With Love from the Inside

by Angela Pisel

  “Leave a message,” Thomas’s voicemail said after the third ring.

  “Call me” was all she could get out. He must be really hurt. She pushed the Bluetooth button again and started to say “Call Margaret Logan,” but her phone beeped before she could.

  “Sophie?” Mindy said.

  “Hi, Mindy. Merry Christmas.” She tried to sound natural.

  “Where are you? Thomas is worried sick about you.”

  “I needed to get away for a few days, you know, clear my head.”

  “On Christmas?”

  “I know it’s weird, but I needed to take care of a few things.”

  Mindy didn’t respond, but Sophie could hear one of the twins whining for waffles in the background, so she knew she hadn’t hung up.

  “I’m worried about you, Sophie. People don’t disappear on Christmas without something major going on.” Mindy’s voice was lowered, but she sounded sincere.

  Something major is going on. I’m on my way to see my mother, who’s about to die from a lethal injection. I’ve done nothing over the years to help her because I didn’t believe in her. I didn’t trust her. If she dies, it’ll be my fault. All my fault.

  “I’ll tell you everything when I get back,” Sophie finally said. As much as she wanted to confide in her, she couldn’t tell Mindy before she confessed everything to Thomas.

  “Okay,” Mindy reluctantly agreed, after another awkward pause.

  “How’s my boy?” Sophie asked, trying to change the subject.

  “I didn’t work today, but the nurse before my last shift said his mom came to visit. Hasn’t missed a day.”

  “Is that a good thing?” Sophie didn’t know how to feel.

  “Not for us to decide, unfortunately.”

  Sophie started to tell her the people who do decide those things suck, and that they don’t gather all the facts before handing down permanent decisions, and that those well-intended evaluations screw up innocent children’s lives, but she didn’t. “Tell Max his Sosie sure misses him.”

  “Will do,” Mindy promised.

  “Thanks for checking on me.”

  “You’re welcome,” Mindy said. “Promise me you’ll come home soon.”

  Sophie decided not to call the Logan house after she stopped talking to Mindy. She didn’t want to answer any more questions.

  The only conversation she needed to concentrate on was the one long overdue. The conversation she was about to have with her mother.

  —

  BEN ROLLED DOWN HIS WINDOW and flashed a badge to gain entrance into Lakeland State Penitentiary. Sophie had to step out of her vehicle and let the officer visually search her front and back seats. After she showed the uniformed officer her driver’s license, he waved her through.

  The enormity of this place still intimidated her. She used to have dreams about standing on one side of the tall chain-link fence with her mom on the other, bleeding from cuts inflicted by the circles upon circles of sharp wire. “I can’t find the Band-Aids,” Sophie remembered crying out in her sleep.

  Ben met her at her car and walked with her to the door that read VISITORS’ ENTRANCE. A long line of women and small children stood outside the door designated for the men’s section of Lakeland. Sophie watched a young mom shove a bottle into her crying baby’s mouth while ordering her toddler to “hold on to my leg.” She handed the child an open box of Cheez-Its.

  The processing time was what took the longest. In the past, Sophie had stood for more than an hour in the freezing rain while waiting to get inside the door, when she didn’t have her dad around to remind her to wear her gloves and take an umbrella.

  “Bring back memories?” Ben asked when he noticed her looking around.

  “Too many.”

  “The visitor line always this long?” He flashed her his laminated attorney’s badge that read SPECIAL ACCESS in bold letters across the bottom. “I normally walk right in with this, but who’d believe an attorney was working on Christmas Day?”

  “On holidays, my dad and I would get up before the sun came out to make sure we’d be the first in line. My dad bribed me with a Peanut Buster Parfait from Dairy Queen when I tried to roll over and go back to sleep. ‘C’mon,’ he’d tell me. ‘Your mommy’s waiting on us.’”

  A man wearing faded blue jeans and a black jacket stood in front of them. He turned around several times and started to speak, but didn’t. Sophie knew by the way he kept rubbing his palms on the front of his jeans that this must be his first visit to Lakeland.

  “I guess we should’ve gotten here earlier,” Sophie said to Ben. “One-forty-five p.m. on Christmas Day puts you at the back of the line.”

  “Better late than never. Don’t think your mom’s going anywhere.”

  Not yet, anyway.

  “You here to visit your mom?” the man in front of her asked.

  Sophie nodded. She hated sharing personal information, but this guy seemed to need a friend. “Your first time?”

  “Very first,” he answered. “That obvious, huh?”

  “A little.”

  He held out his hand and with callused fingers shook Ben’s hand, then hers.

  “Carl,” he said. “I drove all the way from Alabama to get here, and I had to close down my gas station—first time in twenty-seven years.”

  The line stopped moving. The three of them stood in a tight circle as the wind picked up.

  “I’m here to see my daughter,” he said. “The drive about killed my back.” Years of pumping gas in the hot sun made his leathery skin look older than he probably was.

  “I’m sure she’ll appreciate the effort,” Ben replied.

