Hope on the Inside

by Marie Bostwick

  Rick smiled. She didn’t just look like his mother; she sounded like her too. Not just in what she said but in the way she said it.

  “Do you have a spare?” he asked.

  “It’s in the trunk. There’s a compartment under the carpet.”

  She walked toward the rear of the car. Rick followed her.

  “By the way,” she said, looking over her shoulder as she walked, “my name is Kate, Kate McGahan.”

  The tire didn’t take long to change, even with Kate “helping” by loosening and tightening some of the lug nuts while Rick looked on. However, once Kate got behind the wheel, the car refused to start.

  “I’m guessing it’s a transmission problem,” said the tow truck driver, the same one who had been summoned for the flat but arrived shortly after the tire had been changed. “But we won’t really know until the mechanic takes a look. Is there a particular garage you want to use?”

  “Peterson’s Auto,” Kate said. “Ask for Joe.”

  The tow truck driver pulled out his phone. Kate circled the car, staring at the sedan with an accusation in her eyes, as if she suspected it of sandbagging.

  “I knew it. I should have gone over there when I heard that grinding sound yesterday. I hope it’s not too expensive to fix. Well, it could be worse, I suppose. At least it’s stopped raining.”

  She turned to Rick. “Say, how much do new transmissions cost?”

  “Maybe it’s just the fluid,” Rick said, though he was pretty sure it wasn’t. “Can I give you a lift somewhere?”

  “Oh no. Thanks. I’ll just ride along in the truck. Hopefully they’ll be able to look at the car right away. If not, I’m sure one of the boys from the garage will take me home.”

  The tow truck driver took the phone from his ear.

  “Joe says they’re swamped but, since it’s you, to bring it over and he’ll try to take a look at it first thing tomorrow.”

  Rick arched his eyebrows. “Sure I can’t drop you off at your house?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” Kate replied, looking a bit defeated. “You were so nice to stop and help, but I shouldn’t take up any more of your time. I’m sure you’ve got lots to do.”

  “Not really,” Rick said. “Not one single thing.”

  Chapter 14

  Deedee, a skinny, wiry twenty-two-year-old with ebony skin and close-cropped hair, pinched the pink paper between her fingers and picked up the object, examining it from all sides.

  “What is it?”

  “A crane,” Steph said, rolling her blue eyes, then taking a corn chip from a bag and putting it in her mouth. “I told you before, a paper crane.”

  “Yeah. I know what you said it was,” Deedee replied. “But really, what is it? Looks like a piece of folded paper to me.”

  “It is a piece of folded paper, stupid. It’s origami. Some kind of Chinese paper-folding thing.”

  “Japanese,” Mandy said without looking up from her book. “Origami is a paper-folding technique that originated in Japan.”

  “How would you know?” Steph asked irritably. “You didn’t even take the class.”

  Mandy lifted her gaze, giving Steph a pointed look, and tapped her book with her index finger.

  “It doesn’t look like a crane,” Deedee said. “I don’t know what it looks like, but not a crane.”

  Steph snatched the crane from Deedee’s hands and told her to shut up, then crushed the paper into a ball and tossed it directly into Deedee’s face.

  “Hey!” Deedee said. “Why’d you do that? I wasn’t trying to dis you. It wasn’t that bad. Better than anything I’ve ever made, that’s for sure.”

  Another woman, Nita, who had also attended Hope’s hastily thrown together origami class, crossed the room and sat down at the table. She was about thirty, broad shouldered and heavyset, and wore her light hair in a single thick braid down her back.

  “Was that a joke or what?” she said, reaching across the table to filch one of Steph’s chips. “It was like something you did in kindergarten.”

  “I know,” Steph huffed. “Mine looked like a sick chicken.”

  “I thought it looked more like a rabbit,” Deedee commented. “It was cute, though.”

  “Who asked you?” Steph elbowed Deedee before turning her attention back to Nita. “How did yours turn out?”

