Yes, Hope realized as they got closer, it was definitely the same girl. She had the same stack of books with her and, in spite of the chaos and noise surrounding her, seemed completely absorbed in reading one of them. What was her name? Mandy . . . Mandy Lopez? Yes, that’s right. Mandy Lopez.
Leaving the dayroom and cafeteria, Nancy and Hope moved into a long and far quieter corridor, lined with blue metal doors that Hope supposed must open on to cells.
“But if he hates women so much, why stay here?” Hope asked. “Why not transfer to a men’s facility?”
“Because,” Nancy said, “he doesn’t hate women. He distrusts us. And not entirely without reason. His wife walked out on him not long after his diagnosis.”
“That’s terrible. She left him because he got sick?”
“Oh, I doubt it,” Nancy said with a shake of her head. “But that’s what he thinks.”
“Still,” Hope said, feeling a bit guilty as she thought back on the pleasure she’d taken in getting the last word in during her meeting with David Hernandez. “That’s got to be hard. Is he going to be all right?”
“Chemotherapy is never a picnic, but testicular cancer is highly treatable if it’s caught early enough. My husband’s an oncologist,” Nancy said, responding to the question in Hope’s arched brows.
“David should be fine. Though I do wish he had taken a few more weeks to recuperate,” Nancy said, clucking her tongue with a motherly concern that made Hope smile.
She liked it that Nancy, though far from blind to his flaws, liked the cranky superintendent. But Hope suspected Nancy felt that way about everybody.
“There was no need for him to rush back. Jodie had everything under control,” Nancy said.
“Maybe he was worried that the two of you would do some more hiring.” Hope chuckled. “Or maybe he was just in a hurry to get back to the important business of punishing women.”
Nancy stopped walking and turned toward Hope. There was no mirth in her smile, only kindness and such a sincere acceptance that Hope felt both ashamed and forgiven for cracking such a careless joke.
“David’s not a bad man. He’s rigid,” Nancy said. “And complicated, even more than most men. Working here does that to you, highlights all of life’s complications and contradictions, especially those that exist within yourself. You’ll see, now that you’re on the inside. I can’t quite explain it, but . . . this place seems to attract people who, whether they know it or not, need to deal with their complications.
“Well. Perhaps excepting me. When I read that visiting and comforting the prisoner is the same as visiting and comforting Christ, I stupidly took it at face value.” Nancy let out a haw of laughter. “That’s me, I’m afraid. Thick as a plank. Not subtle enough to be complicated.”
“Sounds like the opposite of stupidity to me,” Hope said. “It sounds like wisdom.”
“Oh, it is,” Nancy said earnestly as they began walking again, turning left into still another long and brightly lit corridor, passing a guard and two inmates along the way, who all smiled as the chaplain walked by. “But it’s not like I thought it up. I just try to follow it.”
“I bet it’s not easy.”
“Not always. Especially in the face of those contradictions. I’ve been sent here to display mercy to these women and yet, by my very presence, I am participating in their punishment. You see the problem?”
“I think so,” Hope said, thinking that, for all her claims to the contrary, Nancy was the furthest thing from thick, or unsubtle. “So how did you resolve that?”
“By realizing that there are two kinds of punishment: that which seeks merely to punish and thereby exact revenge, and that which seeks to correct and thereby redeem.
“The first is cruel, usually to everyone involved. Revenge isn’t nearly as satisfying as we imagine and rarely accomplishes anything apart from making the world smaller and meaner. The second kind of punishment may be the most merciful thing we can do for someone who has lost their way, force them to face the truth about themselves and give them opportunity and support to redeem their lives and correct their course.”
“And do they?” Hope asked.
“Sometimes. Not as often as I’d wish. The tough part is what happens after they leave prison. For most, it’s a lot harder than life on the inside. Society is unforgiving, revenge hungry. The outside world neither desires nor believes in redemption. At least, not for these girls, the ones most in need of it.”
Hope screwed up her face and closed her eyes, trying to recall the words she’d memorized long ago and almost forgotten.
“But when He heard this, He said, ‘It is not the healthy who are in need of a physician, but those who are sick. But go and learn what this means, I desire compassion and not sacrifice, for I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners.’ ”
“Well done, you!” Nancy exclaimed, clapping her hands. “I didn’t realize you were devout.”
“Oh. Not really,” Hope said, feeling suddenly foolish. “When I was a kid, I was a Sunday school suck-up,” she admitted, smiling sheepishly. “They handed out candy bars to the kid who knew the most verses.”
Nancy laughed. “Poor, poor Sunday school teachers. Whatever it takes, right? At least it stuck with you. And it’s a very apt verse.
“If He walked the earth today, I’m convinced that this is where He’d be, which means it’s where I’m supposed to be. Against all odds, a few of these women do manage to successfully turn their lives around. Now that you’re here, maybe you’ll be able to tip the odds a bit further in our favor?”
Nancy paused her progress, then took a step back, narrowed her eyes, and looked Hope up and down, as if she were trying to guess her height.
