by Jake Hinkson
Copyright © 2014 by Jake Hinkson
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, except where permitted by law.
The story herein is a work of fiction. All of the characters, places, and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover by Michael Kronenberg
PO Box 173
Freeville, New York 13068
USA
Email: [email protected]
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CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
About the Author
Also by Jake Hinkson
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For Heather,
who is a lark and a plunge every day.
Every saint has a past,and every sinner has a future.
—Oscar Wilde's A Woman of No Importance
CHAPTER ONE
The day before my fortieth birthday, Eastgate Penitentiary for Women opened its gates and released me back into the world. The sally port officer that day was a heavyset bruiser named Mabel Jackson. I had trained her when she was just a rookie, but that was back when I was still a CO, back before I'd become an inmate—before I'd been locked up in Eastgate with all the other animals. In the thirteen months I'd been inside, Mabel had never once spoken to me. As she opened the last door for me, though, she smiled and extended a thick hand in my direction. "Good luck, Bennett."
I shook her hand. "Thanks."
Then I walked through the front gate and into the misty morning of my new life.
In the parking lot, my brother Nate was sitting in his car with the windows down. When he saw me, he smiled and climbed out. The kid's left leg was malformed at birth, so he walks with a forearm crutch, but he hurried toward me as quickly as he could, his right hand outstretched.
When he got to me, he swallowed me in a bear hug and shouted, "Ellie!"
As he squeezed me, I glanced up and saw Kitty Morley leaning against the rail on tower two. Looking crisp and clean in her guard's uniform, she smirked down at me.
I pulled away from Nate.
Kitty and I stared at each other for a while before Nate whispered, "Is that her? Is tha—"
"Got anything you want to say, Kitty?" I called up to her.
She kept smirking. Then she straightened up, took a deep breath, and looked off into the distance, smiling as if she could see the trouble on my horizon. Then she just turned and walked away.
Nate asked, "That was her, right?"
"Don't worry about it."
"Are you okay?"
I slapped him on the back. "I will be once I get the fuck out of here."
We walked to his car, a navy-blue ten-year-old Ford Escort.
"You still driving this beater?"
"It's still running."
We got in, and Nate wedged his crutch between his seat and the emergency brake. Then we whipped out of the parking lot. As I watched Eastgate grow smaller, my body felt pleasantly numb, like I'd taken a slug of whiskey.
Nate said, "I'd roll the windows up, but the AC ain't working."
"It's fine," I said. "I'd rather have them down."
Eastgate sat at the end of a long gravel road. On either side of us, grass whiskered the muddy fields in both directions. For a moment, I felt a little dizzy. I realized I hadn't moved this fast in over a year.
I flipped down the sun visor to look at myself in the little vanity mirror.
It didn't do much for my vanity. My short, sandy hair looked like shit from a year's worth of that hand soap they gave us in place of actual shampoo. My face was crinkling around my eyes—eyes that I hadn't really looked into in thirteen months. They were the same shade of walnut they'd always been, but they seemed harder.
Without looking at me, Nate said, "You're still beautiful."
I flipped up the visor. "I could use a drink."
"Hear what I said?"
"Thanks. Hear what I said about that drink?"
"Yeah. Listen, maybe we should just get home. Bethany and the kids are gonna be waiting for us."
"You got booze at home?"
"No. I quit drinking."
"No kidding."
"Yeah."
"Congratulations."
"Thanks."
"I, on the other hand, could use a drink. Can we stop for a bottle?"
We got to the road and when we hit pavement, Nate took us up to sixty. My heart sped up like I was on a roller coaster.
"So from your silence," I said, "I guess that's a no."
He shrugged. "We don't bring the stuff into the house. It's a rule we settled on. We just decided we don't want it around the kids. Okay?"
"Hey, your house, your rules."
"Thanks, sis."
I nodded. "That a new rule?"
"Yeah."
"Since I've been in Eastgate?"
He raised his eyebrows. "It's just something that Bethany and me decided on. Like I told you in my letters, we've been getting really involved with our church."
Even though Nate and Bethany only lived an hour away from Eastgate, I wouldn't let them come visit. I couldn't take her This-is-the-day-that-the-Lord-has-made cheeriness, and I couldn't take seeing him there at all. Some inmates need visits from the outside to feel human. I guess a visit would have been nice, but I knew I was only going to be in for a year or so. I told him to stay away and write me instead. He wrote me every single week. Nice guy, my brother.
"Bethany wanted to come with me today," he said, "but she had to take Felicia to softball practice."
"Oh yeah, how's the softball going?"
"She's trying," he said with a shrug. "What she lacks in ability she makes up for in enthusiasm. Trying to live up to her aunt's high school track glory."
"That glory ran out a long time ago."
"Say what you want, you're her hero. Always have been."
