The weekend was packed and was sure to fly by in a whirlwind. After the picnic tomorrow, they’d visit with Julia and Clay in the evening. Shannon was thrilled and a bit nervous to meet her brother-in-law’s wife for the first time. She wondered if they’d give her and Brent a hard time for “eloping,” just as her brothers and grandma had done. Of course, that hard time lasted all of five minutes because her grandma then declared she’d start planning a wedding celebration party with barbecue and beer for both families. The menu pleased her brothers, and the party planning pleased her grandma. Julia and Clay were coming to the party in a few weeks, but Shannon was eager to see them tomorrow night, too. Then she and Brent would fly back Sunday morning in plenty of time for Shannon to visit her mom on Monday when Ryan returned from his own weekend business trip. Departure was slated for the crack of dawn on Monday to allow for the five hours of desert driving between Vegas and Hawthorne, a small town with a big prison.
Whew.
She was exhausted just thinking about everything on the agenda. But maybe she was mentally drained, too, in advance of the visit with her mother. As she finished applying mascara, she fast-forwarded to visiting day at the Stella McLaren Correctional Center. Her stomach churned as she heard her mom’s voice in her head, as she imagined that desperate, manic look in Dora’s green eyes—the same damn shade as Shannon’s. Surely she’d be trying to convince them once again of her innocence. But not just convince. Dora wanted to prove she should be a free woman. That had been her mission for some time now. The fact that she’d met with a lawyer gnawed at Shannon.
It was that little detail that twisted her gut. That made her worry. Her mom was losing touch with reality, but surely a lawyer wouldn’t have come to have his ear bent with her mother’s latest obsessive claims. If a lawyer had visited, something was up, and Shannon needed to know what that something was.
As she slung her purse over her shoulder, her phone bleated from inside the bag. She fished it out to find an incoming call from an 800 number, one she didn’t recognize.
“This is Shay Sloan.”
The phone was silent, and Shannon was ready to hang up when she heard a tinny voice say, “This is the operator. Will you accept a collect call from the Federal Bureau of Prisons?”
Her stomach plummeted. She managed a yes, and five seconds later her mom was on the line.
Cooing.
Her mother actually cooed when she heard Shannon say hello.
Her mother launched into rapid-fire chatter. “I can’t wait to see my sweet babies. Are you and Ry-Ry on your way? Will I see you any minute? I’ve been waiting all morning for my babies. I even put on lipstick today. I can’t wait to see you. I’m so excited I had to call. I hope you don’t mind.”
Shannon sighed, a sad, wistful sound. Her mom couldn’t even get the date right. “Mom, it’s Monday. We’re coming on Monday. When Ryan is back in town.”
Her mother gasped. “No, no, no. It’s today. Did he tell you Monday?”
“You did, Mom. You told him and you told me in your letters. Last day of the month. That’s what you said.”
“I meant today. It’s today. Last Friday of the month,” she said, with the speed of an express train. “Today, today, today. They gave me my final two hours today. Mondays are bad. No one likes Mondays. It’s today. By five p.m.,” she said, her voice turning into a low wail. “There’s so much to say, baby. So much to say. I have to see you and Ry. It’s urgent. You have to come, you have to come today, you have to come today. It could change everything.”
Everything.
There was no way this could change everything.
Her mouth tasted bitter. Her skin felt clammy and cold.
But that desperate, frantic tone clawed into her. She pressed her palm against her door, holding on firmly. What if? What if? What if? That question echoed in her mind, in the house, across the whole damn expanse of time. Shannon didn’t believe for a second that anything had changed, and yet...
What if it had?
She glanced at her watch. It was eight-thirty. She could rush over to Edge for fifteen minutes since it was on the way out of town. The valets could babysit her car so she wouldn’t lose much time there. She could be on the road by nine-fifteen and at the prison by one-thirty, two p.m. at the latest.
“Mom, I need to put you on hold for one second.”
She set the phone down, snapped open her laptop on the kitchen table, and opened a browser window for her airline. She tapped in the destination and the date—today—at cheetah speed. She waited for the beach ball to turn, and spit out the results. She pumped her fist. There was one seat left on the Red-Eye to New York. If she spent an hour at prison, she’d be back on the road by three or four, then pulling up to the airport with time to spare before the midnight flight.
She could still make Brent’s picnic.
She picked up the phone. “Yes, Mom. I’ll be there,” she said, then switched her flight, and paid the change fee.
* * *
With the crackle of gate announcements overhead, Brent fired off a few, quick emails to James and his real estate attorneys on the various expansion plans. The Chicago club was coming together more quickly than expected, and all the approvals were in place.
He wrote back. “Great. If only New York would go so smoothly.”
But that was what this weekend was for. To seal the deal. To say hello to the families of the neighborhood, and let them know he was good for business and ran a tight, clean ship. He was flying in ahead of Shannon to finish up some key paperwork with Tanner and meet with some potential vendors for the club in New York.
Five minutes later, the boarding had begun and as he walked down the Jetway, he called Shannon. “Hey, babe. I’m about to get on the plane. Can’t wait to see you tonight.”
