Hope on the Inside

by Marie Bostwick

  “Hello? . . . Mandy?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but all that came out was a strangled sob.

  “Mandy, are you all right? You shouldn’t be calling me. I’m not supposed to have any personal contact with inmates.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” she said at last, swallowing back her tears as best she could. “It’s just . . . I don’t know what to do. My dad just left and he—Hope, what am I going to do?”

  “Mandy, what’s wrong? Try to calm down and tell me what happened. Your dad came to see you? And he had bad news? Is something wrong with your mom?”

  “No, no,” Mandy said. “It’s about Talia. He came to tell me that they are going to court to try and get permanent custody. He said I’m an unfit mother, a thief and an addict and that Talia won’t be safe with me. They’re going to take my baby away! Please come back. Please! I don’t know what to do!”

  Hearing the words from her own mouth brought it all back again. Even with her eyes screwed shut, she could see his face, the disgust and loathing in his eyes. He hated her.

  All the work she’d done over the last five years, the agony she’d gone through to get clean and stay clean, the hours of effort she’d poured into getting her diploma and turning her life around—none of it mattered. Not to her father. Maybe not to anybody. In his eyes, she was what she had always been, a failure and a disappointment, barely fit to live, let alone raise a child.

  If I get my way, you’ll never get to see Talia again.

  That’s what he’d said. Mandy had no doubt that he meant it, just as she had no doubt that—unless someone helped her—he would get his way. He always had before.

  “Please, Hope. I need help. There’s no one here I can talk to.”

  “Mandy? Mandy, quit crying and listen to me, okay? You’ve got to try to calm down. Is Nancy there today? Have you tried to see her?”

  At the mention of the chaplain’s name, Mandy felt anger bubble up like bile inside her throat.

  “No. I don’t want to talk to her,” she snapped, spitting the words. “She lied to me. She said that if I got it together and turned my life around, I’d get Talia back. And I was so stupid that I actually believed her!

  “For all these years, everything I did or didn’t do was about that, about being able to get out of here and be with Talia, about getting a chance to make up for all the ways I failed her. Talia was the only thing that kept me going. If I can’t be with my daughter, then it was all for nothing, worthless. Just like my life.

  “Nancy lied to me. I shouldn’t have listened to her. I never will again.”

  Hope’s voice came through the line again, lower and more stern than before. “Mandy, you’ve got to listen to me. Your life is not worthless; do you hear me? You’re not thinking of ending it, are you?”

  “You can’t end what’s already over,” Mandy said bitterly. “But Talia’s been through so much already and all of it is my fault. I won’t do that to her as well.”

  “Good,” Hope said, relief evident in her voice. “Now you listen to me: You can’t give up. You’ve been strong for a long time, for Talia’s sake. You’ve got to keep on being strong. Just because your father says something doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.”

  “You don’t know what he’s like,” Mandy said, letting out a small, derisive laugh. “He always gets what he wants. Always.”

  “Not this time,” Hope said, her voice so stalwart that Mandy wanted to believe her. “You’re not an unfit mother, Mandy. Maybe you were before but not anymore. You have turned your life around. Don’t give up before you’ve even started, Mandy. You can’t let your father tell you who you are. You’ve changed and you know it. You’ve got to fight him.”

  “I don’t know how,” Mandy said, tears threatening to choke her again. “I never did.”

  “Well, you’ve got to now,” Hope said. “You’ve got to. For Talia’s sake.”

  Mandy bobbed her head. She knew Hope was right; she had to find a way to fight back. She didn’t know what the way might be, only that she couldn’t do it alone.

  “Where have you been all week? People are saying you’re sick.”

  “I’ve been sick,” Hope said. “Something bad happened to me and my daughter.”

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Hope said. “You just worry about you right now.”

  Something about the tone of Hope’s voice worried Mandy.

  “But you’re coming back, aren’t you?”

  The answering silence from the other end of the line transformed worry into panic. There was no one she could trust. No one who believed in her like Hope did. If Hope deserted her . . .

