***
My EBT card came in the mail, giving me access to my food stamps. I thought I’d buy a few groceries for the house now that I was semi-independent. I wheeled the cart through the grocery store and grabbed some milk and other essentials. Was ice-cream an essential? It was when I was depressed like I had been lately. I stood in the frozen treats section with the freezer door open, letting the cold air pour over me.
It was mid-June, and according to the doctor I’d seen the day before, I was about twenty-two weeks along and well into my second trimester. After scolding me for not having sought medical care the moment I suspected I was pregnant, she gave me some pamphlets on how my progressing condition would affect me.
Gazing at the vast array of ice-cream flavors, I chose to ignore the advice given in the nutritional pamphlet I’d barely glanced at. After all, expecting women were eating for two, right? Brownie Bites Delight or Cookie Dough?
When a crashing force almost buckled my knees, I had to grab onto the cart for support. I glanced around, wondering what hit me, but stopped searching when my eyes settled on a cherubic toddler with blond, lopsided pigtails and a sticky grape mustache.
“I’m so sorry. She’s such a little terror.” The voice seemed familiar and I glanced over to see a spark of recognition on the face of the person in front of me.
“Alex?”
“Hey, Amanda.” I hadn’t seen her since she’d dropped out of school two years ago to bear the child of the boyfriend of her best friend. Amanda had once been the center of wide-spread gossip, but her story was mostly confined to the halls of Saint Edmunds High. Still, it was nice to run into someone who knew how it felt to be the center of negative attention.
“Ohmigod!” She practically shouted before lowering her voice to a near whisper. “I heard about what happened. Are you okay? You look…” her eyes traveled the length of me before declaring, “pregnant.”
I rubbed my belly. “Yep. Due at the end of October.”
“No shit? Is it Sean’s?” she asked. I nodded. “I’m due mid-December. You probably can’t tell yet. Anyways, I hope the next one isn’t a handful like Callie here.”
Callie bounced up and down beside her mother. Her Winnie the Pooh shirt was stained with some unknown substance and her pink denim shorts were hiked up on one side. Amanda bent down to straighten her daughter’s shorts and repaired a precariously loose pigtail. She kissed her on the cheek, then stood back up to face me.
“Being a single mom isn’t as bad as some people make it out to be,” she said. “There’s tons of help out there, but unless you have someone to tell you who to call and where to go, you’ll be lost. Luckily, my mom knows the welfare system really well, but I have some friends who didn’t know nothing and they missed out on a crapload of help. Do you have Medicaid yet?”
“Yeah and food stamps. Oh, and WIC,” I said, feeling proud of myself for having navigated the system on my own thus far.
“Good. Still living with your mom?”
“Yeah. She’s gonna help me with the baby.”
“Well, if I were you, I’d go ahead and apply for housing. There’s a waiting list, so you want to do it soon. You’d be surprised how fast your family can turn on you once the kid is born and keeping everyone up all night. I have a phone number at home. If you want to give me your number, I can tell you everything I know.”
“That sounds good. Thanks,” I said. It seemed overwhelming, but part of being an adult and taking control of your own life involved doing things you never thought you’d do—like applying for housing assistance and trying to get as many benefits as you could. Somehow when I wrote the English essay, I’d thought of welfare as a bad thing, but in reality it was unavoidable. I had to support myself and my baby any way I could.
I rummaged in my purse and produced a pen and crumpled paper. After scrawling my number on it, I handed it over to Amanda, hoping I’d hear from her again soon. It would be nice to have a friend. Not someone like Chelsea who was judgmental and thought everyone should do things exactly the way she did them, but someone who understood that sometimes life just happened and all you could do was deal with it the best you knew how.
Chapter 28-Sean
Who ever could, e’en with untrammeled words
Tell of the blood and of the wounds in full…
(Canto XXVIII, lines 1 & 2)
I was beginning to hate Alex. Everyone kept asking when my girl was going to come see me, and my excuses kept sounding more and more hollow: she’s probably sick because of the pregnancy; she’s afraid her mom won’t approve and will kick her out of the house; she doesn’t have a ride and she’s afraid to ask my mom to drive her; she is scared to come to the jail.
