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Mom was so excited to have her first grandson. She was by my side when he entered the world and cherished him until the day she died. She cherished both my babies, and now, all we’re left with are the memories and a rag of a bear. I’m thankful for that ugly stuffed toy because, until this moment, I wasn’t sure if Hunter even remembered my mom. He was so young when she died.
“Mommy’s gonna get Mr. Snuggles back.”
nine
“JONES. MELISSA.”
There are many things a woman hopes she’ll do twice in a lifetime. Travel to a foreign place, have a child, purchase a home, land a dream job, meet a celebrity.
Being arrested is not one of them.
Well, not for me at least.
I swat the air in front of me as I try to figure out exactly how I went from being Mom of the Year toAmerica’s Most Wantedin the same hour.
I’m in the Valor County Jail, the same cell where, just weeks ago, I was pacing along the cinder block and pacing like a loon. The frightened feeling I had from being in this cell last time is replaced by sheer annoyance.
How can, I, Melissa Jones, have been arrested … again?
An officer stands by the door, calling my name. I look over at him. The same shadows are cast in the doorway, but I know it’s notmyofficer. This man’s shoulders are narrow, his stature shorter, and the tone of his voice is mellow. My shoulders droop, and then I kick myself because I’m not supposed to be downhearted that Officer Bronson isn’t here.
I stand and fold my arms against my chest, my fingers tapping rapidly along my bicep as I clench my jaw.
“I’d like to make a phone call,” I state with my head held high. I’m sober this time, and I know my rights. I won’t go nefariously admitting to crimes like I did last time, although I really want to explain that, once again, I was not breaking and entering, like they claim. “My children are probably worried sick.”
“In a few minutes. I’ve been instructed to have you wait here while we sort the paperwork.”
“You can’t withhold my phone call! It’s my constitutional right to make a call within three hours of my arrest!”
The officer laughs lightly. This action irritates me further.
“What are you snickering about?”
“He said you were a wild one. Just sit back and wait.” The officer’s demeanor is very calm. He stares at me for a beat, probably taking in the fact that I’m wearing pajama pants, loafers, and a sweatshirt that says,Good Moms Say Bad Words. “Can I get you anything? A bottle of water?” he asks.
I blink at him. My arms drop to my sides as I glare at him. “Is that normal for a cop to ask an inmate?”
“Nothing about this is normal, ma’am. And you’re not an inmate.”
“Please don’t call me ma’am.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I growl at him as he walks out the door.
I fall to the bench with a sigh and roll my head back, rubbing the cords twanging in my neck.
“Not an inmate,” he says.I don’t know what else you’d call me, caged in a cell like an animal.
Animals have nicer holding pens than this.
This entire room is made of stone. The floors are concrete; the walls and ceiling are made of cinder block. I can’t imagine this is any more than a twenty-four-hour holding cell. I’m surprised they don’t just make the rooms out of Sheetrock. Couldn’t kill them to bring in the cozy feeling, considering people have to spend the night here. Not like someone’s gonna Shawshank their way out of this place.
It’s also very cold. The rosé might have kept my body temperature warm last time because, tonight, I am chilled to the bone. Scooting into a corner, I pull my knees to my chest and curl into a ball for warmth, tucking my nose inside my sweatshirt. Maybe if I lay my head against the wall, I can fall asleep and wake up to find this was all a bad dream. It would be nice to wake up in my bed to learn I hallucinated this entire evening.
I do as I suggested and close my eyes, hoping I can sleep this horrible experience away, when the loud click of a door, followed by the loud bang of a metal door slamming shut, demands my attention.
I open an eye and glance through the steel bars to the other side of the room.
