by C. E. Case
The children's letters, by contrast, nearly killed her.
"I'm afraid to open them," she told Burdette.
"Afraid one of the kids has lost a tooth?"
Meredith studied at her hands. Missing such an event would break her heart.
Burdette plucked the largest envelope, surely a square greeting card, from Meredith's pile. Then she glanced at Meredith.
Decorum mattered.
"Go ahead," Meredith said. She picked up her fork. The meatloaf stared up at her.
Burdette tore the envelope and pulled out a card with a puppy on it. "They never search your mail."
"I think they steam it."
Burdette snorted. She'd had a pen pal for a while, through the state program, but things got so racy she'd read the letters to the lunch crowds and the letters stopped coming. Burdette blamed the guards.
"Dear, Mommy," Burdette read. "So close to Merry. I can't believe that's your name. I would never let anyone call me Bernie."
Meredith tilted her head.
"Except my grandpa."
"Go on. You have responsibilities."
"Dear Merry. We went to grandma's yesterday."
Meredith pushed her plate away.
"The penmanship is astounding. And it's not even in crayon. Your girlfriend must have transcribed."
Not all of the children's letters came in childish scrawl. Natalie would work with them on important messages. Meredith imagined them at the kitchen table together. Her eyes stung.
The smell of meatloaf was becoming overpowering. She pushed her tray toward the empty seat beside her.
"We didn't want to leave. But Natalie made us. Can we live with grandma? She's nice. We're going to get school supplies soon. All together. Even Natalie."
Meredith covered her face with her hands.
"But not... Hollingsworth. He has to stay home." Burdette glanced up. "Hollingsworth? Really?"
As if the answer would change if she asked it enough times. As if there was some super secret, exotic story behind the cat's name only the privileged knew, and Meredith would someday let her in. Or slip up.
"It's Natalie's cat," Meredith said.
Satisfied with the standard response, Burdette read on. "Don't worry, I told Natalie it was better than nothing at our house, but I miss you. Prison sucks--You let your kid use 'sucks'?"
"Prison sucks."
Burdette glanced around the dining hall, shrugged, and finished reading. "Love, Beau Jameison. So formal, that kid."
"Natalie's a lawyer, remember?"
"Right. Anyway, the 'Love Beau Jameison' is in his handwriting." Burdette passed the letter back.
Meredith cradled it to her chest.
"Want me to read Merritt's? Maybe he's on Team Natalie."
Meredith shook her head. "Let me ride this one for a while. Otherwise I won't be able to eat."
"You and your feelings."
"I bet you're more fun when you're drunk."
Burdette smiled.
#
"Fuck you. Fuck you! Can't you see I'm in pain?"
The shouting echoed from the doctor's office into the main room of the infirmary, where Meredith was inventorying bandages, feeling useless. She couldn't see patient records, she couldn't inventory medications or syringes or haz-mat. She couldn't even order office supplies. She could only listen to the screaming, like clockwork, every Monday at 3:13 p.m.
Patricia strode into the main room after slamming Doctor Canard's door. She was trembling from head to toe, sweating, but she still caught herself up short when she saw Meredith.
"Sorry about the shouting."
"I know you're hurting."
"Canard says I'm not. How can he know? God, wouldn't I be a fucking model prisoner if I didn't feel this? All the goddamn time?"
"I know."
"Give me something, Merry."
"You know I don't have access."
"You have a key." Patricia glanced at the bolted door. Behind it, another bolted door, behind it, a combination safe. Inside the safe, nothing but adrenaline and insulin. The antipsychotics were in a different room.
Patricia wanted oxycontin.
"I don't have a key." Meredith held up her empty hands.
"Fuck."
"I'm a prisoner, just like you."
Patricia leaned against the counter holding Meredith's perfect line of gauze. Meredith met her gaze.
"I forget," Patricia said. "I mean, you don't look like a murderer. And I--I look like a junkie."
