Gage looked at me and winked. “Yes, she does. Nobody makes a Coke cake as good as your mom.”
My body melted. Gage was obviously no longer in love with me, but my feelings for him still ran deep. Unable to handle how Gage’s gaze made me feel, I turned back to the kitchen and began wiping down the counter.
After Dash finished his cake, he gave Gage a hug goodnight before leaving to brush his teeth. I walked Gage to the front door, anxious to get him out of my house. It was too painful having him here, taking up space and reminding me how stupid I’d been to lose him.
“Thank you for the coffee and cake,” he said. “It was delicious as usual.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You’ll think about what I asked regarding Chicago?”
I nodded. In the awkward silence that followed, I asked about Sheela. “Will she be flying up to Chicago with you?”
Something I didn’t understand flashed across Gage’s face. “No.” He offered a sad smile. “Now that I have Dash, Sheela and I have decided to reevaluate how much time we spend together.”
*
Lying in bed that night, I tossed and turned as one emotion after another washed over me. What had Gage meant that he and Sheela had decided to reevaluate how much time they spent together? Were they breaking up? He wasn’t blaming Dash for causing problems between him and Sheela, was he?
Honestly, Gage’s relationship with Sheela needed to be the least of my worries. I had much more important things to focus on, such as finding a way to tell Gage I was planning on turning myself in to the Cook County prosecutor the same week he took Dash to Chicago.
Glancing at the clock, I realized I’d be a mess in the morning if I didn’t get some sleep. Listening to an audiobook always relaxed me, so I reached for my phone only to discover it wasn’t on my nightstand.
It took a minute to remember I’d left it in Dash’s room. For several moments, I lay in the dark, debating whether or not to get it. My indecisiveness reminded me of the time I wanted to sign up online for the St. Paddy’s Day 5K but was too lazy to go into the other room to retrieve my wallet.
As if summoning me, my phone dinged with a text I could hear through the thin wall. Who in the world was texting me so late?
Throwing off the covers, I walked across the hall to Dash’s room. As soon as I opened his door, Roxy leapt off the bed and rushed toward me. With her tail tucked between her legs, she began whining.
I bent down to pet her. “What’s wrong, girl? Are you sick?”
The dog’s whining increased, and she began frantically pacing the room. “Please tell me you don’t need to go outside again. I just let you in.”
“Mom?” Dash sat up in bed.
“Hey. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just forgot my phone.”
“Something’s wrong with Roxy.”
“I’ll take her outside. She probably just needs to go to the bathroom. Do you want to get up and go, too?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t have to go, Mom.”
I walked over to Dash’s nightstand to collect my phone. To my surprise, there were several texts from Gage asking if I was awake and if he could call. What did he want to talk about?
Bending over, I kissed Dash and realized he wasn’t wearing his pull-up. At eight, he was embarrassed by his inability to stay dry at night, but he couldn’t stand wearing a pull-up. So, I washed a lot of sheets and hoped this too would pass.
A couple of years ago, I’d taken Dash to a urologist who assured me nothing was physically wrong with my son except an immature bladder. The doctor also explained that five percent of kids still wet the bed at age ten. Most children eventually grew out of it by adulthood without intervention, but if I wanted, I could try a bed-wetting alarm.
Dash and I agreed to give the alarm a try. Unfortunately, the alarm was great at waking me up, but Dash had no problem sleeping through the loud blaring.
For two weeks, I woke him up and dragged him into the bathroom whenever the alarm went off. During the day, I stumbled around, sleep deprived, wondering if the alarm was worth it. The night Dash threw his underwear in the toilet and peed in the laundry basket was the night I gave up.
The ringing of my phone interrupted my thoughts.
“Is that Dad?” Dash asked. “Can I talk to him?”
“Sure.” I handed him the phone and sank onto the edge of his bed. Roxy continued whimpering, so I stood, deciding to take her outside while Dash talked to Gage.
“Hey, Dad, guess what? I—”
Dash never finished his sentence because the room began unexpectedly shaking. I grabbed onto the bed as Roxy let out an eerie howl.
Everything on the dresser rattled before falling to the ground, followed by the dresser itself, which clipped Roxy’s tail. The poor dog yelped and leapt under the bed.
“Mommy!” Dash screamed as his bedroom door slammed shut.
I reached for him, but he bounced away from me. Needing to get to him, I forced one foot in front of the other as my brain struggled to make sense of what was happening.
There was a loud crashing sound on the other side of the door. Then, just as quickly as it started, everything stopped and the room went black.
“Was that an earthquake?” Dash asked, his voice trembling.
I moved closer in order to hold him. “I think so. Are you okay?”
He nodded and wrapped his arms around me. “Why is it so dark?”
“We must’ve lost electricity.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Dash suddenly let out a burst of laughter as if we’d just gotten off some kind of roller coaster. “That was really scary, wasn’t it?”
“It was.” I kissed the top of his head, grateful we were okay and he wasn’t too upset.
“Where’s Roxy?” Dash asked.
“I think she’s under the bed.”
Dash opened his nightstand drawer and turned on a flashlight. “Good thing I have this.”
“Good thing,” I said.
