by Angela Pisel
“Sophie,” I wanted to yell. I wanted to run to her. “I’m here. Your mom is here.”
“Take some deep breaths,” Ms. Liz told me. “You’ll see her in a second.”
Officer Kollins pushed some buttons on the keypad outside the visitors’ area. I turned around to see if I could catch a glimpse of her coming out of the bathroom.
“Hello, Grace,” Ben said to me as soon as the door opened.
He had his suit jacket off and it was tossed on the seat of a folding chair. His gray-and-black-striped necktie seemed crooked.
“Hi, Ben.”
Officer Kollins pulled out a chair for me and I sat down. I looked at Ben, ready to hear him tell me clemency had been denied. But he knew that wasn’t what mattered. Instead, he said, “Are you ready to see Sophie?”
I thought I was ready. But when he said the words, I couldn’t make my lips form a reply. I’m not sure I inhaled or exhaled. I thought for a second my heart might have stopped pumping. My body understood what my mind could not comprehend. These moments with my Sophie would probably be my last.
Sophie felt it, too. When she walked into the room and our eyes once again found each other, we both knew. We understood the significance of time, so much so that nothing else mattered, nothing else existed. We could talk about what might have been, but we chose not to. We did the only thing we could do—cling to each other.
“Can you uncuff me?” I asked Officer Kollins when I finally found my voice.
Officer Kollins had been joined by Officer Mackey; they glanced at each other before Officer Mackey pulled out his keys. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“Your hair,” I said to Sophie once my cuffs were off. “It smells just like I remembered.”
She put her hand up to her shiny blond hair, secured neatly to one side with a sequined bobby pin. “I still use the same shampoo you used to buy me. It makes me feel close to you.”
I didn’t know where Thomas or Ben stood; all I knew was that for this instant, my little girl sat beside me. I held her hand and she rubbed mine. I even touched her stomach and felt my first grandchild shift about. Sophie moved my hand, then put hers over mine. “Feel here, Mom. Your grandbaby’s kicking.”
I reminded myself, when I could calm down enough to isolate a thought, that I had to be strong. I needed to protect Sophie and let her know—no matter what happened—I would be okay. She would be okay. Please, God, make me strong.
I can’t explain the peace I began to feel, or the strength that washed over me. It was like all the moments that had come before faded away, and this was the instance, the minute, the second I’d been moving toward. No particular words needed to be said, no regrets spoken, because Sophie and I understood. We shared something. A love that refused to go away.
I knew this tranquillity didn’t come from me. It came from a God who, for all these years, had heard my prayers. An angel stood over this room, with his huge outstretched arms protecting Sophie. I’d never felt more loved.
SOPHIE
As soon as the officer removed her mom’s handcuffs, Sophie felt them again—the top of her mom’s hands. Her fingers were now thinner, and her veins a thicker blue, but her velvety skin was as silky as she remembered. The same hands that had put the syrupy green aloe on Sophie’s scorching red back—“This should be better by tomorrow, sweetheart”—or added cold milk to her overly microwaved oatmeal were still as comforting as Sophie pictured.
“I’m sorry,” she tried to say, but her mom stopped her.
“We are together now,” her mom whispered. “We are together now.” Her mom closed her eyes and put Sophie’s hand over her heart.
“Tell me about your dreams?” Her mom asked her after they both settled down. “Thomas told me about your work with the fund-raiser, but what are you passionate about? What makes you excited to get out of bed?”
Sophie thought for a moment. No one, not even Thomas, had asked her questions in such a way that bore straight through her. “Do you remember Thomas telling you about Max?”
“I do. The little boy in the hospital, right?”
“I’m crazy about him. I love him, Mom. I really love him.”
Her mom put her hands on the sides of Sophie’s face. “I was waiting to see something that lit up your face.”
Sophie put her hands over her mother’s and then moved them to her lap. “His mom took him home, though, so I’m not sure I’ll see him again.”
Ben’s phone rang and he answered it. Sophie tightened her hands over her mother’s and watched Ben’s face for any clues. Her mother didn’t take her eyes off her.
“Ben Taylor,” he said into the phone. “Okay, okay, uh-huh. What channel?”
GRACE
“In 1997, Grace Bradshaw was convicted of murdering her infant son, William Joseph Bradshaw.” The governor stood behind a wide mahogany lectern in the garden of the governor’s mansion. The misty pink tea roses that once flanked his side in late spring lay frozen in mounting piles of new dirt.
“I have reviewed the facts of this case and the applicable laws pertaining to her sentencing. Despite the evidence presented at the eighth hour by the defense, there is no question in my mind Grace Bradshaw committed this heinous crime.”
I knew what was coming next, so I forced myself to focus on what I couldn’t see. Future buds, hidden beneath him, waiting to see the light so they could bloom.
“Since there are no substantial new facts in this case, I see no reason to grant clemency. As your governor, I have the duty to see that justice prevails and the laws of the great state of South Carolina are fulfilled.”
Thomas held up one side of me, and Sophie the other. Ben stood behind me with both of his hands gripping my shoulders. Officer Kollins had shackled my hands and feet before the press conference came on. “It’s protocol, Grace. I’m sorry.”
Sophie started weeping soon after the governor started to speak. After he finished, I laid my head on her shoulder and wept, too.
SOPHIE
“Why won’t anyone help us?” Sophie heard herself yell after Ben shut off the television.
Her mom tried to comfort her. “I’m going to be okay,” she repeated over and over. “This wasn’t a surprise to God.”
Sophie touched her mother’s soft face. “How can you be so calm?”