  “I lost touch with her several years ago.” He put his hand in his jeans pocket and pulled out a pack of gum. “Her mom got messed up real bad with drugs and took her away from me, out of the state.” The deep lines around his eyes curled. “She changed her last name and said she wasn’t my kid. I could never track her down.”

  He offered Sophie and Ben a piece of Juicy Fruit.

  “No, thanks,” they both said.

  “After the TV news media grabbed on to the story, people started talking. I knew I had to find out the truth.”

  “Make sure you have all identifying paperwork out and ready,” a female voice said over a loudspeaker. The line started moving forward again.

  “She’s mine.” Carl reached in his back pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “I have her birth certificate. Veronica Mae Cooper. Born on July thirteenth, 1993.”

  He beamed like he’d found a precious treasure.

  “She goes by Roni now.”

  —

  TWO HOURS LATER, the red digital numbers at the front of the visitors’ area said 312. Sophie had 314. “Getting close,” she said to Ben.

  He put down the newspaper he was reading. “You look pale. Are you feeling okay?”

  Sophie glanced at the time on her phone. “I probably need to eat. It’s after two.”

  Ben pulled out some change from his pants pocket. “May I buy me lady a candy bar?” His bad British accent broke the monotony.

  “Is that the best you can do?” Sophie teased.

  Ben scoped out the vending-machine selections in the corner of the room. One machine claimed to have “Fresh Deli Meat” sandwiches, but Ben said he didn’t trust that. He came back with a Snickers bar and a Sun Drop.

  Number 313 flashed across the screen.

  Mr. Cooper shouted, “That’s me,” and darted to the window.

  Sophie unwrapped her candy bar while she stood to stretch. Her lower back started to cramp and she contemplated using the restroom. Three women, two with small children, stood in line for the one-stall facility.

  “What do you mean my daughter has been transported to another facility?” Carl Cooper’s already slouched postu
re sunk even more. “She sent me letters from this facility.”

  Sophie couldn’t hear what the woman behind the glass window was saying to him. “I can’t come back. I need answers now.”

  Someone in a brown uniform came out from behind the closed door and escorted him out of the visiting room. “Let’s talk in here.” The officer pointed to a desk behind the check-in window.

  Sophie watched Carl walk away, his small eyes glossed over.

  Number 314 flashed across the display. Sophie picked her purse up off the chair and threw it over her shoulder. She waved the slip in the air to Ben, who was holding a cup under the water dispenser over by the bathrooms.

  Sophie walked up to the window and slid her driver’s license through the slit.

  “Inmate’s name,” the intake officer said through the glass. She typed without looking up.

  “Grace Bradshaw.”

  “Date of birth?”

  “Mine or my mother’s?” She felt like a scared little girl again. The cramps in her back started to intensify.

  “The inmate’s,” the lady behind the glass replied, making Sophie guess the question should’ve been self-evident.

  “October twenty-first, 1960-something,” Sophie said. “She’s forty-nine.”

  The intake officer looked over her black-rimmed reading glasses. “Grace Margaret Bradshaw.”

  “Yes, that’s her.”

  The officer continued to type, then picked up the phone beside her computer.

  After a few “that’s what it says” and “that’s what I thought,” she put down the phone and said, “Prisoner 44607 has already had a visitor today. No more allowed.”

  Sophie put both hands on top of the shelf jutting out from the window. The room felt stuffy and hot.

  Ben pushed his attorney badge up against the glass. “I’m her lawyer. It’s imperative that we see Mrs. Bradshaw today.”

  Sophie squinted and tried to look at what was behind the window. Carl was bent over a table while an older woman with arthritic fingers rubbed his back and squatted down beside him. He didn’t move as the officer spoke.

  Her vision started to blur as she watched Ben argue with the intake officer. She squinted again at Carl. Something on her legs felt warm.

  “Sophie, are you all right?” Ben said. She felt his arm around her back as she started to slide down to the floor.

  “Call an ambulance,” he shouted.

  The little girl holding on to her mom’s leg said, “Look, Mommy. That lady is bleeding.”

  GRACE

  I MET THOMAS TODAY!

  Sophie, I met your husband. My son-in-law. I felt like embracing everyone I came in contact with when I shuffled back to death row. The shackles on my arms and feet couldn’t even hold me down.

  “Thank you, God. Thank you, God,” I kept repeating. The officer must’ve thought I was crazy.

  You could imagine how surprised I was when he sat down. He looked mad at first. Most people meet their in-laws over a grilled steak and baked potato, so I totally understood his initial reaction.

  I could tell by the look on his face he was sizing me up. Could I be as evil as the papers called me? How could you have been loved by someone like me?

  I let him ask me anything he wanted. All the whys and the what-ifs. The floor was his. I answered his questions the only way I knew how—with the truth.

  He didn’t know, but I was doing the same thing to him. Sizing up this handsome man who holds your heart. I like him. I really like him.

  I don’t care that he’s a doctor; he could pick up trash off the streets, but what matters to me is the tenderness he gets in his eyes when he says your name. At first he was reluctant to talk about you—“I’ll let Sophie tell you what she wants you to know”—but after a while when he realized he didn’t need to protect you from me, he opened up.

