Reclaim

by Beth Yarnall

  Where did that come from?

  It was like the rumbling of a freight train in the distance and then all of a sudden it was barreling toward me and I was too slow to get out of the way. Then it hit and all I could do was hurtle along with it. There was no stopping it. I had to give over to it and see where it would take me. Like an out of body experience.

  “Wow,” he whispers.

  “Uhnn.” Is all I can manage. I can’t put two coherent thoughts together let alone organize them enough to articulate.

  “That was…wow.”

  A car pulls in next to us and it’s like an alarm goes off inside me. I startle. What am I doing? Carla’s inside that prison waiting for us and we’re out here making out like we don’t have anything else to do but scratch an itch.

  “We shouldn’t have… I mean it was… But we shouldn’t have.” I make a back and forth motion between us. “You know.”

  “Yeah. I know. You’re right. We shouldn’t.” He studiously stares at a point beyond my shoulder. “Maybe we should go inside. Try to find a phone we can use. Talk to Carla.” He stares at my mouth like he wants to fall into my face and pick up where we left off. “Definitely not kiss again.”

  “Absolutely.” I put a hand up like I’m gong to hold him back, then remember that was how this whole thing started in the first place. I fist my hand and drop it to my side. “We should absolutely not do that again.”

  “That would be bad.”

  “Very, very bad.”

  “Okay.” He sucks in a breath and takes a step back. “Okay.” He gestures for me to go ahead of him. “After you.”

  “Right.” I force myself to turn on my heel and walk toward the prison entrance.

  He’s checking out my ass. I can almost feel his gaze like a touch, a light pressure followed by a rush of heat up my spine…and elsewhere. A couple steps later he falls in next to me. His hands are shoved deep into his front pockets like he has to corral them so they don’t wander where he doesn’t want them to go. I’m trying to sort out what exactly happened back there and what it means going forward. I don’t have time to start something new. I don’t want to start something new.

  We enter the building. I go to the window to see if it’s possible to use their phone while Nolan veers off in another direction. A flash of irritation goes through me, but I breathe through it and politely ask the guard behind the window if we could borrow his phone. He asks for my ID, which is in the trunk.

  He shrugs. “Sorry. Nothing I can do.”

  Great. I thank him and turn around to see where Nolan’s wandered off to in time to see him approaching with a guy in some kind of uniform.

  “This is Ted,” he says. “That’s his tow truck in the parking lot. He says he can get your car doors open no problem, right Ted?”

  “For twenty bucks.”

  “Our wa—” I start.

  Nolan cuts in. “No problem.”

  “Follow me out to my truck,” Ted says.

  I give Nolan a what was that? look as we head back out to the parking lot.

  He leans down next to my ear, making all of the fine hairs on my neck rise. “Better not to mention we don’t actually have the money right now.”

  “Oh. Right,” I say a little too breathlessly.

  In no time Ted pops the door locks. I immediately open the trunk and retrieve my purse. Nolan pulls a twenty out of his wallet and hands it to Ted at the same time I do.

  “No,” Nolan says, pushing my hand away. “It’s my fault. I’ll pay.”

  Ted takes the money from Nolan and goes back inside the prison. The first thing I do is take the key fob out of my purse and slip it into my pocket along with my ID. We head back into the prison in silence. I can tell that Nolan still feels bad about the trunk incident. We check in with the guard behind the window and take a seat to wait.

  “All’s well that ends well,” I offer, trying to smooth things over and get them back to where they were pre kiss.

  “That was a lucky break,” he agrees, but there’s still something troubling him.

  “I’m not mad. I mean, I was, but I’m not anymore.”

  He gives half a nod and turns away to watch the TV playing quietly near the corner of the ceiling. I fold my arms and look the other direction at the other TV hanging on the opposite side of the room. We stay that way until they call our names to go in and see Carla. The screening process while not quick is efficient and we’re soon entering the visitor room. We take an empty table and wait for Carla. Nolan’s been quiet the whole time. I shouldn’t care what he thinks. We’re just coworkers after all, but his sudden change of mood throws me off.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask.

  “No.” He doesn’t look at me, giving all of his attention to the door Carla will walk through.

  “Why are you quiet all of a sudden then?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “About what?”

  His gaze stays on the door. “About how I want to kiss you again.”

  A small atomic bomb goes off in my chest and I have to swallow before I can answer. “I thought we agreed that would be a bad idea.”

  “It’s a horrible idea.”

  “Then stop thinking about it.”

  “I can’t.” He turns to me. “Can you?”

  “This isn’t the time to talk about this.”

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “That doesn’t change anything.”

  “Actually,” he says with a hint of a smirk. “That changes a whole lot of things.”

  “I don’t—” Carla comes through the door cutting me off, which is good. I didn’t like the direction the conversation was headed. “There she is.” She has no idea what I look like because we’ve never met so I wave to get her attention.

  She eases into the chair across from us. “Lila Garcia?”

