“But a murderer could have raised that dog,” her mother whispered, as if that very felon might be eavesdropping.
“The program’s founder used to think we should just lock inmates up and throw away the key. But she’s proved that having them raise these puppies and give them basic obedience training before they go on to guide dog school has helped the inmates too. The program is not only assisting the blind, but showing that inmates are people who can make a contribution and change their ways.”
“Alexis Anne Michaels, don’t you realize that the person who raised your dog could be just like that horrible man who did this to you?”
“This particular prison has only women, and this is not up for a vote. I’ve applied and had a phone interview already, so that’s that. I hope you’ll support me in this and—”
Her mother’s grip on her upper arms loosened. But to Alexis’s relief, she didn’t back away or protest further. Instead, Jillian hugged her hard, and Alexis clasped her mother in return. They stood, holding tight, one in relief—the other, probably, with regret. But they both laughed when the talking can of soup Alexis still held was jostled and sang out, “Hi, darling, your mother here…”
Tina Clawson, inmate #81A1268 at the Eastern Correctional Facility for Women, aged thirty-two, was serving a ten-year sentence for cocaine possession with intent to distribute. She knelt on the hard concrete, cuddled her ten-month-old black Labrador retriever and cooed, “Puppy, puppy, puppy. I love my good girl Corky!”
Tina picked up Corky’s sopping-wet duck squeaky toy and heaved it again. The retriever’s paws skidded on the concrete before she got enough traction to scamper after it, yipping in delight.
“Get it, Corky!” Tina shouted over the encouraging cries of the other puppy raisers to their dogs. “Get that big bad toy and bring it back to Mama!”
She did think of herself as Corky’s mom, and cherished every minute with her just as she had with her first dog, Sterling, a chocolate Labrador retriever. That was the only downer with this Puppies Behind Bars program. After bonding with the puppies, loving and training them for sixteen months, the inmates gave them up so they could attend guide dog school or get training to become Explosive Detection Canines, called EDCs. The few dogs that didn’t fit either program became release dogs given to families with kids who were blind.
The first dog Tina had raised went to a person who was blind, but this time the prison had puppies that would become bomb sniffers. After the 9/11 tragedy, a lot more canines were needed for domestic-and even foreign-security assignments.
Five other female inmates exercised their dogs in the puppy rec area they visited three times a day. Jollying, the program’s founder had called this playtime when she’d gotten Puppies Behind Bars under way here. Now the once-a-week training classes—training for raisers and dogs—was taught by someone else. Still, the founder herself had interviewed the inmates and made certain they understood and accepted their responsibilities before they’d signed a contract with PBB.
Corky scampered back again, proudly dropping her toy at Tina’s feet. She looked up for approval, then lowered her head and continued to stare at the stuffed cloth duck as if she had just brought in a real bird for a hunter. That desire to please a handler as well as the search-and-retrieve instincts would help to make Corky a successful EDC.
Overwhelmed with love for the little mite, Tina gently wrestled with the bundle of energy. They even butted heads, Tina’s spiky blond hair against Corky’s silky, ebony coat.
“Corky, sit,” Tina said.
The dog obeyed. Corky understood all the basic commands like sit, stay and heel, Tina thought proudly. Tina had felt like a failure herself, but through her puppies, she was gaining confidence that at last she was doing something right.
“Only ten more minutes, ladies and canine companions,” Ellen, the officer with them, announced with a grin. Ellen liked watching the cavorting puppies as much as anyone else, but puppy rec was the only time Tina had ever seen her laugh.
How Tina wished her two kids could have a puppy, but her widowed mama was barely making ends meet keeping them in food and clothes. Tina’s husband had died when he’d OD’d on crack, so when Tina got sent here, their grandma was the only person that little Larry, age eight, and Sandy, seven, had in this world. Tina had a sister, Vanessa, who could have taken the kids, but she’d argued with their mama years ago and moved who knew where.
