Page 36 of A Million To Fall

Can’t say that thought doesn’t hurt.

“You’re your mother’s only approved visitor,” he drawls as he swipes the little plastic card through a reader.

“What?”

“Visitors have to be on a list approved by the inmate. You’re the only one on hers.”

“Wait,” I murmur. “Did she just add me?”

He shakes his head. “No. As far as I can tell, this was her list from when she was booked.”

It knocks the wind out of me for a second—the knowledge that I was on her mind when she got locked up. Maybe she did care?

“Alright, you’re set Mr. Rawlings.” He looks up. “Take a seat over there. We’ll call your name when it’s time.”

I take my ID from him, then sit. I wasn’t allowed to bring my phone into the facility, so I have no way to distract myself from the restlessness crawling under my skin. It’s just me, a row of metal chairs, and a waiting room full of people who’ve clearly done this before. Their faces say “ugh,” whereas I’m all nerves, my right leg bouncing like it’s possessed.

Eventually, an armored door buzzes and opens. A husky officer steps into the threshold, clipboard in hand. “Masterson, Mathers, Navaro, Perez, Rawlings, Sampson, and Ulrich,” he reads.

I stand and follow the others down a long, sterile hallway. We’re herded into a bright visitation room with round metal tables bolted to the floor, the kind with stools attached like a high school cafeteria. The sunlight comes through the large windows in soft stripes, but the bars outside kill whatever warmth that light might offer. This is definitely no vacation resort.

I take a seat at one of the unoccupied tables, facing the door we just walked in through.

A second buzz. The door opens again, and a group of women in faded blue uniforms files into the room, one by one. I didn’t know exactly what to expect when I came here, but I’m relieved to see that the women aren’t handcuffed or shackled in some way.

I spot my mom before she sees me.

Her uniform swallows her small frame, but otherwise, she looks okay. Ponytail, like in the mugshot. Tired eyes. Definitely confused, like she doesn’t know why she’s being led in here.

Then I stand and the moment her eyes find me, they well up with tears.

“Boston?” she chokes. “Boss, baby?”

I swallow past the painful lump in my throat.

She starts toward me, instinctively.

“No touching!” a guard barks.

So we sit facing each other, hands on the table but not touching. I don’t remember her being this small, this petite and fragile. Then again, I’ve definitely gotten bigger in the past two years. Her gaze never leaves mine, flitting across my features as silent tears carve a path down her face.

I study her, too. Her eyes, her skin, her teeth—looking for signs that she slipped even further after I… left. But I don’t spot anything that would make me think she started using shit that required needles, for example. No sunken cheeks. No scabbing or twitchy hands. Just exhaustion.

She inhales a shaky breath. “Oh, god, Boston. I… baby, I love you.”

How long has it been since I’ve heard anyone tell me that?

“I love you, too, Mom.”

She smiles. “You’re so handsome, baby. You look just like your dad.”

My chest tightens. I’ve had enough time to wonder about the what-ifs. What my life would’ve looked like if my dad hadn’t died. I’d likely have gone to college instead of dropping out of high school just months shy of graduation. I’d definitely be sleeping in a real bed at night. I’d have had a fucking chance. Instead, I sleep alone, in my car; no high school diploma or even GED; no prospects to speak of.

But that’s irrelevant right now. I get thirty minutes with my mom. I’m not about to waste them talking about ghosts. “Mom, where are Cassie and Bronx?”

She begins to cry harder. I want to reach across the table and take her hand, but the guard’s stern glance shuts that right down.

“They’re okay,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “The police took them when… when I got arrested. They’re in a foster home. I don’t know much, but I have the caseworker’s info, Boss. Maybe you could call her and find out?” Her eyes are wide with hope.