  “Just tell me if she’s happy?” I asked him before he had to leave. That’s all I wanted to know. That when you lay your head down on your pillow at night, next to his, you feel peace.

  Thomas said he thinks you are, but he doesn’t really know. Sometimes, when he looks at you, you smile, but you’re not always there. Your body is, but your laugh is not complete, like your joy is held back.

  He did tell me the closest you are to total happiness is when you are holding a little boy named Max who doesn’t have a family. He told me about the fund-raiser and how hard you’ve been working on it.

  I am so proud of the woman you’ve grown up to be. My heart feels like it’s about to BLOW UP.

  I can live my final days in peace because I know without a doubt you have someone who will carry you through. I love you, my daughter. And I know without question Thomas does, too.

  xoxoxo

  “Publishers Clearing House find you today or something?” Carmen asked me later.

  “Something better. I found my daughter.” My lips stretched. I hadn’t smiled this big since I’ve been here.

  Jada didn’t say anything. She picked up her magazine and walked back to her cell.

  “Bet your visit wasn’t as good as mine,” Carmen said. “My hunk of a man hired me a new attorney. He says I’ll be out of here by Easter.”

  “I’m happy for you.” I didn’t expect anyone in here to be happy for me or to understand. I didn’t care. Ms. Liz would be back soon. She’d be happy.

  As soon as I entered my room and my shackles were off, I did something I haven’t done in seventeen years. I danced.

  SOPHIE

  Sophie heard what she thought was Thomas’s pager go off and felt relieved to be finally back in her own bed. She rolled over to put her arm around him.

  “Hold on,” Thomas said, “your IV will get caught.”

  “Thomas?” She saw him push a button that made the blue machine stop.

  “Everything’s okay. I’m right here.” He straightened out the tubing trailing from the top of her hand and then kissed her forehead.

  “Where am I?” The tape on her arm started to pull as she shifted in the bed.

  “In the hospital. You’ve been out for a while.”

  “The hospital? What day is it?”

  Thomas took his cell phone and checked the time. “About eleven-thirty-seven p.m.—the day after Christmas.” He pulled up a chair close to her bed and sat down.

  She picked at the tape on her hand and tried to make sense of what he was saying. The prison. Our baby. Sophie started to put the events together, but nothing felt right.

  “What happened to me? Is the baby . . . ?”

  “So you did know?” Thomas put his hands behind his neck, then dropped his head.

  “I was going to tell you. Things just became complicated.” She tried to sit up but felt weak and queasy. “I needed time to process everything.”

  Thomas scratched his jaw. His wrinkled shirt and scruffy face told Sophie he’d been with her for a while.

  “Is the baby okay?”

  “The heartbeat’s strong.” He shifted forward in his chair. “Which means you probably won’t miscarry.”

  “What happened, then? Why am I here?” Sophie put her hands between her legs to see if there was any blood.

  “For one thing, you’re significantly dehydrated and you’re anemic.” He leaned over, picked up the clipboard hooked on the end of the bed, and checked something. “Not sure why you were bleeding, but your blood pressure is extremely high.” Thomas glanced at the monitors by the side of her bed, then read some papers.

  “You have to rest and stay calm.” His authoritative tone made him seem like her doctor.

  Sophie nodded.

  “For yourself and for our baby.” This time he spoke from a different place, more vulnerable, like a dad.

  “I’m so sorry, Thomas.” She reached her arm out to him.

  He tossed the chart on the end o
f her bed without responding.

  “How’d you know where I was?”

  Thomas grabbed the pink pitcher from the nightstand. He filled a cup with water, stuck in a bent straw, and handed it to her.

  “I was there,” he said to her after she swallowed.

  “Where?” She pulled the straw out of her mouth and tried once again to sit up.

  “I saw her.” He took the cup from her and set it on the nightstand.

  “Who?” Sophie asked. She could feel the blood draining from her entire head and settling in her stomach.

  “I met your mom.”

  For a minute she thought he was playing a cruel joke on her. Payback for the lies, for not telling him about the baby. “My mom?”

  Thomas nodded.

  She’d never seen him look this way before. His body seemed unnaturally stiff and his words deliberate. “You should’ve told me.”

  She watched him contract his shoulders and his neck while she struggled with how to reply. He watched her, too, confusion seeping from his eyes.

  “I didn’t know how.” Her breath snagged as she tried to explain. “One lie turned into another. I was ashamed.”

  Thomas started to reach for her hand, but he pulled back.

  “Can you ever forgive me?”

  Before Thomas could answer, someone opened the door.

  A nurse walked in with her stethoscope slung around her neck. She was carrying something. “I’m glad to see you’re awake and talking. How you feeling?”

  “I’m not sure,” Sophie said to her, but she meant it for Thomas. She couldn’t be sure until he answered her question.

  “The doctor wants you to try to eat something. Anything sound good?” She placed a tray with a bowl of tomato soup and packaged crackers in front of her.

  Sophie shook her head. “I’ll try the crackers.”

  The nurse took the package off the tray and opened it for her. “I can order you something else. A sandwich, maybe?”

  Nothing Sophie could think of sounded good, but she was thirsty. “Do you have any root beer?”

  —