And though Tina was totally off drugs and would never use again, it would be nearly four more years till she got out of here. Four more years…four more years, a chanting voice repeated in her head. She was so scared something would happen to her kids while she was stuck in here.
The puppy raisers had been told that very first day, “Never set up a dog for failure, because we build on success.” Tina had tried, God knows she’d tried, but when you were just a big bundle of failures and regrets yourself, it sure was a tough thing to learn confidence and then teach it to a dog. Being told about “Sterling’s sterling success” in guide dog school had helped bolster her fragile confidence.
“Tina!” Ellen called to her when she’d put Corky back on her leash and was ready to head to the prison laundry room to work. Corky loved to watch the clothes and water in the big, front-loading washers swish around. “Warden Campbell wants a word with you.”
Now, that, Tina thought, was never good news. “Corky, come,” she commanded.
As Tina preceded Ellen down the long corridor toward the warden’s office, other officers and inmates said hello to her and Corky. Though Tina didn’t break stride, several stooped to give the puppy a quick pat. Having these animals around made everyone happier and calmer, but not Tina right now. She felt so uptight she could throw up.
Tina had heard that Warden Marian Campbell had been against the PBB program at first, but she was gung ho for it now, especially since it made the prison atmosphere better. Sometimes the warden even let the dogs visit women who were ready to walk into their parole hearings because it calmed them down. Sterling had visited the domestic-violence training classes more than once, since having a dog there seemed to help the women open up and share their feelings. One of those inmates had told her that Sterling, who was usually calm, used to get a little upset if the women became distraught. It was like the dog could feel someone’s pain, Tina thought.
Right now, her own feelings were on hold—iced up, just the way she used to feel all the time before she became a puppy raiser. To help herself face the warden as she entered the office, she scooped Corky up in her arms and held her tight.
“Have a seat, Tina,” Warden Campbell said. Tina obeyed, scooting back into the hard, wooden chair, with Corky on the floor at her side. The warden came around her big, cluttered desk and perched on the edge of it, looming over Tina. The woman had striking, high cheekbones and smooth skin the color of milk chocolate. Though she could be really stern, the puppies had always made the warden smile. But not now.
The warden frowned. “I’m afraid I have some sad news, Tina.”
“Not one of my kids?” Tina cried. She knew she shouldn’t interrupt, but she couldn’t help it. “They’re hurt? Worse?”
“You’re an honor inmate making great strides here, Tina, so I’ve decided to tell you this myself. I’m sorry, but your mother had a massive heart attack last night and did not survive. Your children—” she glanced down at a folder open on her desk behind her “—a girl and a boy, both minors, were taken in by the neighbors for the night. But because there is no known next of kin, they have been remanded into the custody of children’s services, which will try to place them in foster homes. There is no other next of kin, is there?”
“My sister Vanessa, but she’s—moved somewhere ’fore I got in here. She’d take them though. She loves kids, loved my kids…” Her voice choked on a sob.
It seemed to Tina as if another woman had said that to the warden. She should have been there with Mama and the kids. She should be there now! Fury poured thro
ugh her. Anger and hatred at herself, at the world. Mama had been so good to take the kids when their parents had let them down. It had been a real burden at her age. A heart attack—it was Tina’s fault, and now the kids would be with someone who was not kin.
“Tina, I’m so sorry for your loss,” the warden said, and leaned forward to squeeze her shaking shoulder before briefly touching Corky’s head. “I’ve arranged for someone else to take your place in the laundry room today if you need time alone.”
Alone. When would she ever see Larry and Sandy again? They’d forget about her by the time she got out. The prison wasn’t that far from her mama’s home, but children’s services or new foster parents wouldn’t bring Larry and Sandy here for a visit like Mama had. And was there money to bury Mama proper, and was there money for stuff the kids needed?
Tina had never felt more of a failure—again. Don’t set the puppies up for failure but for success… She sat in the chair in the warden’s office, silently sobbing, while the puppy licked her hand.