He shined the light under the bed where we found Roxy trembling in the corner. “Oh, Mom, she’s scared.”
“Come here, girl,” I said, trying to coax her out.
She eventually came close enough that Dash could pull her into his arms. “It’s okay, Roxy. The big, bad earthquake is over now.” Dash held her close as she licked him, something I always found disgusting even though I understood it was a coping mechanism.
“Roxy was scared, wasn’t she?” Dash said.
“She was terrified.”
“It’s okay, Roxy, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” He hugged her again before smiling up at me. “When it first started, I thought you were shaking my bed. Then the dresser fell, and I realized it wasn’t you.”
“It didn’t make sense to me at first either. It wasn’t until it stopped that I realized it’d been an earthquake.”
“Let’s call Dad.”
I nodded and found my phone. I pressed redial, but the call wouldn’t go through.
“Is it broken because of the earthquake?” Dash asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe your room doesn’t have good reception. Let’s go back to my room.” Using the flashlight on my phone, I headed toward the door. Immediately, Roxy began whimpering.
“It’s okay,” Dash said, petting her. “We’re going to call Dad from Mommy’s room.”
Although Dash sounded fine, I knew he was scared by the way he called me Mommy. He hadn’t called me that in years. I had to admit it felt nice, despite being the result of a traumatic event.
I opened Dash’s door, looked across the hallway, and gasped.
“What’s wrong?” Dash asked.
The destruction before me was just as confusing as the earthquake had been. I shined the light on the pile of bricks covering my bedroom.
“Mom?”
I opened my mouth to speak and tell Dash everything was fine, but words failed me.
“What is it?” Dash asked.
<
br /> “I don’t know.”
Chapter 24
Natalie – 2007
Shame filled me as I removed my clothes and set them on the floor. Two weeks ago, I’d been a guest at a five-star hotel in San Francisco. Now, I was about to be strip-searched by a female guard at Cook County Jail.
Humiliated, I watched the guard carefully comb through my discarded jail uniform, searching for drugs and weapons. Once satisfied, she said, “Turn around, spread your butt cheeks, and cough three times.”
The knot in my stomach tightened. How would I survive this godforsaken place?
When the strip search ended, I dressed, telling myself this would all be over soon. Earlier, I’d talked to Gage on the phone, and he was finding me a lawyer to get me out of here.
A different guard, this one a heavyset man with tobacco-stained teeth, led me to the section where I’d be housed with hundreds of other female prisoners awaiting arraignment, trial, or sentencing.
Before entering the area, I glanced through the narrow window. My head pounded as I stared at all the inmates. I wanted to beg the guard not to leave me here. I wasn’t like these other women. I hadn’t injured or killed anyone. I wasn’t a danger to society.
But what did he care? Even if I could find the courage to speak to him, he had orders to leave me here, and that’s what he would do.
“I’m going to give you some advice,” he said. “It’s all about respect in there. If you show respect, people will respect you. If you don’t, you’re gonna have problems. Do you understand?”
I nodded even though I had no idea what he meant by respect. In the ER, I dealt with people like these prisoners all the time. People who seemed to have no education, no job, and no morals. I always tried to be respectful, but half of them just wanted to spit in my face for not helping them fast enough.
“Everyone is going to ask what you did,” the guard continued. “Be honest. You have nothing to hide, and they’ll find out anyway. Above all, be courteous and don’t let them see your fear.”
I nodded again. “Do you know how long I’ll have to stay here?”
He dug a piece of food out of his teeth with a grimy fingernail, looked at it, and flicked it on the ground. “It will just depend on the judge and if you make bail. Do you have a lawyer or someone taking care of that for you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” The guard opened the door. “Go on now. You’ll be okay.”
I stared into the room, unable to move. Women dressed in orange jumpsuits stared back at me. When the door behind me closed, I struggled to keep my legs from buckling.
“Jones,” a guard snapped. “Take this and come with me.”
He thrust a stained mattress at me that was incredibly heavy. Why did it weigh so much? Dead skin cells? My stomach revolted at the thought.
Avoiding eye contact with everybody, I followed the guard up the stairs to a room with several bunk beds. He motioned to an empty bunk at the far end of the room. “You can take that top one.”
“Thank you.” My voice was barely above a whisper, and I wondered if that kind of politeness would get me in trouble.
I walked past several prisoners to the end of the room where I placed my mattress on the top bunk. Then, I just stood there not knowing what to do next. Was I supposed to climb up and lay on the bare mattress? Would they eventually give me a worn pillow and blanket?
“Hey, Newbie,” called an extremely pregnant woman in the lower bed, one bunk over. “What’s your name?”
“Natalie.”
“Natalie.” The woman stretched her arms above her head in a way that exposed light stretch marks on her dark skin. “Natalie is a pretty name. I like that.”
“Thank you.” I hoped the woman was being sincere and not luring me into some sinister game revolving around beating up the new girl.
“I’m Roberta.”
I gave a tentative smile. “Nice to meet you, Roberta.” The words came automatically because that’s what I said every day to new patients and staff I met in the ER.
