“That makes sense.” Wade started the engine. “I guess it’s time for us to get back to the station.”
“Hey, Wade, what do you think about going to Dwight with me?” Marcus asked, as he looked out the car window.
“Sure, I’ll go with you. Someone has to keep you out of trouble.”
“Thanks, man; I appreciate it,” Marcus said gratefully.
Before long the two had returned to headquarters, and it would be another couple hours before the workday ended. Marcus sat at his desk writing case notes. He and Wade were scheduled to look at surveillance tape from a robbery in twenty minutes.
Monet stared at her mother’s neat printing for a long time. She had an intense longing for her mother that tugged at her heartstrings. Her hands shook as she used the tip of her pink fingernail to slit open the top of the brown envelope. She was so overcome by the longing for her mother that she laid the letter in her lap until she composed herself. Though her mother had been gone for five years, at times it felt like yesterday.
She took a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. Then she picked up the letter again and quickly scanned it. She was stunned to learn that her mother knew her father was in prison, and even more taken aback that she had never shared the information with her children.
Her mother confessed how she was mistaken in allowing them to think their father had been gone all those years and never tried to contact them. She asked for forgiveness, citing she just wasn’t sure how to tell them their father was in prison for murder. She didn’t want to give them another reason to dislike him more, and it was her hope that her children would reconcile with him one day.
A sense of discomfort nibbled at Monet’s heart. She had always felt her mother was perfect, but the contents of the letter proved her wrong. She shuddered at the thought of her brothers’ reactions, especially Derek’s. The letter went on to explain that her mother had corresponded with their father while he was in prison and that she had kept the missives for them to read and draw their own conclusions. The letters were in a safe deposit box at a bank located about twenty miles from their mother’s home. The keys to the box were inside the brown envelope.
Their father, according to their mother, had battled demons his entire life, and hadn’t been able to overcome them until his later years. Those demons affected her and Aron’s marriage. She added that she felt he had changed for the better after he went to prison.
The second page of the letter went into detail about how he couldn’t cope with Monet as a child. Her mother said that she believed her father loved her, and just as equally, he feared her. She revealed how she didn’t tell him about the gift until they were married, and how that was a mistake. She basically took the blame for the breakdown of her marriage, and placed the responsibility for her children not having a relationship with their father squarely on her shoulders.
Monet’s eyes filled with tears, and droplets of water trickled down her face as she read the rest of the letter. Then she put it in her pocket and went to her bedroom. She lay in the bed, turned on her side, and wondered if her fate would be akin to her mother’s. The enormity of the gift that was passed down from mother to daughter and seemed to negatively affect marriages gnawed at her mind.
A sigh escaped Monet’s lips as she realized that her work was cut out for her because her daughter would, too, share the gift. A light sensation flitted inside Monet’s abdomen and she felt comforted, as if baby Faith knew what she was feeling. Monet felt desolate because she would have loved to share the baby’s moving with Marcus. She imagined his big hand stroking her belly and smiled. Monet’s hand stole down to her abdomen and she patted the mound gently, then she went to sleep.
Marcus arrived home at six o’clock that evening, and was surprised to find the house dark. He fumbled for the light switch in the kitchen, and set a brown bag of Chinese food on the table. After he hung his jacket on the hook behind the door, he looked at the stove and saw that Monet hadn’t cooked. He wondered if she felt well. He walked upstairs to make sure she was okay.
He dimmed the light in the hallway when he reached the last step, and peeped into the master bedroom. Marcus saw the wrinkles on Monet’s face, and wanted to smooth them away. She looked tired, and he wondered if he were the cause. He was about leave when he caught sight of her stomach. He was shocked to see how thick her waist had become. Grief traveled through his body. Marcus watched his wife a few more seconds before he turned and went downstairs.
He went to the foyer and looked at the mail that Monet had set atop the black and gold lacquered, scalloped edged console table. An oval mirror, with sconces on each side, was placed above the table. A burgundy wine colored Persian rug, intertwined with black and gold threads, greeted guests when they walked through the front door.
