AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I gathered the manila envelope. Waiting patiently, Deborah pushed off the wall as I came into the hallway. Silently, I followed her through several doors while feeling perspiration form on my brow. I kept my head down until the sunlight hit my face.
A new life. Everything familiar before would be different now. I felt as if I was starting over without any sort of guide.
My dad’s old red pickup sat in front of the prison. I cleared my dry throat. “That’s my dad.”
Nervously, Dad got out of his truck. A sense of comfort came over me seeing him in his standard jeans and flannel shirt. He waved, which brought the first genuine smile from me. I raised my hand back. It seemed off to me to wave in front of a prison where I had been incarcerated. All I wanted to do was run into his safe arms, but I refrained, not sure if Deborah needed to tell me anything else.
Deborah held out her hand which I shook. “Good luck, London. I wish you the best.”
I looked down and barely said above a whisper, “Thank you.”
After Deborah stepped out of the way, I walked toward my dad. There was something about a dad’s embrace that made everything better. I couldn’t wait to be safe in his arms.
“Hey, London.” I paused and turned back Deborah’s way. “Don’t let the past dictate your future. Rise above it and be better.”
“I’ll try.” Her words warmed me.
Deborah nodded and a tear formed in my eye. Turning, I focused on my dad standing beside his vehicle. My dad was here supporting me—like always. This morning I remembered packing up a picture we took as a family a few weeks before the accident. In the four years since I’d gone to prison, Dad’s chestnut hair became speckled with gray. His once carefree face was laced with four years of stress as I thought back to how he looked prior to me being sentenced. Time had taken its toll.
Shortly after coming to Aliceville Alabama Federal Prison, Mom was unable to visit me when she was diagnosed with Dementia. Three and a half years ago was the last time I saw Mom. She’d come with Dad for one of the monthly visitations and hadn’t remembered who I was. When I tried to explain, she broke down and screamed things I knew she never meant. My daughter is at home. My daughter would never end up in prison. My daughter is a good person.
I never got to say goodbye to her. It happened quickly and we weren’t prepared. Doctors said her case was rare with the rate of progression. Normally, the disease moved slower. Part of me wondered if the stress of the trial and my incarceration brought it on. Dad assured me it wasn’t the case. I wasn’t sure.
Mom now lived in a nursing home. Dad said Mom hardly recognized him anymore. I missed my mom. Over and over again, I wished I said more the last time she’d been coherent—told her how much I loved her, how much she meant to me, how much I wished I could get a redo at life.
Warm arms engulfed me. “I’m glad to have you back, punkin’.”
“I missed you too, Dad.”
I felt safe, secure, and loved. The familiar scent of wood shavings eased the tenseness in my shoulders.
“Let’s get you home and settled. We’re having your favorite for dinner.”
Giddiness came over me. “Lasagna?”
Dad gave me a wink. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
As we eased out onto the road, the inner lightness I’d felt ebbed. My gut churned, wondering what it would be like being out of prison.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to embrace what was to come . . . going home.
Home.
THE OLDIES STATION PLAYED LOW in the background as we drove the hour and a half to my hometown of Guin, Alabama. Air whooshed through the cab with the windows halfway rolled down. It felt like our trips we took to the wood mills for Dad’s furniture business. As the miles passed us by, Dad told me about the happenings for nearly everyone and everything in our small town. Guin was a population of less than fifteen hundred people.
Everyone knew everything about anything of interest.
The only subject not discussed—my ex-boyfriend, Charles. Four months after incarceration, he broke up with me.
The memory assailed me as we passed a lake where we spent our summers swimming.
Charles sat across from me with the plexi-glass divider between us. I missed his embrace. We loved each other and knew we’d see each other through the storm.
A storm I caused.
We were the real thing happily-ever-after’s were made of. Eagerly I picked up the two-way phone. “I miss you. They say in a little over a year, I’ll be eligible for minimum security. We won’t have to deal with this glass.”
Charles gave me a bittersweet look. “That’s good news, London.”