  “Didn’t finish it,” Nita said. “Didn’t even try. I’m just taking the class to kill some time. Need to look busy around here or they sign you up for kitchen duty. Making kindergarten cranes is better than scrubbing pots. But not a lot better.”

  “That teacher,” Steph said. “Where did they find her? Could she be any greener?”

  “Uh-uh.” Nita laughed. “Did you see the look on her face when we all trooped in? Deer in headlights. I bet you anything she’s never been on the inside before today.”

  “Got that right,” Steph said. “She won’t last long around here.”

  “Maybe a month. Two, tops.” Nita grinned. “Hey, you want to bet on it?”

  “On what? That she’ll quit?”

  “Uh-huh. I will bet you four bags of Fritos that Deer-in-the-Headlights-Craft-Lady will quit within two months.”

  “With your help?” Deedee asked.

  “Could be,” Nita said. “What do you say? You in?”

  “Too rich for my blood,” Deedee said. Nita turned to look at Steph.

  “Four bags is pretty steep,” Steph replied. “How about one month?”

  “Sure,” Nita said. “Ain’t no jump for a show dog. But getting her to go in a month is gonna cost you five bags. Deal?”

  Nita stuck out her hand. Steph thought it over for a minute before taking it.

  “Deal,” she said finally.

  “Baby,” Nita hooted, “that is one bet you are going to be sooo sorry you made. Because I am going to win this thing, no problem. Only downside for me is that I’ve got to wait a whole month to collect. Tell you what, let’s add a side bet.”

  “Like what?”

  “One bag of Fritos says that, within a week, she breaks down crying in class.”

  “A week?” Deedee said, her eyes widening. “I’ll take some of that action.”

  “Me too,” said Steph.

  Nita started laughing. Steph and Deedee joined in. The three women made a racket as they teased one another, each claiming the other was going to lose and chortling about how delicious victory would taste.

  Mandy, who had been reading with both elbows propped up on the table to cover her ears, dropped her hands and glared at the trio.

  “Do you mind? I’m trying to study here.”

  “So? If you don’t like it, you can move,” Nita said.

  “So can you. I was here first.”

  Nita glared back at her for a moment, as if trying to decide if arguing was worth the effort. “Fine,” she said finally. “Why’re you such a grouch today?”

  “Because I’m trying to study and there’s so much noise in here I can hardly hear myself think!” Mandy slammed her book closed and then covered her eyes with her hands. After a moment, she lowered them.

  “Sorry. Maybe I should take a break.”

  Deedee got up from the table, stood behind Mandy, and started rubbing her shoulders. When Mandy’s groan of pleasure was followed by a yelp of pain, Deedee said, “Girlfriend, you are tense!”

  Deedee leaned forward so she could see the cover of Mandy’s book.

  “Advanced algebra? No wonder you’re stressed. What’re you studying that for? You don’t think you’re ever actually going to need that, do you?”

  “Probably not. But I need it to graduate. You can’t get a decent job on the outside if you don’t have at least a high school diploma, so I’ve got to earn mine before I get out of here. If I can’t get a job, I can’t take care of Talia.”

  “How is she? You got any new pictures?”

  “As a matter of fact,” Mandy said, smiling as she reached into the pocket of her prison-issue khakis and pulled out a photo,
“my mom just brought this one; Talia’s first-grade picture.”

  Mandy turned the photo around and the women cooed and awed in response.

  “Is she a sweetie or what?” Deedee asked. “Those eyes? Just like her momma. She’s gonna be a heartbreaker when she grows up.”

  “Look at that gap between her teeth. Can’t believe she’s already in first grade. And losing her baby teeth,” Steph said, shaking her head. “Time sure flies.”

  “Everywhere but here,” Nita said. “But that is one adorable kid. Your ex sure makes cute babies.”

  “Yeah. That’s about all he knew how to do,” Mandy said, still smiling as she slipped the picture back into her pocket. “Besides dealing drugs and beating the crap out of me on a regular basis. But Talia makes up for a lot. All I want to do with my life is get out of here, get my kid back, and be a good mom. That’s it.”