The mail was mostly bills and magazines for Monet. He stuffed the bills in his pocket and strolled to the kitchen, making sure Mitzi had food and water. Then he took his bag of food and headed to the basement. He turned on the light and walked down a flight of eight stairs. Marcus put the bag on the card table next to his pride and joy, a fifty-two inch high definition television with surround sound.
He had been in a quiet, but reasonably good mood. But after seeing Monet’s baby bump, his good mood vanished like a puff of smoke. He looked longingly at the wooden wet bar on the other side of the paneled basement. He could use a drink, but after his brouhaha at Lee Otis’s bar, he’d sworn off liquor and had made good on that promise. He picked up the TV remote off the cocktail table in front of the couch and channel surfed until he found a basketball game on ESPN.
Though the Chinese food had gotten cold, Marcus didn’t have the energy to walk across the room to the microwave to warm it up. He decided to eat it cold. Twenty minutes had elapsed, and he had finished eating, but he still couldn’t keep his mind from drifting to the picture of Monet’s stomach.
He heard the doorbell ring, and figured Monet had awakened and that she would answer it. Marcus just sat inertly with his head against the back of the couch, when the doorbell rang again.
“Now who could that be?” He lifted his body off the couch and ran upstairs in time to see a UPS driver entering his brown truck. He pointed to the steps, where a box lay. Marcus picked it up and brought it inside the house. When he looked at the label, he saw that it was addressed to Monet and was from a dress store. She had ordered maternity clothes.
Monet walked down the stairs. “Hello,” she said warily. “Would you take that box upstairs for me?”
Marcus nodded. When he returned downstairs, Monet was in the kitchen looking for something to eat in the refrigerator. She held the door open with one hand, and her other hand was rooted on the side of her hip.
“How was your day, Marcus?” She interrupted him before he could take refuge in the basement.
“Not bad, same ole, same ole. How was yours?”
“Not bad either. I talked to Angie, and I had a doctor’s appointment today,” she announced as she closed the refrigerator and took a pint of chocolate chip ice cream out of the freezer.
“Hmmm,” Marcus grunted. He looked down at the floor.
Monet waited for him to ask her how the visit went, but he didn’t. “I kept hoping you’d change your mind and go with me,” she said.
Marcus threw up his hands and said, “Hey, that’s your thing, not mine. I have nothing to do with your situation.”
“It would be nice,” she said, taking a spoon out of the cabinet, “if you would at least ask me how the visit went. Can’t we be a little more civil to each other?”
“Nay-Nay, I’m really not interested in your doctor visits.” Marcus looked at her stomach, and his knees sagged momentarily as his heart seemed to bounce to his feet. She was showing more than he thought. Why couldn’t that be my child she’s carrying, he thought.
“A lawyer called today. His name is Attorney Garner, and he wanted to know if we’d discussed suing the hospital for negligence,” Monet announced after she
swallowed a spoonful of ice cream. “I wonder where he got that idea from.”
That was another bone of contention between the couple. Marcus was in favor of suing the hospital. He felt someone needed to pay for Monet’s injuries and the state of disarray their marriage had dissolved into.
“I talked to him a couple weeks ago, and asked him to let me know if we had a case. He shouldn’t have called you about that anyway. He was supposed to call me.” Marcus was clearly annoyed. “What did he say?”
“He said we had a case because the camera was out in the parking lot. I thanked him for his time and services, and asked him to send us a bill,” Monet said placidly.
“Why did you do that?” Marcus exploded. In the past they would have discussed the issue together, but now the two were on different wavelengths.
“Marcus, I know you didn’t really think I was going to sue the hospital. It wasn’t their fault what happened. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. True enough I was hurt, and I realize I could have been killed. But my wounds have healed, and God spared my life.”