CHAPTER TWO
It was a great spring day, so Detective Blair Ryan sat at a sidewalk table and ate his tortilla. The taverna made it just the way he liked it, with Spanish onions, red peppers, guacamole and lots of meat. He swiped some salsa off his chin, then took a swig of his soft drink.
He kept his back against the wall—instinct from officers’ training and also his year in Afghanistan. This wasn’t Kabul, though these could be mean streets, too. With the large influx of Latinos, the area was making a transition from traditional blue-collar to ethnic-hip. It was also popular because of affordable rents, despite its proximity to Manhattan.
A hometown boy from nearby Newark, Blair liked E-town and chose to live here. This neighborhood especially was a great mix of Latino, Polish and Indian cultures.
Blair tossed the last of his crust to a watchful seagull, one of many that flew in from Newark Bay, where container ships were being loaded and unloaded. It seemed like just yesterday that his mom had brought him and his sister, Kate, down here on Saturdays when their dad was working—almost all the Ryan men had been cops—to eat in a restaurant overlooking the loading docks and harbor. But cancer had claimed Kate when she was only nine, and he’d never gone near that restaurant again.
He tossed his trash in a KEEP OUR CITY CLEAN can and strolled down the street toward the renovated apartment block where Alexis Michaels lived now. She’d pretty much given him the brush-off the last time he’d seen her. Funny, he mused, how people used the word see all the time, like “Nice to see you…you see what I mean.”
At first Alexis had been distraught over losing her sight. She’d fought her way back to health and sanity, helping him as best she could to find the bastard who’d attacked her, only to have him slip through their fingers.
Somehow, Alexis really got to him—really moved him. He’d once feared he’d left the soft side of himself back in the service, where he’d seen innocents maimed and killed. But Alexis had made him feel things again.
Blair realized he was half a block from the apartment he and his buddy Jace had helped Alexis move into last year. He popped a breath mint in his mouth in case he had dragon’s breath after that sandwich. He’d just stop by for a sec to see how she was doing. Twice she’d turned him down for dinner, but he still couldn’t get her out of his head.
As far as Blair could tell, Alexis had the smallest apartment in the rehabbed building. At least it was on the first floor, so she had only three stairs to deal with.
He went into the dim, narrow hall that led to the three first-floor apartments. Good, her mailbox and door did not bear her name. Voices sounded within. It would be great if she’d made new friends, since she’d distanced herself from her former acquaintances so that sicko Dortman couldn’t trace her.
Squaring his shoulders, Blair knocked. The voices stopped; maybe she’d had the radio on.
“Who is it?” she asked through the door.
“Blair Ryan, Alexis. I was just in the area and thought I’d see how you’re doing.”
He heard her unlock the dead bolt, fumble with a safety chain, then turn the lock in the door handle. He’d installed the dead bolt for her the day he and Jace had moved her in here. He was relieved she used the safety measures even during the day, but then light and dark were the same to her. To his surprise, when the door opened, she stood bathed in sunlight from her front windows. With a little smile, she stuck out her hand.
He took it and shook it, then covered it with his other one for a second until she pulled gently away. She looked really good. Her jet-black hair was shorter, but it framed her lively face with gentle curls. He was glad she didn’t have on the dark sunglasses she’d insisted on wearing after she was released from the hospital. Ironically, the appearance of her snappy, brown eyes had not been damaged, and she still turned them in the direction of speakers or noise. The cuts and bruises on her forehead that had taken so long to turn to pale scars were hidden beneath wispy bangs. She was a natural beauty who didn’t need makeup, with her dark, arched brows and thick eyelashes. She’d always looked pale, but now color suffused her cheeks and throat above the aqua, peasant-type blouse she wore with jeans. She was barefoot, and damn if she didn’t have her toenails painted. He felt a bit guilty looking her over so thoroughly, something he would not have done if she could see him.
“Can you come in for a minute?” she asked. “I have something to tell you.”
“Sure—not about Dortman?”