  “How much longer till you get your diploma?” Deedee asked.

  “Hopefully within seven months and four days. It’s going to be a photo finish, if I finish,” Mandy said wearily. “I’m still short two credits to graduate. I need another class, but—I just don’t know if I can handle any more. I’m studying myself cross-eyed as it is.”

  “Two credits of what?” Nita asked.

  “Anything,” Mandy said. “I’m good with my required classes, just short on credits.”

  “Well,” Steph said, “what about taking this craft class?”

  Mandy frowned. “What craft class?”

  “The one we’ve all been talking about!” she exclaimed, grinning and shaking her head. “Don’t you hear anything when you’ve got your head stuck in a book?”

  “Not really,” Mandy said. “So, this craft class would count as a credit toward high school graduation?”

  “I think so. The lady in charge—” Steph snorted out a laugh when Nita dropped her jaw and widened her eyes in a “deer-in-the-headlights” impression. “Knock it off, Nita!

  “Anyway, this lady used to teach Home Ec at a high school in Portland, so she must be a real teacher. Talk to her. See if you can get an art credit or something. Can’t hurt to ask. And it’s got to be easier than algebra, right?”

  “That’s for sure,” Mandy said, casting a loathing glance at her algebra textbook. “Okay, thanks. I’ll check it out. You know, I think I saw her when she was coming through security this morning. Kind of short, wavy brown hair, pink top, looked nervous?”

  “That’s the one,” Nita said with a grin.

  Excited by the prospect of a class that would get her the credits she lacked for graduation without requiring a great deal of effort, Mandy left the common room and went searching for Hope, without success. The door to the mechanical room turned classroom was locked and no one answered her repeated knocks.

  On her way back to the common room, Mandy passed the chaplain and asked if she knew anything about the new craft class and if it was being offered for credit.

  “That’s a brilliant idea,” Nancy said. “Why didn’t I think of that before? Hope is a licensed teacher, so I can’t think why not. I’m not sure what the curriculum requirements might be, but I’ll discuss it with her when she comes in.”

  “She’s already gone?” Mandy asked.

  “Yes. She was only scheduled for two classes this afternoon and had a bit of a headache, so she left a few minutes early. No worries, she’ll be back tomorrow.”

  Chapter 15

  “So? How was your first day?” Cindy asked when Hope came back through the security check to retrieve her jacket and purse. “Everything go okay?”

  “Not bad. Could have been worse.”

  Cindy looked into Hope’s eyes for a moment, then laid a hand on Hope’s shoulder. “Hey. Around here any day that could have been worse and wasn’t is a win. See you tomorrow?”

  Hope forced a smile but didn’t speak, lifting her hand in farewell as she walked out the door. Wayne was manning the outer gate, looking no more cheerful than he had when Hope came in that morning. He grunted to acknowledge her presence. Hope nodded but didn’t look at him as she walked through the gate and into the parking lot and climbed into her car.

  When the prison fences disappeared in the rearview mirror, Hope turned onto a side road and pulled over near a clump of trees. Then she turned off the ignition, checked the time on the dashboard clock, laid both her arms on the steering wheel, and began to cry.

  Ten minutes later, she wiped her eyes and nose and drove home.

  * * *

  The condo was empty when Hope got home.

  She dumped her purse on the sofa, kicked off her shoes, poured herself a large glass of Syrah, and carried it out to the balcony.

  Ten minutes of tears had released some of the pressure, but she welcomed the chance to think through this awful day before Rick got back, read the defeat on her face, and started to crow.

  Hope flopped into a patio chair, took a long, steadying drink, and stared sightlessly at the view, barely cognizant of the perfect September weather or the sailboats with their brightly colored spinnakers, puffed and billowed to catch the late afternoon breeze.

  She didn’t need Rick to tell her that she was in over her head. She was supposed to be the teacher, but those women had definitely taken her to school. It wasn’t that they’d been unruly; she almost wished they had. She’d have known how to handle that.

  But these women . . . They were just so . . . so quiet.