“It would have been nice if you had talked to me before you pulled Mike off the case,” he said, with a tinge of venom in his voice. His eyes narrowed as he rubbed his chin and shook his head.
“I could say the same thing of you about talking to him in the first place, but I won’t. I’m not under any circumstances going to sue St. Bernard’s. They couldn’t afford it, and the people in the community need that hospital to remain open more then we need the money to appease your ego,” Monet said. She put the half eaten carton of ice cream back in the freezer.
“My ego has nothing to do with this,” Marcus retorted. “I just think someone needs to pay.”
“We both are, because you can’t see what’s right in front of your face.”
“Oh, I see all right,” Marcus said in a nasty tone. “I see my wife, who doesn’t seem to give a crap about my opinion and does what she wants.”
“Let me tell you something, Marcus Caldwell.” Monet pointed her finger at him. “The bottom line is you’re wrong. You barely talk to me. Shoot, you act like I don’t exist, and you’re the one who initiated the dialogue with the attorney, not me. I fix dinner for you, which you refuse to eat. I hate this gulf between us, but I’m not changing my position. I’m having our child, and you need to get with the program.” She turned on her heels and marched out of the kitchen and upstairs to the bedroom.
Marcus stood in the kitchen fuming; his lips were twisted in fury. Mitzi stood up and howled mournfully, then lay back down in her basket and covered her eyes with her paws, as if she couldn’t bear the strain in the Caldwell household.
A coil of hot anger wrapped around Marcus’s heart, and he ran up the stairs to their bedroom. “Why can’t you see how this situation is tearing us apart?” He tried to keep the bitterness he felt out of his voice.
Monet was sitting on the bed, and her expression was as miserable as her husband’s. “Marc, I see just as clearly as you do what has happened to us. And I also see somewhere along the way you lost your faith in God.”
Marcus shook his head. “I don’t know, perhaps you’re right. I don’t understand why God would allow you to be beaten and raped. Why would a God who promises never to leave us alone let something like that happen to you?”
“Oh, sweetie,” Monet murmured. She wanted to go to Marcus and wrap her arms around his body. She wished he’d sit on the bed next to her. “God never said that our way would be easy. We’ll always have trials and tribulations to endure. He spared my life,” she whispered. “Imagine how you would’ve felt if the hospital called to tell you that I had died.”
“I feel like our marriage is dying, and I don’t understand why it has to be this way.” Marcus sighed heavily.
“No matter what we endure here on this earth, imagine how God felt knowing Jesus was going to die on the cross? He sent His only begotten son here to teach the world about His father’s goodness and mercy, and then His son is crucified. If God could do that for mankind, surely we can trust in Him.” Monet looked at Marcus, hoping she was getting through to him. But she wasn’t.
Marcus’s face was stony as he said, “All I know is that you’ve put your feelings before mine. I don’t agree with any of the choices you’ve made. You know what, Monet? Forget it. Just continue to do things your way.” He stormed out of the room.
She sat on the bed feeling like she’d been slapped. Then she fell to her knees. She closed her eyes as tears seeped down her cheeks, bowed her head and clasped her hands tightly together. “Father, forgive him for he knows not what he is doing or saying.” Monet prayed fervently like she’d never prayed before. Her lips moved quickly. When she was done making pleas to God for intercession, she stretched across the bed, unable to sleep for the longest time. In the basement, Marcus’s saxophone keened and moaned.
Chapter 23
Although Marcus assumed he would visit Aron the same week he reached out to him, it actually took a month and was the end of April before he’d been cleared to visit Dwight Correctional Facility and meet with the warden and prison officials.
Wade accompanied Marcus to Dwight, Illinois. The ride from the south side of Chicago to downstate Illinois took close to four hours. The partners talked about their cases and sports and their annual fishing trip.
Half an hour upon arriving at the prison, Marcus and Wade were sitting on a sofa outside Warden Jones’s office waiting to see him.