“Actually,” she said in a heavy voice, “I won’t be there till first thing in the morning. I had to change my flight to the red-eye.”
Something inside of him tightened with worry. “What happened? Is everything okay?”
“My mom called. The date was wrong. I’m going to see her today.”
His spine straightened. “You are?”
“Yeah. She was pretty worked up that I wasn’t there today with Ryan. I guess there was a mix-up with the date. She said she has something to tell me that will—” She paused and he could practically see her sketching air quotes as she said, “Change everything.”
“Shan,” he said softly as he neared the plane. “You can’t go alone. Ryan’s not even in town.”
“It’s okay. I can handle it,” she said, in a cheery voice. “Seriously. Don’t worry about me. I’m sure it’s nothing new. Nothing I haven’t heard a million times before.”
“Hmm,” he muttered.
“Hmm, what?”
“I don’t think you believe what you’re saying.”
“Brent, it’s fine. I’ve got it all under control. I will see you as planned. It’ll just be a little later.”
But he didn’t like the idea of her driving five hours through the desert on her own. To a prison. Then five hours back. Then flying five hours on a plane to New York to be with him. To help him. This was not sitting well with him at all.
“Shan—”
From her phone, he heard a car horn honk in the distance
“Let me call you back. Traffic to Edge is getting dicey. Need to pay attention. Bye.”
She hung up, and he stared at his phone with narrowed eyes, as if there were an app to reveal how she really felt, and whether she could truly handle this meeting with her mom all by herself. Well, of course she could. But should she? The things her mom had been saying lately seemed to suggest the woman had uncovered some key piece of evidence. What if it was the kind of evidence that turned on its head everything Shannon and her brothers had ever believed about their mom’s conviction?
He stopped dead at the plane door.
“Good morning, sir.”
He met the chipper expression of the fl
ight attendant, who flashed a bright smile. His opportunity.
“Hey, I was hoping you could help me with something,” he said as he stepped into the galley.
“Of course. What can I do for you?”
“I need to switch flights. Get on a later flight, as it turns out. My wife was on the four p.m. and she just changed to the red-eye. Can I get on that flight with her?” His evening meetings would need to be cancelled so he could accompany Shannon. They’d still make it in time for tomorrow’s picnic.
“Let me just check with the gate. Why don’t you take your seat, and give me a few minutes to look into this?”
Five minutes later, the flight attendant found him in the second row and her mouth formed an apologetic O as she dropped a hand on his forearm. “I’m so sorry. The Red-Eye is full. We just sold the last seat.”
Shannon’s seat.
He exhaled deeply, taking in the knowledge that she’d switched her plans to be with him, and now there was no way he could do the same.
* * *
“Go,” Shannon’s assistant Christine said, pushing her arm playfully. Or maybe not so playfully. Christine was trying to shove her out the front door of Edge.
Shannon held up her hands in surrender. “I’m going. I swear.”
“I have this under control,” Christine said, gesturing to the final rehearsal. The dancers were glorious, moving like waterfalls, lush and sumptuous, the music playing loudly overhead at Edge.
“You go take care of things,” Christine said. Shannon hadn’t given Christine the details, and she was glad her second-in-command wasn’t nosey enough to pry.
Shannon took a deep breath and nodded, then waved to the scene unfolding in front of her in the empty club. “You’re right. Everything looks amazing.”
“I will text you and keep you updated. I can even send you pictures and video,” Christine said, as she continued to shoo her away.
“Yes, please do,” she said, and then walked out of the club.
Along the way, she spotted James, Brent’s key investor and advisor. “Hi James,” she said with a quick wave.
“Hey, Shay. How’s everything going? The dancers look great, don’t they?”
She gave him a double thumbs up. “Thank you. So glad you feel that way. And thank you for your time earlier in the week.”
“It was nothing. Brent’s great. Glad to help out, even if it means my mug is on camera.”
She race-walked past the shops of the Luxe and threaded her way through the slot machines and card tables on her way to the exit. She handed the ticket to the valet, and tapped her foot as she waited for her car. She lowered her shades, and grabbed her phone from her purse. She had several missed calls from Brent.
Shit.
She hadn’t heard her phone when she was inside Edge and the music was playing.
Quickly, so she could get out of Dodge in a jiffy, she called up the GPS app on her phone, plugging in the address of the Stella McLaren Federal Women’s Correctional Center in Hawthorne, Nevada. Four hours and thirty minutes away, the app predicted. That was doable. Very doable. She plugged in her headset and dialed Brent.
“You looking for me?”
She stared at the screen. The voice didn’t seem to be coming from the phone. It was coming from... she looked up and saw the valet shutting a town car door, then her husband walking over to her.
She parted her lips to speak, but he went first as another valet pulled up with her little red car.
“I’ll take it from here,” he said. “I’ll drive.”
“But...” she said, sputtering.
“No ifs, ands, or buts about it. No wife of mine is driving five hours in the desert, then five hours back to catch a flight to be by my side. I’m going to be by her side,” he said, his eyes fixed on her, his gaze so strong, as he opened the passenger door for her. She slid into the car, the surprise of seeing him still working its way through her.