  It didn’t help that she’d had to wing her first project with less than an hour’s notice—origami cranes were pretty elementary for a group of grown women. But no matter the project, she was sure it would have been the same. From the moment the women filed through the door of the classroom until the moment they filed back out, Hope felt their eyes on her. They watched her every word, move, and gesture, as if sizing her up and finding her wanting.

  She’d tried joking around with them, thinking it might loosen them up, but her attempts at humor fell flat. Like everything else. The only hours in her life that felt longer than her first hour teaching in prison were those she’d spent in childbirth and her second hour teaching in prison.

  Going home early felt like defeat, but she didn’t think she could keep it together through a third class; better to fall apart in the privacy of her car than melt down in front of the inmates. It almost felt like that’s what they were waiting for, even hoping for, to see if she’d burst into tears, run from the room, and never return.

  Would they get their wish? Should she go back tomorrow?

  Even after pouring a second glass of wine, she honestly wasn’t sure. It seemed like everybody and everything was against her—Rick, David Hernandez, the inmates, and the circumstances.

  How was she supposed to teach crafts if she couldn’t get her crafting tools and supplies past the guards? And how was she supposed to connect with women who were so hardened that they actually wanted to see her fail? And not just fail but fail spectacularly?

  One of the ones from the first class—What was her name? Nita? Yes, that was it—Nita, looked at her in such a way that Hope gained a new understanding of the phrase “daggers in her eyes.”

  But it was the silence that really got to her. Maybe because she’d been getting so much of the same from Rick recently. She didn’t like arguing with him, but at least when they argued they were communicating. Anything would have been better than the chasm of silence that separated them since she told him that she was taking the job and that was that.

  It was a relief to come home and find him gone. She hoped his absence meant that he and McKenzie had enjoyed their lunch date. It seemed like weeks since he’d left the house.

  Halfway through the second glass of wine, Hope went into the kitchen and started chopping vegetables and lamb to make a stew. By the time her glass was empty and the stew was simmering, she’d found her courage.

  Tomorrow would be better. For one thing, she’d know what to expect. Even if it wasn’t, she’d never quit anything in her life and didn’t pl
an to start now. She wouldn’t give the inmates or Rick the satisfaction.

  Where was Rick anyway? McKenzie said they were meeting up for lunch at noon. It was almost five.

  “He said he was going to buy some new pants,” McKenzie reported when Hope phoned. “Maybe he’s still shopping?”

  Hope shook her head. “He hates shopping, only goes when he absolutely has to.”

  “Did you see his pants?” McKenzie asked. “They’re starting to look like sausage casings. Trust me, he absolutely had to.”

  Hope conceded the point. “Still, it shouldn’t take this long. His idea of shopping is grabbing whatever’s closest to the door and throwing some cash at the nearest clerk. Did he seem okay at lunch?”

  “He was fine,” McKenzie said. “A little grouchy but no worse than usual. You know what? I bet he stopped by a golf course. Or maybe a pro shop.”

  “A golf course? Why would he do that? He doesn’t play golf. Rick always said that golf is a good walk, spoiled.”

  “Well, he must have changed his mind, because he told me he’s thinking about taking up golf.”

  “Really?” Hope turned the flame down on the stew. “That doesn’t sound like him. But if it gets him out of the house and away from the loaf pans, I’m all for it.

  “Oh, hang on,” Hope said when she heard a key turn in the lock. “I think he’s coming in now. Do you want to talk to him?”

  “That’s okay,” McKenzie said. “I’ve got at least two more hours of work before I can get out of here. Tell him I said hi.”

  Hope started to tell her not to stay too late, but McKenzie hung up before she could get the words out. Rick came into the kitchen sans shopping bags, still wearing his sausage-casing chinos.

  “No luck at the mall?” Hope asked. When Rick looked at her blankly, she said, “McKenzie said she thought you were going to buy some new pants.”

  “Oh. Right. Changed my mind. I’m going to try to lose some of this weight instead.”

  “And golf is part of that?”

  Rick gave her another blank look.