We hit the highway, and Nate inched up to seventy-five miles an hour.
I thought about my niece. I'd hoped she might write me while I was inside, but she hadn't. I couldn't blame her for that, of course, but it had given me some bad nights.
"I doubt I'm still her hero."
"Stop it," he said—both hands on the wheel, face forward, jaw clamped tight. "You are still Ellie Bennett. You're still my big sister, and you're still the strongest person I've ever known. Me and Bethany and the kids, we love you. And Felicia still worships you."
Cars passed us.
He asked, "Well, what do you think of that?"
My nose itched. I scratched it. My hand smelled like prison.
"You're nice to say it. Now, let's drop it. I'm going to have to ride the wave of positive reinforcement from Bethany; let me ease into it."
Trees and fields and billboards zipped past and eventually gave way to buildings. The gas stations and the big discount outlet and the fast food places—they all looked the same, of course, but strange at the same time. Everything seemed to have aged since I'd been gone.
&n
bsp; The one new thing I saw was a billboard screaming:
ELECT
LOU DON COLFAX
TO THE US SENATE
A LEADER WE KNOW
A SENATOR WE CAN TRUST
"Governor Colfax is running for Senate?"
"Yeah," Nate said, "against that preacher, Brother Jerry Kingston."
"Huh. Must have missed that news while I was inside. Who's winning?"
"My money is on Brother Kingston."
"Really? Is he qualified to be a senator?"
Nate shrugged. "In Arkansas, being a preacher's qualification enough. I know Bethany will vote for him. You know mom and dad would have."
When Nate and I were teenagers, our parents got saved. I reacted by leaving home as soon as I could, but Nate Jesused up for a while. He drifted away from church after high school, but when he met Bethany she made it pretty clear she would only marry a true believer. Fourteen years later, the guy couldn't have booze in his house.
A diesel rumbled past us spraying a grimy film across the windshield. Nate hit the wipers.
"You know," he said, "Bethany's been praying for you."
"Course she has. It's what she does."
Nate nodded. "She's a prayer warrior, no doubt."
"Do you still pray?"
"Oh sure. You know. I pray for Bethany and the kids and you. Thank him for the good stuff, ask for help with the bad stuff. I'm probably not as consistent with it as I should be, but I do it pretty regular. I like it. It's like mediation, I guess. Always makes me feel better."
"But your wife actually hears from god, right?"
He pursed his lips. "Well, when Bethany talks to god, god talks back. Least she says he does."
"He talk to you?"
"Nah. When I pray, it's more like I'm leaving him messages."
"You leave him any messages about me?"
"Every day."
"Really?"
"Really."
I looked out the window.
"I'm not sure he's been getting them."
* * *
Nate lived in a split-level three bedroom house across the street from his shop. It was a hell of a nice spot because the street was the dividing line between Osotouy City's downtown commercial zone and the residential zone that climbed up into the neighborhoods in the hills above town.
When we pulled into his driveway, I got out and looked at his shop, a converted service station with a small office and a long bay door. He'd kept the original color scheme of navy blue with bright red trim, and matched the lettering on the office window that read BENNETT REUPHOLSTRY AND FURNITURE REPAIR. A nice looking place, but at the same time it felt empty somehow.
"How's business?"
He shrugged. "Not too bad. I was hoping you'd help out for a while, actually. Until you get back on your feet and decide what you … what you want to do from now on."
"Thanks."
We walked up to his house, and he unlocked the front door. "Hey, you'll be helping me out."
We went in through the kitchen. It connected with the dining room and led into a long, carpeted den. They kept the place clean and orderly, but the furniture was cheap. Except for the dining room table, which was an antique, most everything else came from Walmart or Target. Nate reminded me of a chef I used to date. The guy had worked in a fancy restaurant making delicious food all day, but when he came home he mostly ate takeout. That was Nate. Once he punched out from work, he didn't give a shit about furniture.
"We're moving the baby in with us. You can have his room."
"I can sleep on the couch."
His waved that away. "We already got you set up. Bethany took some of your clothes out of the storage unit and washed them and hung them up in your room."
"I'd like to take a shower."
"Of course," he said. "You know where everything is up there."
The room was painted yellow and filled with baby books and stuffed animals. My clothes were hanging in the closet and folded neatly in a shabby chest-of-drawers. On a small bedside table, my cell phone was plugged into a charger. Beside it, a small jewelry box held some of my rings, earrings and necklaces. The bed appeared freshly made, and Bethany had left a towel and washcloth on it along with some toiletries.
I took that stuff into the bathroom and locked the door, and for the first time in a year I was alone.
I sat down on the edge of the tub, facing myself in the big mirror over the sink. There I was.
"Beat up," I said, "but not yet beaten."
I stood and peeled off my clothes and turned up the shower as high as it would go and climbed in and tried to burn off the stink of prison.