  “You’ve got to come back. You’ve just got to! My father—I can’t fight him by myself; I just can’t. Please! Please say you’re coming back.”

  * * *

  Rick walked into the kitchen just as Hope ended the call.

  “Babe? Are you okay? You look like . . . Well, I don’t know exactly what you look like but not good. Do you need to sit down?”

  Hope took in a deep breath, let it out with a whoosh, and then nodded her head. “No, it’s okay. I’m fine.

  “On second thought,” she said, frowning and then smacking her phone down onto the countertop, “I am not fine. I am ticked off. Really ticked off!”

  “What’s happened?”

  “That was Mandy. Her dad came to visit her today—first time he’s ever done so, as far as I know—to tell her that he’s going to go to court to try to have her parental rights terminated. He said she was unfit to be a mother.

  “How can he say that about his own daughter?” Hope said, throwing out her hands. “And how can her mother stand by and let this happen? She’s brought Talia to visit the prison every two weeks for five years. She knows how hard Mandy has worked so she could be a mother to Talia. She knows that!”

  Rick was standing by, watching her pacing back and forth across the kitchen, her anger growing with every step, but he didn’t look like he was actually hearing what she was saying.

  “Mandy called?” Hope nodded and Rick shook his head. “I thought you weren’t supposed to have any personal contact with inmates.”

  “I’m not,” she admitted. “But she wouldn’t have called unless something was really wrong. What was I supposed to do? Tell the operator I wouldn’t talk to her?”

  Rick didn’t speak, but the look on his face said that yes, that was exactly what she was supposed to do. Hope’s ire deflated and was replaced by a twinge of guilt. What if she’d gotten Mandy into trouble?

  “I couldn’t just blow her off, Rick. I couldn’t. Not when she needs help.”

  “I know,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve never been able to say no to anybody who needs help. So? What are you going to do?”

  “Go back to work,” Hope said. “At least until the baby is born. I don’t know if I can help Mandy or not. But at least I can be there and support her. She needs to know that somebody really cares. They all need to know that.”

  “Well, you’re the one I care about,” Rick said, putting his arms around her. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Rick nodded his head slowly.

  “Okay. Good. Then that’s what I want too.”

  Chapter 35

  “Hey! Mrs. C.!” Deedee exclaimed when she came through the door of Hope’s classroom on Monday morning. “I’m so happy you’re back!”

  “And I’m so happy to be back,” Hope replied as the rest of the women filed into the room. Mandy brought up the rear. She looked simply awful. The bags under her eyes stood witness to what must have been a sleepless night. Even so, when she caught sight of Hope a small smile bowed her lips.

  “I was afraid you weren’t going to come back,” Mandy said.

  “Don’t be silly,” Hope said, grinning broadly in a deliberate attempt to lighten the mood. “You didn’t think you’d get rid of me that
easily, did you? Anyway, it had nothing to do with the robbery. I just wasn’t feeling good. Even teachers get sick sometimes.”

  “But you’re better now?” Mandy asked.

  “Oh yes,” Hope said, with more certainty than she felt. “One hundred percent.”

  “See? I told you,” Steph said, giving Mandy an elbow and then turning toward Hope. “You wouldn’t let some bad guy with a pop pistol keep you away from us for long, would you, Mrs. C.? I told everybody; if you scared that easy you wouldn’t have ever started hanging out with us in the first place, would you?”

  “I don’t know about that,” Tonya said, “I think we’re a pretty scary bunch. You especially, Steph. If I could get away from you, I totally would.”

  “Hey!” Steph exclaimed, propping her fist onto her hip. “What a crummy thing to say. Who just gave you her extra pancake at breakfast, huh?”

  “I was just kidding. Sheesh.” Tonya rolled her eyes. “Can’t you take a joke? Besides, the only really scary one around here is Nita. Ever since that thing in the cafeteria, she’s been a real witch. I mean, even more than usual. And she’s really got it in for you, Mandy. You better watch your back, girl.”