“Look, man, I hope this ain’t it, but maybe she just don’t want to come see you. I seen a lot of relationships go bad because the girl can’t take the pressure of having her man in jail,” Ty’Reese said.
“No. She wouldn’t just dump me and forget about me. Something must be wrong,” I said, praying he wasn’t right.
“Can’t you have your mama check on her?”
“I guess. I don’t know if she’ll feel weird going over there after everything that happened…”
“Yeah, I forgot about that. Don’t worry, man. Your girl’s gonna show.”
I hoped so. Jail was just a long wait without anything to look forward to. Time dragged along, and then accelerated in weird bursts. I could never keep track of what day it was, or even the season, though I knew I hadn’t been in long enough for any significant weather changes to have occurred. I knew it was the middle of June. I’d been incarcerated for six weeks. Six weeks without Alex.
Each week, I filled out my visitation list. Only two names were listed: my mom’s and Alex’s. Each time visitation rolled around, only my mom showed up to see me. At least she hadn’t turned her back on me.
I tried to call Alex’s cell phone time and again, but the number was blocked. Ty’Reese said it was blocked because she was a victim. Kirk said it was up to Alex to call to release the block. I just wished there was some way I could see her.
“Sean, you got a visitor,” a voice called out.
For a moment, I thought it might be Alex, but it wasn’t visitation hours. Probably just my lawyer, for all the good he’d done. The corrections officer escorted me down the long hallway. When we reached the end, he led me into the visitation room on the right. Only a thin mesh divider separated me from Mr. Olive.
“Hi, Sean. How are you doing?” he asked when I eased into the chair facing him.
How the fuck did he think I was doing? I was in jail, for Christ’s sake, and not leaving unless I was in a pine box and headed for the graveyard.
“I’m okay,” I replied.
“I just got an email from the DA. They’re ready to put this case to bed. They’re willing to go with Murder Two.”
“What does that mean?”
“Murder One is pre-meditated. Murder Two is often referred to as a crime of passion. It means you didn’t plan ahead—it also means there’s a possibility for Parole.”
“What about an Insanity Plea? Can’t you prove I was crazy when I did it?”
“In order to do that, we’ll have to go to trial…”
“Yeah, so what? You’re a lawyer. Isn’t that your job?”
“My job is to do my best to achieve a favorable outcome…”
“So, you think it’s favorable for me to be convicted of murder and spend my life in jail?”
“Did you kill Mr. Elmwood?”
“I was crazy. I don’t even remember doing it.”
“And, yet he’s still dead. Insanity is very hard to prove, and unless you have the money to hire experts to appear on your behalf, we’ll be at the mercy of the State’s experts. The State has a legion of psychiatrists who will come in and tell the jury you knew exactly what you were doing. When that happens, you’ll get the Death Penalty.”
“Isn’t it worth the risk? If I lose, I’ll still have th
e possibility of Parole. You said with Murder Two…”
“If you don’t take the deal, they’ll rescind their offer and you’ll face Murder in the First Degree. Think about it for a couple of days—talk it over with your mom if you need to. I recommend you take the deal. I think it’s your best chance.”
“No.” I wanted to try for Insanity. I was crazy. The hospital said I was, the neighbors had said it for years—even my mom thought I was nuts. If I got off on Insanity, I could be with Alex again and help her raise our child.
“Sean, if you take the deal, you could be out on Parole in seven years. Seven! If you don’t, you’ll likely be convicted and serve life in prison. Think about it.”
“You’re my lawyer. I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”
“I am. That’s why I’m telling you to take the deal,” he said, leaning forward as far as the divider would allow. “Please. Consider it. I’ll be back in a couple of days and I’ll need your answer. Give it some serious thought.”
“Okay.”
That night, I called my mom. It was a struggle not to cry.
“Mr. Olive came by today,” I said.
“I know. He told me. He wanted me to talk to you.”