"Patricia--"
Patricia was serving three years for helping her boyfriend break into a CVS. The sentence was longer than Meredith's two year maximum, and she felt guilty.
Patricia pushed herself off the counter. "Remember, Merry... You help us... We'll share."
Meredith didn't say anything as Patricia left. Her bravado stolen by the knowledge there were more of them than her. Their need to dull the pain was so much stronger than her loyalty to an infirmary. No wonder Burdette was her only friend.
Canard pushed her to take a different job. He'd told her to study for her Physician’s Assistant license. Natalie agreed with him. Playing secretary when she should be working on restoring her Registered Nurse license was a waste of her time. But this was all she knew how to do. The infirmary was the only place in the hospital where she felt normal. The library or the prison wash or the cafeteria would only remind her of where she was.
"I'm taking her down to three ibuprofen every six hours. Only twelve pills a day." Canard said as he came out of his office.
"Why?"
"It's not helping."
"What would help?"
"Eating right. Exercising. Get some sunlight. She needs to change the way her body does things."
"She'd say it hurts too much."
Canard nodded. "I've got eight more patients. Two drug-seekers, heart palpitations, cancer follow-up..." He studied his chart. "Can you take the splinter, the boil, and a preliminary on the rash? I think it's going to be bug bites, but see if it's something we'll need prednisone on."
"I'll need--"
He tossed her the key.
#
Meredith passed Burdette the letter from Merritt at dinner.
"I can't believe these people write you every day."
"I'm lucky," she said.
"Blessed."
Meredith shook her head. She began to eat. Merritt's letters, she could handle. Beef and rice stew, she could devour.
"Hi, Mom!" Burdette showed her the card. "The kid wrote this one. Orange magic marker."
"He likes orange," Meredith said.
Burdette flipped the card and read on. "I don't want to go to school. Beau does and I hate him. We're going shopping for school supplies but you're not here. It's unfair. Why can't you be here for school?"
Meredith sighed.
"I'd like to point out every word is spelled correctly. Your girlfriend is a control freak."
"Maybe my kids are perfect."
Burdette grinned and read, "'I can't take Holly'--Okay, that's cheating, '--Either. GOSH.' All caps."
"And he's the sweet one," Meredith said.
"It says, 'We're going to read The Black Stallion. I love you so much I wish you were here. Your letters are not the same. My letters are not the same!' There's like, six exclamation points. And he loves you. But not as formally as Beau. He just says, 'Love Merry.' Does he mean you or him?"
"That's our joke," Meredith said.
Burdette tucked the letter back in the envelope. "These things are the only good thing happening around here."
"That's not true."
Burdette frowned.
"It's stew day. Don't speak ill of stew day."
"Right." Burdette pushed around some rice.
"Do you think we should invite Robin to sit with us?"
"Do you think we should--" A dangerous spark appeared in Burdette's eyes, a reminder Meredith was among prisoners, she wasn't discussing the office luncheon or her neighbor's s
urprise party.
Robin Turner sat two tables away, by herself, staring at her stew with the same disinterest as Burdette. Burdette followed her gaze. "You just want her stew."
Meredith grinned.
She didn't say she wanted intelligent conversation. A change of pace. She'd trade her People for a good talk or a newspaper. She knew she wasn't as smart as Natalie. Nursing school had been a struggle, had been concentration and study and memorization. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
But for the chance not to have the same conversation tomorrow she'd had today, she'd learn particle physics.
"She doesn't want her stew."
"She doesn't want any part of this. Fucking white collar bitch," Burdette said.
Robin Turner was the only woman at Conrad Correctional convicted of fraud. Passing bad checks was common, and Meredith heard stories of women convicted of insurance schemes. But a true financial theft was so rare everyone called Robin "Martha Stewart," and stayed away.
Even a murderer was better company.
"What do you think she'll do when her time's up?" Meredith asked.
"She'll write a book."
"Probably."