  “She doesn’t have to. We got Mandy’s back,” Deedee said stoutly, putting an arm around Mandy’s waist. “Nobody better mess with her when we’re around, am I right?”

  The women murmured to affirm their response. Mandy sniffled and ducked her head.

  “Uh-oh. Don’t go starting that again. Mrs. C.? Will you talk to her or something?” Deedee asked, jerking her head toward Mandy. “She’s a mess, was crying all night long. You won’t let them take her baby away, will you? I know you won’t. So, tell her to quit blubbering. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Was it going to be okay? Hope’s brief conversation with Nancy before heading down to her classroom left her wondering. From what Nancy told her, Mandy’s father was already lawyering up, ready to fight and fight hard. Mandy, with no money and no connections, would have to represent herself.

  Kate’s arrival saved Hope from having to respond.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Kate said, sounding flustered and a bit out of breath. “I had to go through the metal detector three times. Seems that my new shoes had metal in the heels. Fortunately, Cindy found these beauties in the Lost and Found.”

  Kate glanced down at her feet, which were encased in a pair of much too big, squashy white bedroom slippers that had heels that flapped when she walked. The women all laughed.

  “Okay,” Hope said, clapping her hands together to get the group’s attention. “Enough gossip. Let’s get to work. Mandy? You and Kate can start checking out everybody’s machines and equipment.”

  Following Hope’s instructions, the women began moving around the room, falling into their familiar routine, lining up in front of the cabinet to wait their turn to receive their supplies. Hope walked up to the front desk but stopped a few paces short, suddenly feeling out of breath. She laid her hand on her chest; her heart was galloping. Kate came up behind her.

  “Hope? Can I get the keys?”

  Hope took a quick but deep breath and exhaled through her nose, trying to calm her racing heart. When she reached into her pocket for the cabinet keys, her hands were shaking.

  “I’m fine,” Hope said quickly, dismissing the concern in Kate’s eyes. “I should have eaten more at breakfast. Don’t worry. I’ve got a granola bar in my desk.”

  “You sure you’re all right?” Kate said, doubtfully.

  “I’m just hungry, that’s all. Seems like I’m always ravenous these days. Maybe I’m spending too much time hanging around McKenzie, sympathy hunger pangs or something.”

  Hope laughed, trying to sound more convinced than she felt. Apparently, it worked. Kate smiled, then took the keys and went to unlock the cabinet. Hope dug the granola bar out of her desk drawer and consumed it greedily. It seemed to help a little; her heart was still racing, but her hands stopped shaking. She really hadn’t eaten much at breakfast; maybe it was just a blood sugar thing. She’d probably feel much better soon.

  Hope tossed the wrapper into the wastebasket and looked around the room. Deedee and Carla were already plugging in their sewing machines and setting up their workstations. The others were standing in line, waiting to check out their equipment and fabric. As each woman approached the table in front of the storage cabinet, Mandy found the cardboard box with the woman’s name, checked the contents, even counting out the number of straight pins inside—they were allowed twenty apiece—and then reported the numbers to Kate, who checked off the information next to the inmate’s name on her list.

  Hope was glad she’d put Mandy in charge of the checkout process. Especially today, it was good that she had a job to do, something to distract her from her worries. It was good, too, that she was here with her friends. Like Deedee said, the girls had her back.

  Whatever the course—crafts or quilting—Hope had noticed that students in her classes seemed calmer and kinder to one another than those in the general population. Participation in communal creativity seemed to have built bonds of camaraderie and a stronger degree of tolerance among the women.

  Her quilting students were developing such truly close friendships. Perhaps their shared status as mothers had something to do with it. Almost every woman in the group had signed up with the hope of being able to make a quilt for her own child. That probably helped explain their extraordinary focus too. They only had two hours to sew, twice a week, and didn’t like to waste a moment of it.