“Why did he call you? He can’t discuss my case with anyone.”
“You signed a waiver so he could talk to me.”
“I did?”
“Yes. I called Mr. Phillips,” she said. My heart leapt with hope. Maybe my high-priced original lawyer could help me. “I wanted a second opinion, so to speak. Mr. Olive actually suggested it.”
“What did he say? Will he take my case?”
“Yes, but he said he couldn’t do anything Mr. Olive wasn’t already doing. He said an Insanity Plea would be almost impossible…”
“What about the hospital? My shrink could testify…”
“For a price. Sean, your doctor diagnosed you with Bipolar Disorder. His testimony wouldn’t help. If we paid enough money, we could find a doctor who will say what we wanted him to say, but the prosecutor will rip his testimony apart. They’ll produce their own witnesses. Mr. Phillips said you should take the deal.”
I bit back a sob. “He never liked me. He…”
“Sean, I was willing to get a third mortgage on the house if I had to. All that money would have gone to Mr. Phillips, but he declined it saying it would be a waste. Now, if he was out to get you, do you think he would have turned down twenty-thousand dollars?”
“That much?”
“Yes, and he’s cheaper than the other lawyers I called. No one will touch your case without a huge retainer, and no one will make guarantees.”
“What should I do?”
“Take the deal. Behave yourself in prison, and you could be out in seven to nine years. Get your GED while you’re in there and it’ll look good when you go before the Parole Board.”
“I can’t live without Alex. Not for seven years.”
“She can visit you in prison.” She sounded unsure when she said that.
“She hasn’t even come to visit me in here. She’s forgotten all about me. She probably has a new boyfriend by now and she’ll let him raise my kid…”
“Of course she hasn’t forgotten. I’ll talk to her, Sean. Just keep putting her name on the list. I’ll see if she wants to come with me next week, but don’t get your hopes up.”
“Thanks Mom. I love you.”
I wouldn’t get my hopes up. I had no hope left—just court dates and time. Seven to nine years.
Chapter 29- Alex
And now the moon is underneath our feet
Henceforth the time allotted us is brief
(Canto XXIX, lines 10 & 11)
I was over at Amanda’s apartment when Mrs. Droste called. Callie was dressed in her Little Mermaid princess dress, a Halloween costume handed down from an older cousin. She spun around and sang some garbled lyrics from “Under the Sea” while I covered one ear and tried to focus on Susan’s words.
“Honey, I hate to ask this, but…well, Sean’s been so depressed. If you don’t want to visit, I understand, but maybe you could come by one evening when he calls so you can talk to him on the phone,” she said.
The idea of talking to him filled me with fear, but I couldn’t figure out why. It was my father I’d been afraid of. Sean was my savior. Should I talk to him? Visit him? Why hadn’t I done so before? Because my mom and Claire and Aunt Carrie would never understand—that’s why. Even though Claire hated our dad and was glad he was dead, she wouldn’t want me to have contact with Sean. He was a criminal—a dangerous one.
I couldn’t bear to disappoint my family, but I didn’t want to hurt Susan’s feelings either. I didn’t want Sean to think I hated him. Talking to him on the phone wouldn’t be so bad, but how could I explain to my mom why I needed to hang out with Susan? Maybe I could sneak over to the jail for visitation. I could say I was going to hang out with Amanda…
“Alex?”
“Sorry. Um, when is the visitation?”
“Tuesday.”
“I’ll go, but what if they won’t let me in? I mean, what do I have to do?”
“Just bring your driver’s license. They’ll run a quick background check and that’s it. Oh, Alex, thank you. It’ll mean the world to Sean. I’ll tell him when he calls tonight so he’ll have something to hold onto for the next five days.”
Oh, great. No turning back now. No changing my mind. Sean would be counting on me to go. Now I had to. I closed my phone and sighed.
“What?” Amanda asked.
“Sean’s mom was begging me to visit him and I agreed. I just couldn’t say no.”
