. You should move. And I say that as a family friend and a lawyer. If you get out, the same officers who got you arrested will only try even harder to have you sitting right back in this room. And next time, the bullshit they do might just stick.”
“I hear you. It’s not that easy though. My business is here. Mariah just started working here. I can’t really ask that of her.”
“Better you’re asking her to move than asking her to wait the next twenty-five years for you until you get paroled.” He arches a brow.
“Touché.”
Two more weeks. Day after day of visits, phone calls, and meetings with Terry. Time after time of Mariah somehow, although I’m pretty sure I can guess why, not getting my letters and me not getting hers. Night after night filled with guilt over my parents not being able to work because they’re here. Fourteen days seems to fly by when you’re not sitting in a cell most of your days and eating disgusting meals in between. But in here, fourteen days feels like an eternity.