  Mandy was the furthest along, but a couple of the others, Carla and Linda, had already completed their charity quilts. Mandy had chosen to donate her quilt to a battered women’s shelter, Tonya to a nursing home, and Linda, who was also a little older and had some previous sewing experience, to a camp for children with cancer. When Hope came into work that morning, she found a letter in her inbox, written on lavender stationery with a border of peonies.

  The woman who had received Tonya’s quilt, age ninety-three and with no children and, Hope supposed, few, if any, visitors, had written a note of such heartfelt thanks for the quilt that it brought Hope to tears. She planned to give it to Tonya later, knowing she would feel just as moved.

  Nearly all the women had their equipment now and at least half of them were already sewing. For the moment, at least, they all seemed to be doing fine. Knowing how quickly that could change, Hope pulled an enormous bag, filled with the red, white, and blue fabrics, out from under her desk. Those were the colors Tonya had requested for her personal quilt, which she intended to give to her son, who was halfway through his Army basic training. Helping Tonya choose her fabric was the first thing on Hope’s list that morning. She knew she had to get to it before—

  “Mrs. C.?”

  Hope looked across the room toward Deedee, who was pointing to her own wrist. Somehow, yet again, Deedee had managed to sew her yellow and blue pinwheel block to her sleeve.

  Hope sighed. Oh, well. At least her points are looking better.

  “Hang on, Deedee. I’ll get a seam ripper.”

  * * *

  Somehow Mandy had believed that simply having Hope back in the building, being back in Hope’s classroom, would make her feel better. Weird how much this had come to mean to her.

  Here she was among people who liked her. Here she didn’t have to be careful or keep her head down. She was at the head of the class, the best student in the room. Everybody here knew that and was okay with that; they respected her for it.

  Here she felt safe. And capable. That was Hope’s doing.

  Hope never talked down to her, never made Mandy or any of the women feel like she was better than they were or that she was doing them some kind of favor and they should be grateful that she was willing to spend her time with so unsavory a crew. If anything, Hope behaved as if they were doing her the favor. Every time one of them did try to express their appreciation to her, Hope waved off the compliment, saying something like, “Are you kidd
ing? I love my job! I’m the luckiest teacher in the world. And I have the best, most talented students.”

  Were they so talented? Was she?

  Mandy came to the end of the seam, backstitched to secure the thread before cutting it, then raised the presser foot and took the block out from under the needle and inspected her work. The seams met perfectly.

  Smoothing her hand over the fabric, Mandy thought back about how nervous she’d felt when Hope had first shown her the quilt pattern. It had seemed impossibly complicated. There were so many angles, so many points and pieces. She didn’t think she was up to it; after all, she’d only ever made one quilt. But Hope was right; when Mandy focused and took it one step at a time, it wasn’t beyond her.

  Hope made her feel capable, and smart, and trustworthy. In another place, another life, being put in charge of distributing and keeping track of needles, pins, scissors, or rotary cutters wouldn’t be a big deal. In here, it was. There were people who would give plenty to get their hands on some of those items. On the inside, even a few straight pins could be valuable currency. That’s why making sure that every single item, down to the last pin, went back under lock and key at the end of class was a big responsibility. And Hope had entrusted it to her.

  Since entering Hope’s orbit, crossing the threshold into this small, safe, and supportive company, Mandy had started to feel like nothing was beyond her.

  Then her dad showed up.

  Mandy’s jaw tightened as she pinned the next block, thinking how stupid she’d been.

  In the nearly five years of her incarceration, Mandy’s dad had never come to visit her, not even once. She’d actually been excited when a guard came to tell her that her father was in the visitors’ room. So close to her release, she thought he’d come to bury the hatchet between them, or maybe even apologize.

  Instead, he’d come to destroy the only dream she had left, to take away her hope of obtaining the one thing that had kept her going all these years, the chance at a new life with her little girl. And while he was at it, he made a point of reminding her that she was stupid, unreliable, irresponsible, dishonest, untrustworthy, and unfit.