“Oh, well. That ain’t no big deal. I used to take Callie to see her dad when he was in there,” she said, shrugging. Reaching into her refrigerator, she grabbed a couple of sodas and passed one to me.
“Drink?” Callie asked, stopping her manic dance across the kitchen floor.
“Yeah, but don’t drink it all you little monster,” Amanda said, handing her daughter the can of soda. Callie dribbled half the can down the front of her shiny blue and green mermaid dress. Her mom barely noticed.
“Why was Mike in jail?” I asked. Mike had been a straight A student. Up until he got Amanda pregnant, he was one of the most popular guys in school. Well, actually, his life changed very little after the pregnancy was announced. Amanda was labeled a whore, but Mike was still golden.
“Oh, possession and assault,” she said casually. “He violated probation twice, so I don’t know which charge he actually got locked up for.”
“Do you still talk to him?”
“No. After he was in jail for a while, I hooked up with Andrew.” She rubbed her still flat belly. “Of course, that didn’t work out either. Sucks that he moved out, though. The money helped.”
Andrew paid rent for Amanda’s free apartment. That was one of the lessons she taught me—if you get a live-in boyfriend, don’t tell him about the rent assistance. Make him think he’s paying the rent so you can pocket the money for other things. She said government assistance wasn’t nearly enough to live on, so you had to learn a few tricks.
“Hey, do you want to go to a party tomorrow night?” she asked.
“Um…I’m not really sure. I mean, what kind of party?”
“Just a few people I used to go to school with are getting together over at Austin’s house.”
“You still talk to all your old friends?” I asked. I’d thought she’d dropped out of everyone’s lives when she dropped out of school. She’d left in disgrace, but now she was back in the fold? It was so weird.
“Yeah, sometimes. I just feel like partying. Obviously, I won’t drink or smoke because of the baby, but I just want to get out of this apartment.”
I couldn’t blame her. Looking around the cramped townhouse, I could practically smell the despair—toys scattered, dirty dishes in the sink, laundry tossed here and there. I wondered what Amanda did all day. She didn’t work, so why was her house in such disarray
? It was just her and Callie—and the occasional live-in boyfriend.
“What about Callie?” I asked. She blinked as if the thought hadn’t really occurred to her.
“Maybe my mom will take her…or someone. We’ll see.” Turning to Callie, she snapped, “Cut that shit out.”
Callie froze, magic sparkle wand in hand, her lips trembling.
“It gets on my last freaking nerve when she does that spinning and twirling. Seriously, I feel like I’m gonna have a seizure,” Amanda said. Callie began to cry, so her mom grabbed a chocolate cookie from an open package on the counter and shoved it at her. Callie grabbed it with her chubby hand and skipped out of the kitchen.
I felt sorry for the little girl. Her spinning didn’t bother me. It was cute. Maybe Amanda didn’t notice the look of hurt on her daughter’s face when she screamed at her. But, Callie wasn’t my kid and it was none of my business. I’d probably have a few cranky moments when my baby was born.
“I should go,” I said. “I have to pick my mom up from work at five. Thanks for the phone numbers and everything.”
“Yeah, no problem. Like I said, call them soon so you can get on the waiting list. If you can use your mom’s car tomorrow, give me a call. We’ll go to lunch or something if you want. I’ll buy.”
“Okay,” I said, grabbing my purse and heading out the door. Amanda always seemed to have money for fast food, a toy for Callie, a pack of cigarettes. I wasn’t sure if I approved of the way she parented, but I sure could learn from her. Before I shut the door behind me, I agreed to call her the next day. It was good to have a friend.
***
Claire called me that evening. It was the first time we’d spoken since I told her about the baby. Her disapproval weighed on our already strained relationship. She didn’t even come home after finals, but chose to stay in Columbia instead. She claimed she didn’t want to give up her job, but I thought she just couldn’t stand to stay in the house that held such bad memories.
“How are you feeling?” she asked. I began to list all my pregnancy complaints, but she cut me short. “I wanted to ask you something. It’s important.”
The Fifth Circle Page 20