“Yes,” she said. “I think you just might. Your name alone has to mean something, don’t you think? In the ancient world, you know, names usually carried a meaning. They were more than something to scribble on a paper cup so somebody knows which latte belongs to you. Names denoted character, sometimes destiny. Perhaps Hope will be the one to bring hope to the inside?”
Hope smiled. “I don’t know about that. But I’d like to try. That’s part of why I wanted to work here.”
“Most of us feel that way at some level,” Nancy said. “Even David.
“For all of his gruff manner, his bitterness toward all the women who disappointed and deserted him, and that huge chip on his shoulder, in his heart of hearts David doesn’t truly want to punish anyone. Not for punishment’s sake.
“He works hard, sometimes too hard, because he so wants not to be disappointed. David wants to redeem these women and, in so doing, find redemption himself. The problem is, he’s stopped believing it’s possible. I’m not sure David Hernandez believes in anything anymore, himself least of all.
“But who knows, Hope on the Inside? Maybe you’re the one who can change all that. Perhaps you’ll resurrect David’s faith in the rest of us.”
Hope laughed and they started walking again. “At the moment I’d settle for getting through my first day without having him fire me.”
“No worries there,” Nancy said. “You’ve got a verified letter of employment. That’s why I pushed so hard to hire you before he returned. To fire you, David would have to build a case against you, which would take at least five or six months. Unless, of course, you do something really stupid to give him cause—insubordination, blatant policy violation, dating an inmate, that sort of thing.”
Nancy gave Hope a concerned look, as if she’d just remembered something. “You’re married, right?”
“Very. To Rick.”
The chaplain let out a relieved breath.
“Good. No worries about fraternization then. You’re not permitted to have social or personal contact with inmates, you know. That would be a major no-no, massive policy violation, cause for immediate termination.”
Hope shook her head. “Everybody around here is always talking about policies. There sure seems to be a lot of them.”
/> “Because there are,” Nancy said. “You’ve got to keep on the right side of them. Otherwise, David can and will fire you. But, apart from that, you’ve got at least six months to change David’s mind about the crafts program—and you.
“Ah! Here we are!” Nancy exclaimed as they rounded a corner and approached a plain wooden door. “Your classroom.”
Nancy opened the door and stood back, allowing Hope to enter first.
The space was narrow, about ten feet wide by sixteen feet deep, and had no window. Long, narrow tables and orange plastic chairs ran along both walls, leaving a center aisle just wide enough to walk down.
At the far end of the room, Hope found a gray metal cabinet with a lock, a whiteboard and colored markers, and a small table and chair that she supposed was meant for her. The cardboard box she’d had to leave on the bench outside the guard station was sitting on top of the table.
“It’s a bit tight,” Nancy said apologetically. “It was a mechanical room until recently. When they replaced and moved the furnace, this space became available. That’s when I started talking to Jodie about trying to find money in the budget for a craft program. Of course we had to wait until David was on medical leave to get it approved.”
“You know something,” Hope said, looking over her shoulder at Nancy before folding back the cardboard flaps on the box, “for a woman of the cloth, you’re kind of devious.”
“Only in search of the greater good.”
Hope peered into the box and frowned.
“Hey. Some of my stuff is missing.” She reached in with both hands and started digging through the box. “A lot of my stuff is missing.”
“Really?” Nancy came over and stood beside her. “Like what?”
“My scissors, my rotary cutter, my pins, knitting needles, the mason jars I use for mixing paint colors, the acetone I use for cleaning brushes, and my glue!” Hope slapped her hands against her sides. “Why would anybody steal glue?”
“It wasn’t stolen. It was removed.” Nancy gave her a curious look, as if she didn’t quite believe Hope’s failure to grasp the situation.
“Hope, none of those kinds of items are permitted inside a prison. You can’t bring in anything sharp, or anything with a blade. Acetone is highly flammable and the glue—I’m guessing it was model glue?” Hope nodded. “We have a lot of addicts in here.”
Hope let out a huff of frustration. “Okay, fine. I get it. But . . . mason jars?”
“To you and me, a jar is a jar. But if somebody steals it and breaks it, the jagged edges or shards can become a weapon.”
“Fine. So I’ll keep them in there when I’m not using them,” Hope protested, gesturing toward the gray metal cabinet, keys dangling from the lock. “Nobody will steal them.”
Nancy laid a hand on Hope’s shoulder. “You don’t know that. Let me be clear: I love these women. So will you when you get to know them—they’re such wounded birds. But they’re here for a reason. Theft is second nature to some of them; so is violence, preying on the weak. You can’t turn your back on them, Hope. And you can’t bring supplies into your classroom that might be a temptation to some or cause harm to others.”
“Well, that’s just great,” Hope said, making no attempt to mask her frustration. “How am I supposed to teach a craft class with no craft supplies?”
Nancy smiled and patted her shoulder. “You’ll figure something out, I’m sure. You’ve got a whole hour.”
“An hour? Wait. Are you saying—”
“Your first class is coming in right after lunch,” Nancy said cheerfully as she walked toward the door. “Jodie will bring them over from the dayroom herself; she wants to meet you. But one of the guards will come to collect them later.
“Don’t worry. There’s only eight in this first group. We didn’t want to overwhelm you, not on your first day.”