  “Yes,” I speak to her in Spanish like I did on the telephone so she’ll feel more comfortable. “It’s nice to finally meet you. This is Nolan Perry. He’s helping me with your case.”

  “Mucho gusto Carla,” he says with a really bad accent. I give him points for the effort.

  “Nice to meet you too,” Carla responds in Spanish. “What do you do?”

  Nolan looks to me. It seems as though we’ve reached his limit for the language.

  “He’s a private investigator,” I answer for him. “He’s going to help us locate your neighbor Inez Torres. Any idea on where we might be able to find her?”

  “Inez had family in Jalisco just outside of Guadalajara. She talked about moving back there. She has a sister who lives there. But I don’t really know. It’s been a long time. She could’ve passed.”

  “I couldn’t find any record of her death so I’m assuming she’s still alive. Any other ideas where she might go? Somewhere in the states maybe?”

  “She only talked about going back to Mexico. She was older, close to my mother’s age. You know how they reminisce about home.” Her gaze strays to Nolan then back to me. “He’s really a private investigator?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Seems kind of young…and cute. Not like the PI’s on TV.”

  I laugh and Nolan smiles like he’s in on the joke, making me wonder if he can understand what we’re saying. Better to change the subject. “We’re also trying to find your attorney John Martin. His wife filed a missing person report shortly after your trial. He just disappeared.”

  “Disappeared? I don’t understand.”

  “Was there anything unusual about him? Anything he might have said or you might have overheard that might help us find him?”

  “It’s not liked we talked a lot and we didn’t talk at all after the trial. He told me what to do and I did it. I didn’t get to ask a whole lot of questions.” She leans in and lowers her voice. “I’ve been studying about the law. He didn’t do a good job on my case. He let them prosecute me when there was no crime. He didn’t call any witnesses on my behalf. It was like he wanted to lose my case.”<
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  “Did he give you anything or show you anything that might help?”

  “No. Nothing. That asshole was worse than no lawyer at all.”

  Nolan interrupts. “Did you ask her the questions we talked about in the car?”

  “Not yet,” I tell him. Then to Carla, “We have to ask you some tough questions. Please be as honest as you can. There’s no judgment. We need all of the information you can give us to help you.”

  She glances over at Nolan who is patiently listening even if he doesn’t understand everything we’re saying. “What do you want to know?”

  “Why was Diego left alone so long in that bedroom? Why didn’t you check on him sooner?”

  Wrapping her arms around herself, she sits back in her seat. Her gaze slinks away to somewhere on the floor to her left. I can feel Nolan’s stare on the side of my face. I can’t look at him. All of my attention is fixed on Carla. I have an idea of what her answer might be from talking to some of her acquaintances. I wouldn’t ask, but this will come up if we can get her case before a judge. She’ll have to answer this question and more just as difficult as this one.

  “I was behind on the rent,” she starts, her words halting and forced. “I needed more time to come up with the money. If I let my landlord do whatever he wanted he’d give me more time, sometimes take it off my rent.”

  “You mean sex?”

  She nods.

  “How long was Diego alone that day?”

  “An hour. Maybe a little more. I wanted to go check on him, but…”

  “I understand.” I need to get her off this subject that’s causing her so much pain. I know her shame. The guilt…it must be unbearable. If only she’d checked in on him… I shut down that thought and redirect the conversation. “Tell me about Diego. What was he like?”

  Her gaze swings back to me and it’s like someone turned on a light inside her. “Sweet. So sweet. And good. He was the best. I miss him. So much.”

  “I hear he liked superheroes.”

  “Mmm, yes. Spiderman was his favorite. He liked to pretend—” She breaks off and I can see her visibly gather herself to continue. “He made a cape with the old bed sheet. I tried to throw it away, but he had such a fit. I didn’t think…I never imagined. He didn’t have very many toys. So I gave in. I wish I’d thrown it away.”

  “It’s not your fault. It was an accident.”

  “A stupid accident.” She picks at something on her arm. “Will I have to talk about what I was doing that day?”

  “Probably. But I’ll be right there with you.”

  “Will you do something for me?”

  “Sure. What?”

  “Will you take some flowers to his grave. Maybe take a picture of it for me. I don’t know where he is. My parents wouldn’t tell me. They blame me for what happened. Maybe they’re right.”

  “They’re not right. There’s no one to blame here.”

  She doesn’t say anything, absorbed in her own tortured thoughts.

  Again I hate to ask, but… “What was the name of your old landlord?”

  “Hector Rodriguez.”

  I go for another redirect. “Did your lawyer ever have anyone with him when he came to see you in prison?”

  She looks up at the ceiling like she’s thinking. “There was this man once… He poked his head in the room to say something to Mr. Martin. He didn’t see me at first. When he finally did he left right away. I knew him.”

  “From where? Who was he?”

  She has the same expression she had when I asked her what she was doing when Diego died and she won’t look at me all of a sudden.

  “Carla? Who was he?”

  “I don’t know his name.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “I knew him like I knew my landlord.”

  “You had sex with him?”

  She nods.

  “For money?”

  She nods again.