“No, thank heavens. I’m glad the coward’s long gone, except that he might be harming someone else. Do you want to sit down?” she asked, gesturing toward the couch under the windows. “I can get you some iced tea if you’d like—or I can make coffee. I remember you like it with no cream but two packets of sweetener.”
That little detail touched him. He cleared his throat. “Iced tea would be fine. It’s warm out for April.”
“I know. I’ve been enjoying the sun pouring in the windows.”
He sat and she walked gracefully toward the kitchen. If he hadn’t known better, he’d think she could see.
“I thought I heard voices in here when I knocked,” he called to her, looking around the room. Everything was neat and uncluttered. Orchid plants and African violets bloomed on the window ledge.
“One of my talking books,” she said from the kitchen. “Actually, it was a travel book about walking tours in London. I’d love to go visit again someday, maybe make a tour of famous literary places. Do you get that feeling—wanderlust?”
Man, she was in a good mood compared with other times he’d seen her. He bit his lip, smiling at the way she’d phrased that question. It wasn’t wanderlust that called to him when he was around Alexis Michaels.
“After my stint in the marines, I’m pretty content at the old age of thirty-one to settle down, and this part of New Jersey’s still home.”
She came back into the living room with two glasses of iced tea and handed him one—right where he could easily take it from her.
Though he knew she couldn’t see him, her gaze met his, and she nodded. She searched for her beanbag chair with her foot, then curled into it, cradling her glass on her knees. With this woman, even when she was laid out in a hospital bed, newly blinded with that beautiful face all bandaged up, he’d felt she could see inside him. As badly hurt as she’d been, she’d always shown great concern for his feelings, and she’d never blamed him for not finding and arresting Dortman—though he’d sure blamed himself.
“What I wanted to tell you,” she said, “is that I’m getting a guide dog in two days. I’ll be gone for a month’s training and then—hopefully—have much more freedom when I return. Sometimes, though I still have students in to teach, it’s like—like being in prison. Which reminds me, the dog I will get was raised in prison before it was trained.”
“I’ve heard of that program. Puppies in Prison?”
“Puppies Behind Bars—prison bars, not the kind you Irish cops like to check out whe
n you’re off duty.”
He chuckled. “Alexis, that’s great. It will give you a lot more confidence to come and go.”
“I thought you might give me a lecture that I’ll get out more where someone who knows Dortman—you know—someone might see me.”
“All life’s a risk,” he said, taking a big swig from his glass, then putting it down on the slate-top coffee table beside the sofa. He leaned toward her, elbows on his knees. “I’ve seen security soldiers and explosives experts work with dogs in the middle of minefields, and the department here uses bomb-and drug-sniffing dogs. I’m pretty sure some of our bomb sniffers are from the PBB program.”
“I feel it’s a big step, but I’m ready for it. And I just want you to know that I appreciate all you’ve done for me since my acci—Well, I know you always call it an attack.”
“That it was. Listen, how about we do something to celebrate this big step you’re taking?” He could have bitten his tongue once he blurted that out. Each time he’d tried to get personal with her, she’d backed off, but it was too late now. “And I want to meet your new partner when you get back, okay?”
“Sure—about meeting my dog. You know, when I told my old roommate about the dog on the phone, she said, ‘You mean a blind dog?’ Of course, she meant a dog for the blind, but I told her, ‘I hope he’s not blind because he’s going to have to take the lead,’ and we laughed and laughed.”
He was thrilled to see a smile light her face, and had to blink back tears. Lucky she couldn’t see them, because she always seemed to think he pitied her when that wasn’t the case. Not at all, and he hoped to hell she’d let him prove it.
“About the celebration, Blair, I’ve got a student coming here in about an hour—she’s preparing for college entrance exams she has to retake to get her scores up.”
“Then how about a walk right now, even if it’s just once around the block? Like you said, the sun’s great today, spring has sprung and all that. I’m not as good as a guide dog, but we’ll be just a couple of friends out for a short stroll, okay?”
More Than Words: Stories of Strength Page 14
