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But if I was going to spend my time, he was right, I should do it right. I should do it being useful. I should do it engaged in something that had always made me happy.
Outside, in my old life, I had time to scribble here and there, to design shit for the menu at Chaz's or the flyers for Fee's business or shit like that.
But I never got to immerse myself.
So that was what I did.
That was how I chose to spend my time.
And when you work at something twelve hours a day for a year, yeah, you got good. The kind of good that got noticed. The kind of good that even guards were saying I should make a career out of it when I got out. The kind of good where some fucking old school wise guy gives you the name of a gallery and tells you to tell them to say that Anthony Galleo sent you and that he wants your art on the walls.
As much as I wanted to cut ties with the criminal underbelly, I kept that name scribbled on the back of one of the canvases. Just in case I wanted to use the contact.
Things were going par for the course.
Except I had underestimated my family.
One year down the line, they still hadn't given up. They still tried to call, tried to visit, tried to write.
I dreaded mail day.
Because it was like a motherfucking knife to the gut every time I had to return shit to sender.
It didn't matter that I had made my mind up. They were still there, in the marrow, buried too deep ever to be extracted. And a huge part of me wanted that contact, wanted to read what was going on. Shane and Lea had to have been starting their own hoard by then. Had Scotti and Mark gotten married? Were Mom and Pops well?
Fee had found a way around my rule.
Because, no matter how hard I tried to hand them back, I couldn't force my fingers to let go of the letters from the girls. I had walls plastered with their adorably terrible artwork. Even though it was painful to look at them, knowing I would never be a part of their lives again.
It was dirty on Fee's part.
But she liked to play that way.
"Yeah yeah yeah," the C.O. said, shaking his head as he flipped through the letters. "I know the drill by now. Oh, wait. This one isn't a Mallick." He held out the envelope with a shrug, showing me the name.
Autumn Reid.
Weird.
"I'll take that one," I agreed, reaching for it.
"Oh, and here, kid writing," he added, handing me a fat envelope.
So far, they hadn't been letters. The girls weren't great at writing yet, let alone getting their thoughts together enough to formulate an actual letter.
Just artwork.
It was hard enough.
Letters would fucking ruin me.
I took them back to my cell, opening the one from Becca first, finding a surprisingly improved picture of Coop.
Another knife in the heart.
I loved that fucking dog.
And I didn't have the damnedest idea what had happened to him. Had my family found him? If so, why was Becca still drawing him as a puppy? He would have been full-grown by now. If not them, then who? The pound. Ugh. I sure as fuck hoped not. Maybe Mark and Scotti took him on since Scotti wasn't like Lea who had a shoe collection that rivaled a department store.
I could hope at least.
I put that down to be hung later, climbing up into my bunk to rip open the letter from the Autumn woman, careful to leave the return address intact in case, for some unknown reason, I might actually need to write her back.Eli,You don't know me. Well, actually, you saw me once. On, um, the day you were arrested. Outside the coffeeshop. I was the girl filming the cop getting a little police-brutality-ish with you. Blonde hair. Blue eyes? Yeah, anyway. It took me this long to figure out who you are and, well, where you are.
Sorry for the delay.
I'm sure you've been worried.
After you were taken away, your dog started flipping out. No offense, but he was one ugly little sucker, and I didn't want him ending up in the pound. So I took him home with me.
He has a happy, active, shoe-chewing life.
He got enormous.
And he still likes those peanut butter treats from the coffeeshop.
You seemed pretty attached to him, so I wanted you to know he had a safe and happy home where he has learned a few manners - and disregarded all others.
I enclosed a picture. As you can see, he still won't be winning any beauty contests, but I think he is officially so ugly that he is cute. So he has that going for him.- Autumn