Burdette pushed her plate toward Meredith. "Eat this and stop looking so pathetic."
"Come to the chapel with me later?"
Burdette shook her head. "Jeopardy! is on. Jeopardy! is on every day, Merrybelle. When are you going to stop asking?"
"When I leave."
#
Siba was in the chapel when Meredith arrived, eyes closed, forehead to prayer mat. The chapel was in a separate building from the dormitory Meredith lived in--but not quite a church. Still storage and administration. She was sure the armory was nearby. But the chapel was bigger than the hospital's. There was a prayer room for Muslims down the hall, and a meditation room, but Siba was claustrophobic. She preferred space to face Mecca.
She didn't mind Meredith. Most people went to the chapel for morning or afternoon services and it closed at eight, just as Jeopardy! ended. Meredith liked the quiet.
She slipped into a pew and sat.
And waited.
Despite the posters of Jesus on the wall, despite the polished wood altar and cross, donated by the local Presbyterians, Meredith didn't feel His presence.
She didn't feel anything.
Siba got up and nodded in her direction without making eye contact, and left.
Meredith took a deep breath.
She didn't bring her own Bible here, but there was one in front of her, tucked into the pew. She could open it up, seek comfort, read at random, or distract herself with stories or metaphors. But she knew the words already.
"Where has your beloved gone, most beautiful of women? Which way did your beloved turn?"
There was no comfort in the words. Only in the way she used to be able to close her eyes and feel His arms around her. His love would pour into her and she would gather her strength and pour it back out onto her children.
He wasn't here.
#
Meredith shut her door, wishing she could lock it. Burdette might come in, ranting about nightmares. Or the guards might come in to search her stuff for drugs. Or searching for something worth more than what they had.
Most nights were uninterrupted, but she never slept deeply. Lying in bed, fresh from her shower, in her last clean prison jumpsuit, she pulled out the envelope from Natalie.
"I'm sorry--" it started. Meredith hated when Natalie opened with apologies. Lately every letter came like with self-recrimination. Her chest hurt. Her fingers shook as she held the sheet of elegant stationary--Natalie's, from her home in Charlotte.
"--I didn't want to censor the boys. I don't want them to not tell us things. Beau's okay. Really. By tomorrow he'll have forgotten. We all miss you and are counting the days."
Meredith glanced at the calendar. She marked Xs for each day’s passing. Four months of Xs. But her release date was fluid. They could deny her release. They could judge her a menace.
Nevermind she had a job and a family waiting on the outside.
"Don't give up, Merry. Wednesdays are the best days of my life."
Meredith grinned.
"Is spending time with your in-laws like being in prison? Probably not. But if you want to switch places for a week, I'm willing. New pictures as soon as the kids buy their backpacks and lunch boxes. How do you feel about Terminator school supplies?"
Heat rose in Meredith's cheeks.
The letter was signed, "All my love." No name. Meredith read the letter again. Then she folded it up and stuck it in her Bible and turned out the lights.
In the dark she could pretend she was just home alone. Except for the smell.
She closed her eyes.
Tomorrow would be exactly the same.
# #
Chapter Thirty-Five
Unless Natalie hit traffic in Goldsboro, the drive to Rocky Mount took two hours. In two hours, she could be in Raleigh, arguing a state petition for a commuted sentence. In one hour, she could be at the beach, remembering the best time of her life.
But the prison was in Rocky Mount and she burned a full tank of gas going there and back each Wednesday. Thirty precious dollars. Hitting the highway with her station wagon made her long for her BMW.
The prison reminded her of army barracks, all stately brick buildings and cultivated lawns surrounded by a fence she fantasized she could climb. She parked under an elm and locked her purse in the trunk and carried in her ID, keys, quarters, 5x7 photographs, two drawings of Hollingsworth and the backyard, and twenty dollars in ones.
At the prison gate, she handed over everything and let herself be patted down.
"Good to see you, Ms. Ivans," the guard said.