* * *
Bethany came home a few hours later. She wore cut-off jeans and an old Alan Jackson tour T-shirt. With her long red hair pulled back in a messy little bun, lugging a surly two-year-old on her hip, she should have looked haggard, but her face brightened when she saw me. She handed off the baby to Nate and wrapped me in a hug. "Praise the lord, we have you back!"
Felicia came in behind her stinking of sweat and ice cream. She hovered behind her mother, not quite making eye-contact with me.
"Hey, kid," I said.
"Hey, Aunt Ellie."
Her mother prompted, "Gonna give her a hug?"
I wished for the sake of me and the kid both Bethany hadn't said it.
Felicia said, "I stink. I need to wash."
Nate said, "Oh, give your aunt a hug."
"It's okay," I said.
I extended my fist.
Felicia bumped me.
I told her, "You do stink. You weren't lying."
She smiled, still avoiding the eyes of the three adults who unreasonably expected her to say or do something to ease their own awkwardness. "I'm going to go get washed up."
As Felicia left and Nate took the two year old into the den, Bethany asked me, "Hungry? I know Nate hasn't fixed you anything, and it's about dinner time."
"I could eat."
She put me to work cutting up carrots and cucumbers for a salad while she set up a rice cooker. "Have you thought about what you want to do now that you're out?"
"Sure," I said.
"I didn't mean to imply that you hadn't—"
"No, I know what you mean."
"Nate and I just thought that maybe you could work with him."
"We talked about it."
"Oh good."
"Outside of that … I don't know. I've thought about it, but I don't know what's available out there for me. I mean, working in corrections is all I've ever done. I could be a security guard, but who's going to hire an ex-con as a security guard?"
"You've got management skills."
"That I got as a CO. Not much of a selling point."
"We'll figure out something," she assured me. She glanced down at the crap I was cutting. "Cut those pieces a little smaller."
* * *
That night, I couldn't sleep. For thirteen months, I'd been in a dormitory with fifteen other broads. Now I couldn't go to sleep without the sound of coughing and farting and masturbating.
On the bedside table, Bethany had left me a Bible. I stuck it in a drawer.
I got out of bed and did push-ups until I collapsed. Then I did sit-ups until my abdominal muscles hurt. It didn't help. I needed to get drunk or fuck somebody. Maybe both. Not on the first night, though. Tomorrow maybe.
I climbed back in bed and tried to sleep, but I kept thinking about her up on that guard tower smirking down at me.
Kitty Morley.
It's hard to get to sleep with hate keeping you up all night.
CHAPTER TWO
First thing the next morning, I put on a skirt and blouse, dabbed on some lipstick, put in some earrings, borrowed Nate's Escort and drove over to see my parole officer.
PO Romandetto had little black slits for eyes over a wide flat nose and a lipless mouth. Even though he was probably pushing sixty, his hair was as black as licorice. Although we'd been acquainted for years through Ea
stgate, since he'd become my PO he acted like we'd never met. He was sitting at his desk, cigarette dangling from his mouth, playing some game on his iPhone when I walked in.
Without looking at me, he said, "Sit down."
I sat down in a chair opposite him. His office was small and stained yellow with cigarettes. A carton of Pall Malls sat opened on the window pane behind him. An ashtray overflowed on the desk.
He kept playing his game. I watched him play. For a while.
Eventually, he lost.
"Shit." He tossed the phone on the table. "You play these games?" he asked, crushing out his cigarette.
I shook my head.
"Damn things are worse than butts," he said. "Throwing birds at pigs ain't no way to spend a morning."
"That my first piece of instruction for the outside world?"
He leaned back in the creaking seat and lit another smoke. "You a smartass?"
"No, I'm a dumbass, that's why I'm here talking to you."
His cheeks jerked up and exposed a jumble of teeth. I guess it was what passed for a smile in the Romandetto family. He chortled. "You get home yesterday okay?"
"I was wondering if you remembered who I was."
"Sure, I remember you, Bennett. You're nobody. You're an ex-con. Which, in this country, puts you one rung under a stray dog. I'm here to make sure you don't shit on the carpet or bite any decent people for the next sixty months. So, we clear on who you are and who I am?"
I didn't say anything to that. Basically, it was true.
"Good," he said. "Glad we got that out of the way early. You got a place to live?"
"With my brother and sister-in-law."
"What's their deal?"
"He has an upholstery business. She works at a daycare."
"You got a job yet?"
"Going to work for my brother."
"You know anything about fixing couches and shit like that?"
"Our uncle did it. It was his business. My brother and I both worked there when we were in high school."
He pulled a form out of a wire basket on his desk and passed it over to me. "Fill this out. Everything you just told me with names and addresses and phone numbers. I'll be around this week to check up on you. Be there."