“Timmons?” He turned and called after Andy in shock. “Isn’t that your wife?”
“Not anymore.” Andy answered.
33
And Justice Was Served
Things happened quickly. Both Becca and I pled guilty in arraignment. Neither of us wanted to drag things out any longer than we had to. Laura eventually came out of her drug induced coma and was formally charged with attempted murder and armed robbery. Based on a plea deal that included a psych evaluation, the attempted murder charge was dropped to a malicious wounding and she avoided a lifelong prison sentence. Instead, she’s a resident in the local psych ward.
No one ever heard from Claire Mitchell again. I'm pretty certain that she changed her name, colored her hair, and set up shop in some tiny little country town in the south of France. Maybe she used her take from the bank job to buy a winery or something. It would definitely suit Claire. Sometimes I used my library privileges to search for her on the internet. I found very little except for several write ups about a couple of international thieves that died in a horrific accident so I thought it was safe to assume that at least that part of Claire’s story had been true.
My favorite neighbor, Joan Crawford, got her big break on Good Morning America telling the entire nation how threatened she felt knowing that a felon had lived only two houses down from her.
Becca’s fragile mental state snapped completely shortly after we became incarcerated and they have since moved her to the state mental facility. I haven’t spoken to her but I hear she spends her days rocking in a chair by the window and watching reruns of I Love Lucy.
The Four Lucy Fight Club is what I have come to think of us as. We fought against the system and we lost. And we should have. Stealing from the rich to help the poor may be a great idea in a fairy tale or a fable but in real life it's just plain wrong. I know now that there would have been much more honor in losing our home and moving in with Andy’s mother than in what I did.
Andy has since sold our house and done just that. He found the box of money where I’d hid it and returned every cent. He doesn’t come to visit but he does bring the boys every Sunday. I miss my husband and I hope one day he will forgive me but I am grateful to him for still allowing me to see our sons.
Neither of the boys really understand why I did what I did and I definitely sense a lot of underlying anger in A.J. Over time, I pray he works through it and comes to forgive me once he understands how angry he is. Sammy is still my little sweetheart He doesn’t really get any of it but I am sure one day it will all make sense to him. I dread that day.
I suppose I could blame the accident but it really was no excuse for the decisions I have made. Blame won’t restore my marriage or bring Mia back. Placing blame won’t change what happened and it doesn’t even make me feel any better about the outcome. I should have made better choices.
When I look back on the past year, I can very clearly see where I went wrong. That first choice I made—the point where I should have said no. The exact time when I should have told Claire her idea was ridiculous and laughed it off as just some silly fantasy of a lonely housewife.
I consciously made the decision to engage in a life of crime despite the fact that I would break the hearts of my husband and my children if I were caught. There was no misfired circuitry in that decision.
I used to blame Becca for getting us caught. After all, she talked. And Andy heard. But I have come to terms with what happened. If she hadn’t been the one then someone else would have messed up. Someone always talks. It’s human nature to not keep secrets. We are social creatures. Women especially need to share their feelings and talk about what bothers them.
Do I regret what we did? Of course, I do. I regret that I will spend the best years of my sons’ childhoods locked up in a cage. I regret that someone got hurt and I regret that Becca will probably never recover mentally. I regret that my best friend felt that suicide was the only way to escape the pain of guilt and loss and I regret that none of it helped to save her little girl. What I regret the most though is Andy. After a lengthy internal affairs investigation, the department allowed him to keep his job when they determined that he had absolutely no knowledge of what I'd done. I heard that he took a lot of flak because of my actions from his colleagues but in the end, the thin blue line stood strong. His friends circled around him and formed a wall of protection for him and the boys. His career remained intact and I take some comfort in the fact that at least I did not ruin that along with everything else.
Andy and I have not spoken since the day he arrested me. To Andy, I am no longer his wife. I’m still the mother of his children but I am a criminal. The bad guy. I hurt him in unimaginable ways and I really regret that. I will regret that for the rest of my life and well into the afterlife.
I hope to get out of here on good behavior as soon as the parole board lets me. I know that I cannot go back to my old life so I have begun to take steps to prepare for a new one by taking online classes in psychology and social work with the goal of one day assisting women like me in finding ways to take care of their families that won’t result in jail time. I have come to understand that in the broadest sense I am no different than the small time drug dealer or the prostitute working the streets. Desperation will drive a person to desperate acts. I doubt any child ever says, “I want to be a hooker when I grow up.” I know I never dreamed of being a felon.
Momma used to say that necessity is the mother of invention. I wonder too, if necessity is the mother of bad decisions. Necessity and desperation often walk hand in hand so why wouldn’t bad decisions fit in there somewhere?
If I could go back in time, knowing what I know now, I would never have agreed to any of it. I would have let Lawrence take our house and I would have said to hell with pride. At least then I would still have my boys and the husband that I love dearly. And I could hold my head up high.
My story is done. I wish it had the happy ending that we are all so accustomed to having in a tale such as mine but it doesn’t. All I have is a ten by ten foot cell, a hard cot and a scratchy wool blanket. Of course, I also have fame and notoriety. The Four Lucy Fight Club might have one day become the first ever all woman gang of serial bank robbers. Were he still alive, I like to think old Willie Sutton would have been proud.
Other Books by Carolyn LaRoche
Undercover in Six Inch Stilettos
In the Shadow of the Shield
When First We Practice to Deceive
Witness Protection
Homeland Security
Border Patrol
The Heist Page 21