Levi apologized for the warden’s unavailability for the umpteenth time. “He’s been very busy lately working on the budget. I’m sure he’ll be available any minute.” The phone on Levi’s desk buzzed. He snatched up the receiver. When he disconnected the call, he told Marcus and Wade, “He can see you now.” He stood up and escorted them into the office.
Warden Jones stood up. “Hello, I’m Warden Jones. I apologize for the delay.” He sat down in his massive swivel chair after the men shook hands. Wade and Marcus made themselves comfortable in chairs in front of the warden’s desk. “Detectives, what can I do for you?” the warden asked.
“We’re here regarding Aron Reynolds,” Marcus explained. “He’s my father-in-law. We recently found out that he’s been incarcerated here for thirty years, and that he’s nearly done serving his time.”
Warden Jones nodded. “Okay, I remember now.” He put on a pair of thick wire framed glasses and opened a file on his desk. “Let’s see what we have here. Aron Reynolds has been a prisoner here since nineteen seventy-one. He was transferred here from the Joliet Correctional Facility two years into his sentence due to overcrowding. We had problems with his behavior after he was transferred here. He got into fights, we knew he was dealing drugs, and he had a belligerent attitude. The prisoner spent a lot of time in the hole. Then about twenty years ago a woman began visiting him once or twice a year and he settled down. And we haven’t had any trouble from him since then. He finished high school while he’s been here and received a college degree. He has also participated in religious services. He could have gotten out on parole earlier, but he chose to serve out his time. He has reached out to his victim’s family. Aron turned sixty-seven years old last September. That’s his story in a nutshell. Are you aware of the circumstances that brought him here?” the warden asked. He leaned back in his chair and his phone buzzed. “Excuse me,” he said. “Yes, Levi, what is it? I thought I asked you to hold my calls.” He listened for a few minutes, and then said, “Okay, send him in.” Warden Jones turned his attention back to Wade and Marcus. “The guard who works on Aron’s cellblock is available to join us.”
The door opened, and another man walked into the office and took the last vacant chair in front of the warden’s desk.
“This is Charles Little.” Warden Jones introduced the guard to the two detectives. Charles was a portly man, with a receding hairline, who looked like he hadn’t exercised in years. “I was just giving Detectives Caldwell and Harrison background information about prisoner 17703256.
Detective Caldwell is the prisoner’s son-in-law.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Charles nodded to Marcus and Wade. “I interact with the prisoners on a daily basis, so I can answer any questions you have about old Aron.”
“I’d like to thank both of you for taking the time out to see us,” Marcus said. “I also wanted to know if it would be possible for us to see Aron Reynolds today.”
The two prison officials looked at each other. Charles deferred to his boss.
“I don’t see why not. Charlie, what would be the best time to set up the meeting?” asked Warden Jones.
“After lunch would be a good time,” he answered.
“I was giving the detectives the prisoner’s background information. Aron will be released next month, so he’s taken all the psychological evaluations, and everyone feels he’s ready to re-enter society. Because of his age, we don’t anticipate him returning to a life of crime,” the warden said.
“Does he seem sincere about his religious learning?” Wade asked.
The guard nodded. “He’s been attending church here for about fifteen years. We know a lot of men do that so it can look good when they have parole hearings, but that situation didn’t apply to Aron.”
“That’s unusual, isn’t it?” Marcus asked.
“I guess it’s not if a person had truly undergone a religious conversion. Aron wasn’t one of them up-in-your-face born again Christians though. He just seemed to enjoy the services. We can give you the pastor’s name who volunteers here, if you need to talk to him for more information,” Charles replied.
“Thanks,” Marcus said, “but I don’t think that will be necessary.” He took out a notepad and began writing notes on it. “In the beginning, did Aron deny killing the victim?”
Warden Jones shook his head. “Most of the men here would sell their mother if they could get out of here, Aron wasn’t that type. After he stopped fighting the other inmates, he settled down for the long haul. He works in the horticultural area. He seems to really have an affinity for growing plants.”
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