He walked behind the vehicle, tipping the valet, then got in on the driver’s side. After adjusting the seat and the mirrors, he pulled out of the Luxe’s portico.
“Did you just literally walk off the plane?” she asked, still trying to compute that he was there, and not flying across the country to New York. “Stand up and leave? Like in the movies or something?”
He nodded as he flipped on the blinker to turn right. “I did.”
“So we’ll take the red-eye together?”
He shook his head. He was grinning wickedly.
She scrunched her brow. “I don’t get it.”
He dropped a hand to her thigh and squeezed. “The red-eye was booked. No room on it. Turns out my wife got the last seat, and I’m having none of that. I missed the chance to be there for you in the past. This is important. You’re not going alone. I’m going with you. Every step of the way. I called Tanner and said I wouldn’t be able to make it.”
She brought her hand to her chest, overwhelmed by what he’d done. How he’d chosen her. How he’d walked away from work to stand by her. “What did he say? Was he angry?”
“He wasn’t too happy about it. I said I had to be here for you. Case closed.”
“But you’ll lose New York if you don’t go to the picnic tomorrow.”
He flashed her a million-dollar smile. “Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose. And sometimes you decide there are more important things than a business deal. Like you. Always you.” He pointed to the radio. “Now, let’s crank up some tunes. You got a desert driving playlist? We need something to rock out to.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Would ‘Folsom Prison Blues’ be too ironic?”
“Irony is my middle name.”
She turned on Johnny Cash and held her husband’s hand the whole way through the desert as the sun rose high in the sky, blazing through the windshield, the road unfurling before them in a slate ribbon, her heart fuller than it had ever been.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The air conditioning hummed, blasting out sheets of cool air in the stark visiting room. Shannon rubbed her bare arms, wishing she’d brought a sweater. She didn’t remember it having been so chilly the last time she was there. Perched on the edge of a hard plastic chair at a table inside a small room, she waited.
She tried to conjure up an image of her mother, tried to remember how Dora had looked at Christmas, but the images that paraded before her eyes were older ones, so much older. Sewing Shannon’s leotard, the corner of her lips screwed up in concentration as she threaded. Placing a Band-Aid on Shannon’s knee when she’d skidded on her bike. Holding her hand as she walked her to school. So young, so vibrant, so blond. Just like Shannon. She’d had the same bright blond hair. Absently, Shannon raised her hand to her now-brown hair.
Someone opened the door.
Shannon rose. Nerves skittered across her flesh. The corrections officer appeared first, a tall, sturdy woman with dark hair in a braid. Holding the door open, the guard nodded and grunted a curt hello.
“Hello,” Shannon said, the word feeling strange on her tongue. Even after all these years, it still never felt normal to be conversing with a corrections officer.
Her mother entered, and Shannon did her best impression of a sealed-up box. Otherwise she’d fall to pieces. Keeping her chin up, her muscles steady, she managed a simple, “Hi, Mom.”
Her mother was a shadow of the woman she’d once been. Her bright blond hair was the color of dishwater, her cheeks were sunken, and her green eyes were a shade of sallow. Even so, she smiled. Her lips, with their cracked red lipstick, quivered as she held out her arms for a hug.
“My baby,” said the woman in orange.
Shannon walked into her arms, embarrassment and shame smacking her from all directions. She wasn’t ashamed this woman was her mother. She was ashamed for Dora, for what she’d become, for the choices she’d made that led her to this. Thin arms wrapped around Shannon, arms that had once been strong and maternal. Her mother clutched her.
“Oh, baby. My baby. It is so go
od to see you again,” Dora said, her mouth closer to Shannon’s neck than she would have liked.
“It’s good to see you, too, Mom,” Shannon said, lying, but knowing it was only a white lie. It wouldn’t hurt anyone for her to say that.
“I’m so happy you’re here.” Another firm grip, then she felt the first drop from her mom’s eyes. A tear had fallen on Shannon’s bare shoulder as Dora embraced harder and tighter, as if she could graft her body onto Shannon’s and escape as a growth on her kid.
“All right, Prince. That’s enough,” the CO said, her command clear.
Shannon’s mom pulled away, and shot the woman a contrite look. “Sorry. I just missed my baby girl so much. She’s a dancer. Isn’t she lovely?” Her mom held out her arms to Shannon as if she were presenting her on Wheel of Fortune.
“Mom, stop,” Shannon said, embarrassed now for a whole new reason. She glanced at the woman. “We’re fine. We’ll sit down now.”
“Behave, Prince,” the woman warned as she shut the door, leaving Shannon alone with her mother. They sat at the gray plastic table, like the kind in a cafeteria.
“Baloney,” her mom said.
“Baloney?”
“That’s what they fed me the other day. Baloney on white bread. Can you believe it? Baloney.” Her mom brought her hand to her eyes, covering them, as if the memory of the cold cuts was too much to bear. “I hate baloney.”
“Tell them you hate it.”
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