“Gee. Thanks,” Hope said, then reached into her supply box and pulled out a sheaf of colored construction paper, wondering if she could tear the sheets into strips and have the women weave them into . . . anything.
“Good luck!” Nancy called out, then turned in the doorway. “Oh, and Hope? If you’re looking for a church, you’re always welcome at ours, you know. Anytime.”
Hope leaned forward, sticking her head halfway into the box, and pretended she hadn’t heard. “Fat chance,” she mumbled.
Chapter 13
Rick got into the car, turned on the ignition, and sat there watching the windshield wipers swish back and forth, trying to figure out what he was going to do with himself for the rest of the day.
He probably should go buy some new pants. The ones he was wearing were so tight he could barely button the waistband. But the thought of having to go to the mall, find a parking space, have conversations with chipper salesclerks, and face the reality of his bulging waistline was just too much.
Next, he considered going to the hardware store, not because he needed anything, just to walk around and see what they had. Ultimately, that seemed like too much as well, so he pulled out of his parking space and headed back toward the condo.
Maybe he’d make a batch of those cheese biscuits he’d seen on YouTube the day before, possibly a pot of chili to go with them. Having dinner ready when Hope returned from her first day of work might help ease some of the tension between them. Was he being a jerk, like McKenzie said? He turned the windshield wipers up a notch and considered the question.
No.
Why should he be supportive of something so stupid, even dangerous? Seriously. A prison? What man would support his wife working in a place like that? And it wasn’t like she had to work—not that the money was that great anyway—they were getting by fine.
“But the insurance,” she’d said, during their most recent fight on the subject, throwing that up in his face. He told her he’d figure it out and he would. Besides, they were fine for the moment. It wasn’t like they were the only people on earth who couldn’t afford insurance. Why was she always making him out to be the bad guy?
On second thought, he didn’t think he would make dinner.
Hope was going to do what she was going to do—she already had, in spite of him. Maybe to spite him. There was nothing he could do to change that. She obviously didn’t give a damn what he thought.
Eventually he would have to make his peace with that and with her. But not today. Let her squirm for a while. She wanted to be independent? Ignore him and his advice? Fine. Two could play that game.
He was tired, tired of all of it. Maybe he’d just go home and take a nap.
The road he would normally have taken back to the condo was closed. It looked like there’d been some kind of accident. Three police cruisers were at the scene, one pulled sideways to block the street. The officer standing next to it, rain streaming from the brim of his hat, waved Rick’s car onto a side street.
Rick didn’t know Olympia very well yet, so it took a couple of minutes to get his bearings. But soon he found another, less traveled road that ran more or less parallel to the one he’d intended to take. About a mile along his route, he saw a sedan pulled over by the side of the road, tilted in a way that suggested a flat tire.
Rick slowed down, not because he was planning to stop but to avoid splashing water onto the driver, who was bending down to examine the tire. Just as Rick’s car was pulling alongside the stranded sedan, the driver straightened up, turning briefly toward the road, allowing Rick to catch a glimpse of her face.
For a moment, he forgot to breathe.
Rick swiveled his head to the right as he drove by, trying to get a better look. He would have stopped in the middle of the road if there hadn’t been another car behind him. Instead, he accelerated, found a safe place to pull over about a hundred and fifty feet on, then jumped out of his car and ran back toward the stranded sedan and its elderly driver, who was, once again, bending down to look at the tire. He increased his pace as he closed the distance. His shoes crunched over the gravel, alerting the driver to his
presence.
When she stood up and looked toward him, Rick felt a wave of disappointment wash over him. He slowed his steps, feeling suddenly drained, even more tired than he’d been before.
“Well! That was pretty quick after all!” the old woman exclaimed. “Are you from Triple A?”
“No, ma’am. I just saw your car pulled over and thought . . .” Rick licked his lips and wiped the rain from his forehead. “Do you need some help?”
“I do,” she said. “But I don’t want to bother you with this. I just called Triple A. They said they’d have somebody out here to help me in about forty-five minutes. Don’t worry about me. I can wait in the car until they get here.”
She looked at the tire again.
“I was just trying to see if I could figure out how to take care of it myself. You know, my husband used to handle all this sort of—” She stopped mid-sentence and frowned. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I—” Rick took in a breath and let it out. “You just reminded me of somebody, that’s all.”
“Oh yes. I get that a lot. It’s this Irish face of mine,” she said with a laugh. “I look like everybody’s mother, or aunt, or long-lost cousin Colleen.”
Rick wiped his face again.
“Ma’am, why don’t you get inside your car out of the rain while I change this tire for you?”
She shook her head. “Thank you, but no. I couldn’t ask you to do that. You’d get soaked to the skin. The tow truck will be along soon.”
“Well, I’m already soaked,” Rick observed, holding out his arms. “So are you. I might as well change this tire so you can be on your way. Won’t take me ten minutes.”
The woman twisted her lips a bit, considering this.
“All right. But only if you let me watch you so I can learn to do it myself. Age and sex are no excuse for helplessness. Even if they were, you can’t always count on nice young men pulling over to help change your tire, can you?”
Hope on the Inside Page 9