"Ida."
She locked everything but the pictures and the cash in a locker, got a three minute lecture on rules and regulations, and then was led into the prison courtyard.
Meredith was waiting for her.
Natalie broke into a smile and Meredith stepped toward her. Natalie glanced at the guard, who nodded, and then she took Meredith into her arms and held her close. Meredith was warm and strong and gripped her tightly, smelling of cherries and soap, her hair clean, her elbows bony.
They couldn't kiss. Kissing was banned. They stole one for goodbye, each time. Natalie knew the routine by now. But if she buried her face in Meredith's hair, maybe she could--
Meredith laughed and held her even tighter.
"Hi," Natalie said.
"Hey," Meredith said, rocking her back and forth, until the guard coughed.
Meredith stepped back. Natalie took her hand.
"She times us. We get thirty seconds," Meredith said.
"I wish you hadn't told me."
"Will you be counting next time?"
Natalie nodded.
"You wouldn't believe the things I count. Steps. Bites. Bars."
Natalie squeezed her hand.
They sat at the picnic table. Meredith's straw-colored hair captivated Natalie's attention. She wanted to run her fingers through it. Their short time together before Meredith had to go away had been sweet and passionate. Natalie craved her. Being so close tempted her.
Meredith tilted her head toward Natalie, smiling. She smiled so much when they were together.
Meredith slid her hand over Natalie's knee. "Pictures. Give me the pictures."
"These pictures?" Natalie held them up.
"Those." Meredith didn't reach for them. She was too dignified.
Natalie used both hands, leaving her leg unguarded for Meredith's wandering hand. She flipped over the first picture. Merritt, leaning over his spotted hot dog creation, mugging at the camera.
Meredith giggled. "You let them eat that?"
"Turkey dogs."
"Do they know?"
"Nope."
"Natalie."
"What?" Natalie leaned into her shoulder. "Are you going to tell me not to lie to the children?"
"Use your best judgment."
Natalie grinned and turned over another picture.
Meredith snatched at it. Natalie lifted her hand.
"Natalie," Meredith said warningly.
"Hm?"
Meredith settled her hand onto Natalie's stomach, sending heat through her shirt, streaking up her chest. Streaking down.
The guard coughed.
Natalie handed over the picture. "I let the kids take it. They were jealous of the camera."
"They knew you were coming to see me."
Natalie nodded.
"And they knew what I wanted. Good boys."
"Whatever."
Meredith bumped shoulders with Natalie, studying the picture. Natalie, sprawled on the couch, beaming with Hollingsworth in her lap.
"You look so relaxed," Meredith said.
"For the picture."
Meredith glanced up.
"And because the boys were happy."
Meredith chuckled.
"And because I'd get to see your face when you saw it. I tried extra hard."
Meredith met her gaze. They didn't dare move. The guard was watching, and probably inmates, too, from the windows. Cars were passing by on the road outside. Nothing was private. Nothing was theirs.
Natalie swallowed. "There's more."
"I don't need anything more."
"Okay." Natalie lowered the last picture.
"Well, if you brought it all the way here."
Natalie raised her eyebrows.
Meredith tilted her head.
"Fine." Natalie offered the picture. The boys standing on their heads against the living room wall, and Natalie between them, sitting like a Buddha.
"Let me guess...Jake took this."
Natalie shook her head, grinning.
"Hank?"
"Yeah."
Meredith turned the picture upside down and laughed. "Look at you all."
Natalie checked her watch. They'd used up nearly a third of their time.
"What is it?" Meredith asked.
"I got a case."
"Good!"
"It's bad. It's a bad case, Merry."
When Meredith wrapped her arms around Natalie, neither Natalie nor the guard begrudged her, and Natalie told her about the scene out on I-40 two nights ago, and how Luis Duarte was uncooperative, and how River Landing was devastated.
"You have to do it," Meredith said.
"I know."
Meredith kissed Natalie's shoulder.