Roberta broke into a sarcastic laugh. “Nice to meet you? Yeah, I’m sure you woke up this morning thinking you’d just love to meet someone like me in jail.”
The other women standing around burst into peals of laughter. I cringed. In elementary school, I’d learned the difference between being laughed at and laughed with. This definitely qualified as being laughed at.
“Aw, don’t look so scared, Natalie. I’m just messing with you.” Roberta gave another laugh, then she introduced me to everyone like we were at some kind of summer camp. A couple of the women even shook hands with me and said it was a pleasure to meet me.
A woman missing several teeth called out to Roberta. “Are you thinking about naming your baby Natalie?”
Roberta ran a hand over her belly. “I might.”
“So, you’re having a girl?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am. A little girl.”
“Congratulations.” I hesitated. Was it okay to congratulate a pregnant prisoner?
Apparently so, because Roberta gave a huge grin. “Thanks. I thought she’d be here by now, but she’s stubborn like her daddy.”
“When are you due?” I asked.
Roberta shook her head. “I don’t know, and they won’t tell me.”
“What do you mean?”
The woman with the missing teeth looked at me like I was stupid. “They don’t tell prisoners when their babies are due because they think they might try to escape when they go to the hospital.”
“Oh.” I thought about the patient brought into the ER by the police last summer. They’d arrested her for smashing a beer bottle over her husband’s head. In addition to the woman’s broken hand, she was also in labor.
The doctor asked the officers to remove the woman’s handcuffs as her pains increased. The officers refused, insisting she was a flight risk. I wasn’t sure how a woman about to have a baby could outrun the police, but I hadn’t questioned it at the time.
Now, I stared at Roberta, wondering if someone like her might try to escape while in labor.
“I’m not going to escape,” she said, reading my mind.
“Oh, I didn’t think—”
“Come on,” she said. “You were thinking it.”
When I didn’t respond, she continued. “No, ma’am. No escape plan for me. After my baby is born, I’m gonna hold her and talk to her for as long as I can. I’m gonna study her face and let her study mine. Then, when they rip her out of my hands, I’ll remember her and she’ll remember me.”
I was appalled by the image of Roberta being separated from her baby like that. Where would the child go? How would Roberta find the strength to survive jail without her child?
“Ah, don’t look so worried, Natalie,” Roberta said. “This time I’m innocent. As soon as those fools realize that, I’ll get out of here and they’ll give me back my baby.”
*
That first night in jail, I lay in bed, curled up in a ball on my side. Despite being surrounded by women, I’d never felt more alone in my entire life. I missed my own bed, missed my home, and most importantly, I missed Gage.
What did he think about my arrest? On the phone, I didn’t hide the truth of what I’d done. I was tired of lying, and I was ready to get the help I needed.
At first, Gage didn’t believe me. “You’re not a drug addict,” he insisted. When he finally realized I was serious, he lapsed into silence.
I waited for him to comfort me and tell me it was going to be okay. Maybe he said something like that, but mostly he focused on getting off the phone so he could find a lawyer.
In the darkness, someone began to cry. The haunting sound hit me hard. I tried with all my might to hold back my own tears. Unable to do so, I swiped them away as they streamed down my face.
Chapter 25
Gage – 2007
When Natalie called to tell me what happened, I thought she was joking. No way could she be capable of stealing drugs from wo
rk. There had to be something missing from her story.
“I’m a drug addict,” she told me over the phone.
“No, you’re not,” I said.
She started to tell me the details of her addiction, but afraid the phone call might be recorded, I stopped her. “I love you, and I’m going to find you a lawyer to get you out of there, okay?”
I knew she wanted me to stay on the line talking, but the sooner I secured legal counsel, the sooner she could come home. I hung up the phone and called our company’s lawyer. Thankfully, she was able to refer me to a criminal attorney who agreed to meet with Natalie.
As I told the criminal lawyer, none of this made sense. Up until Natalie’s accident, she hadn’t even taken Tylenol. Sure, she’d started drinking on our honeymoon and taking medication for her pain caused by the accident, but supporting a drug habit through stealing? I didn’t believe it.
Later, I watched the hospital surveillance recording, and my worst fears were confirmed. Just as she’d admitted, Natalie had stolen those drugs from the med room.
Anger and sadness consumed me. How had she hidden her addiction from me? Weren’t we the kind of couple that told each other everything?
I thought back to that day at the pool when I’d found the prescription bottle in Natalie’s bag. She’d lied to my face, and I’d believed her. How many other times had she lied to me?
“I’m not surprised,” my mother said, when I asked for money to pay for Natalie’s legal fees and treatment program. “Her eyes were all glossy at the wedding, and I know for a fact she stole half a bottle of pills from our bathroom.”
I glared at my mother across the living room. “You don’t know that.”
“Well, who else would steal from us?”
“I don’t know. The housekeeper?”
My mother shook her head. “No, I trust Vivian implicitly. I never trusted Natalie.”
My mother’s words disgusted me. Had Natalie snuck into my parents’ bathroom and raided the medicine cabinet? Besides lying to me and stealing from work, what else had she done to feed her addiction?
My father came out of the study and handed me a check. “This is all we can do right now. Your mother and I have some expenses of our own.”
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