  “Did Mr. Martin use the man’s name or say anything that might give you an idea who the man was to Mr. Martin?”

  “No, but I think Mr. Martin worked for him.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “It was how they talked to each other. The man did all the asking and Mr. Martin did all the answering. I didn’t understand very much English back then—not as much as I do now—so I don’t know what they were talking about.”

  “Can you describe him for me?”

  “White. Brown hair. Blue eyes. He had a tattoo on his chest, the word sacrifice, and one on his left calf of a dagger with a ribbon wrapped around it with words.”

  “How did you meet him?”

  “He drove up and I got in his car. He came back a few more times almost like a regular. Then Diego died and I didn’t work anymore.”

  “Where did he take you when you got in his car?”

  “I told him where to go. Suede, my handler, had this motel for us to take our customers.”

  “How many times did you see him?”

  She shrugs one shoulder. “Six. Eight times. I don’t know. Maybe more. He wanted to get together and didn’t want to track me down. I had a phone number I gave out for that. Suede took care of my appointments. We met at the same motel every time.”

  “What was the name of the motel?”

  “The Lucky Inn on Second Avenue. Downtown.”

  We talk for a full hour. All the while Nolan sits patiently, smiling reassuringly at Carla whenever she glances at him. I don’t learn anything new, but I do learn quite a bit about Carla as a person and as a mother. She loved her son. His death devastated her. She’s more confused than angry about being convicted for his death. I’m not sure I’d feel the same as her. I’m so angry for her there’s no doubt in my mind that I’d be blind with rage if I was in her place.

  We say goodbye and as I reach the door to leave I look back to find her watching us. She looks so lost and alone I want to go to her and hug her but that’s not allowed. I have to remember the warning they gave us in law school to not get attached to our clients or too invested in the outcome of their cases.

  But as Carla holds up a hand in goodbye before turning to go back to her cell I have a hard time separating myself from her. She is me and I am her is a chant in my head as I walk out of the prison a free woman.

  5

  Nolan

  Lila fills me in on her conversation with Carla. I take notes, jotting down names and places. Her tone is flat, her eyes on the road. She rests her elbow on the car door and rubs at her forehead as though she has a headache. I wish the Lila who argued with me and accused me of being a racist would come back. I don’t much like her, but she’s imminently more tolerable this this subdued, sad version of Lila. The visit caused her pain. She’s right. There are things she’s experienced that I will never know. Things she and Carla have both been through that are foreign to me.

  We don’t talk about the kiss. We especially don’t talk about what we think about it or why it happened. There’s a third passenger in the car, hanging its arms over our shoulders, trying to get us to acknowledge it—the improbable attraction between us. I know she can feel it. I’m not even sure she likes me, but she’s thinking about that kiss. Maybe not as obsessively as I am. But she’s thinking about it and that will have to be enough for now.

  Glancing down at the notes I made of the meeting, I’m struck by how much work there is to do. We have to track down the neighbor, Carla’s landlord, her attorney, and a mysterious man who paid to have sex with her. It was hard for Lila to tell me about what Carla did to support herself and her son. I think she thinks I’ll be judgmental about it. I’ll admit that there was a moment or two where I had a hard time not thinking badly about Carla for screwing her landlord while her child suffocated to death in the next room. I’m still having trouble with that. I think Lila is too although she would never admit it.

  Now I understand why they put Carla on suicide watch when she was arrested. I imagine she blames herself for Diego’s de
ath. She was right there in the next room. The what if’s must have nearly broken her. They probably still do. I don’t know how she deals with it on top of the loss of her child. Pain is etched into her features, making her look older than twenty-three. She lost everything that day. Her son and her whole family. Lila told me that Carla’s parents haven’t spoken to her since Diego died. I can’t imagine what that must be like.

  My family is small but we’re tight. I glance at Lila and wonder if she’s close to her family. I want to learn more about her. What makes her tick. What her likes and dislikes are. What gets her hot. What makes her sigh. What makes her beg for more.

  I glance out the window, trying to put the brakes on those thoughts. This isn’t the time or the place. The only consolation is that she’s just as messed up about that kiss as I am. What she’ll do about it is a total unknown. I’d better back off…for now. Better to give her some room. This case is messing with her head. She’s gone from the calm, cool, and collected woman in charge I met in the office to the pissed off, chip-on-her-shoulder woman on the defense I met on the car ride out to the prison to the hotter-than-the-California-desert woman turned on by my kiss to the contemplative, saddened woman identifying with her client I’m faced with now.

  “Do you want me to reschedule with Mrs. Martin?” I ask, trying to coax her out of her funk.

  “No. I don’t want her to change her mind about helping us.”

  “I doubt it. She thinks we’re going to help her find her missing husband. She doesn’t know the real reason we’re coming to see her.”

  She whips her head my direction. “What?”

  “I wasn’t sure how cooperative she’d be if I told her we thought her husband was an incompetent hack who caused an innocent woman to go to prison for a crime she didn’t commit.”

  “What exactly did you tell her?”