“I’m going to see my husband. I’m going to see my son.” Her mom’s eyes overflowed with tears. “Please know—I will never leave you.” She put her hand once again over the center of her heart.
“Ms. Liz is here,” Ben said to Officer Kollins when he saw her standing outside the door. “Is it okay if she comes back in?”
Officer Kollins walked over and unlocked the door. “I have what you wanted,” she mouthed to Sophie.
Officer Kollins pulled out her keys and freed Grace’s hands while Ms. Liz sat down with two frosted glasses overflowing with foamy fountain root beer and two scoops of vanilla ice cream.
“Please stay with me, Mom,” Sophie cried out. Her mom grabbed her trembling hands and pulled them to her chest. She then reached over and touched the pronounced dimple that appeared right below Sophie’s mouth when she begged for something.
“You can’t leave me,” Sophie pleaded. “I need you to teach me how to be a mom.”
GRACE
“Grace, it’s time,” Ms. Liz said. The warden allowed her to walk with me down the short cinder-block hallway from my holding cell to the execution chamber. She steadied one of my arms and Officer Kollins stabilized the other.
“It’s time,” I heard my mom say, when the big gold school bus crunched the gravel in front of our house. Her eyes looked scratchy and red. I thought she might be getting a cold. “Your first day of kindergarten. I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
“It’s time,” my dad told me as he slipped his arm under mine. He wiped his wet forehead with the back of his b
lack tuxedo sleeve. My white satin pump pinched my left heel. Paul stood at the end of the aisle. He put his hand over his heart when he saw me.
“It’s time,” the OB doctor said to me after eight long hours of labor. “You’re ready to push.” He snapped the stirrups into place. I could feel Paul’s hand gently squeezing the back of my neck as baby William’s head emerged.
“Do you have any last words?” Warden Richards asked after I’d been strapped down and positioned on the stainless-steel gurney. He squeezed the bridge of his nose. I heard one of the officers sniffle and I saw Ms. Liz lift a tissue to her eyes. I turned my head one last time to Sophie. I could see her sitting between Ben and Thomas and I knew she’d be okay. I mouthed to her the words I’d said a million times before: I love you.
“No,” I told the warden quietly. I’d said everything to those who matter.
I looked up at the ceiling and counted the ceiling tiles. I felt something warm seep deep and fill my veins. I closed my eyes and did the only thing that calmed me when I couldn’t stand this place anymore. I pictured the faces I had learned by heart.
EPILOGUE
A pile of crisp burnt orange and yellow sugar maple leaves rattled up and down in the fall wind. “Max. Max! Come out wherever you are,” shouted Thomas.
After many minutes of pretending he had no idea where Max was hiding, Thomas fell into the moving pile right next to a giggling Max. Shortly after Gracie was born, Mindy had called and told Sophie that Max was back. His mom had dropped him off at the pediatric ward when his care became too much for her. Thomas saw Sophie’s face light up when she spoke on the phone to Mindy. “Let’s go see our boy,” he said as soon as she’d hung up the phone.
Sophie sat on a park bench, taking in the smells of the fall leaves and her warm apple cider, never taking her eyes off the faces that played before her. Gracie, now six months, snuggled close beside her inside her stroller. Her head, full of twisted blond curls, was protected from the chill by the snow-white hat with misty pink lamb ears Ben had mailed to Sophie shortly after Gracie’s birth. I think she’ll like this, he’d scribbled on the card.
Sophie bent over and kissed her sleeping Gracie. Then she dug deep into her diaper bag and pulled out her own worn brown leather journal. Inscribed inside the front cover was a version of the words from Psalm 91. Father, thank you for letting me sit beside you and for listening to me as I talk to you about my Gracie and my Max. I trust you with my babies. I know your huge outstretched arms are protecting them, and they will be perfectly safe. . . .
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To Lauren Lo Pinto, Sofie Brooks, and the team at Putnam: Thanks for finding this novel a home. It has truly been a dream come true to work with you.
To Jill Marsal of Marsal Lyon Literary Agency: You top my list of shocking phone calls. Much gratitude for representing me and for embracing this story.
To my husband, Greg: I prayed I’d find someone I’d love my entire life. I’m so grateful I found you.
To Taylor, Lukas, Gracie, and Olivia: The most significant moments in my life are those that include you. I hope you’ve noticed the way my face lights up when you walk into the room. Do the one thing only you were created to do. I’m crazy happy I’m the one who gets to be your mom.
To Mom, Dad, and my baby sister, Tonya: You made our two-bedroom, one-bathroom house feel like a castle. Thanks for always pointing me in the right direction and for showing me how to love others well. I couldn’t have asked for anything more.
To Scottie Barnes (www.forgivenministry.org): It’s a rare and priceless gift to meet someone who sacrificially serves others as you do. Your faith, courage, and bravery inspire me to do more and to be better. Thanks for letting me tag along with you and your team at Forgiven Ministry. You’re making an eternal difference in the lives of children who have incarcerated parents.
To Caitlin Alexander and Susanne Scheppmann: Your encouragement gave me the confidence to keep writing. Your well-timed words kept me going when I needed that extra push. Thank you for using your voice to help me find mine. I’m forever grateful.
Last, but most noteworthy . . . Thank you to those of you who took the time to read With Love from the Inside. It’s a privilege to write a story for others to read. I’m humbled you took the time to read mine.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Angela Pisel has worked as a therapist and life coach, mentoring women through various stages of their lives. She lives in North Carolina with her family. With Love from the Inside is her debut novel.
angelapisel.com
facebook.com/angela.pisel
twitter.com/angelapisel
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