The media swarmed over Harper Springs like killer locusts in a lame science fiction movie. Reporters interviewed anyone with any knowledge, opinions, or comments about my life and my case, no matter how contrived and full of crap the people were. The only person's mouth I could control was my own, and I refused to speak to the media. The one exception was Howie Spearman, who visited me every week. He promised to keep our conversations confidential until he talked me into writing a book.
During my time in the county jail, my Uncle Manny and Tyler saw me each Wednesday and Saturday, the two days that the jail allowed approved friends and family to visit. I had to provide the names of people I wanted to visit me and give them to the jail staff for approval. Only a prisoner's attorney and minister could visit any time that they wanted.
When Uncle Manny and Tyler first saw me, they looked so sad and were surprised that I was not as depressed as they thought I would be. I was dealing with my situation much better than when I was falsely accused of causing Carlee's death, or when I was a scapegoat sentenced to Stockwell because of a lie. I knew before I walked into Big Bill's restaurant that I would most likely go to prison for murder. I had already made peace with the fact that, at the very least, there would be consequences for leaving the safety of my anonymity. However, I never expected that Max would be the one I shot.
I think it helped Uncle Manny and Tyler to understand my attitude when I explained that, while I didn't want to go to prison, I had broken the law, and I was reconciled to the fact that I would have to pay for what I did. Instead of them wasting time feeling sorry for me, I wanted an update on all the things I had missed while I was gone. They tried and at least pretended to be more cheerful. We discussed the farm and fitness center businesses, Tyler's school and sports activities, and my paternal grandparents from Mexico.
My grandparents were strong people, but I knew they took it hard when my uncle explained where I was. When I visited them in Mexico, they accepted me as their grandson and treated me as if they had known me all my life. After my arrest for shooting Max, I was afraid that they would disown me, but Uncle Manny said that they insisted on seeing me on their next visit to Harper Springs. I had my doubts, but about three months later, during the early summer, my grandparents came to see me.
During their stay with Uncle Manny at Deer Lake Farm, they visited me several times. My grandmother always brought Mexican food that she had prepared from her own recipes, and oh my god, it was all so good. I told her that the jail staff had treated me really well, and on her last visit to see me, she brought enough food for all of them. They made a big fuss over her cooking, and I grin every time I remember how pleased she was.
My grandfather had suffered a stroke right before I met him in Mexico, and while he always gave me his lopsided smile, it was difficult for him to speak. I called him "Pops" as Manny did. My grandmother's name was Maria, but I called her Grammy, and while my grandfather spoke very little, Grammy was a talker and a good storyteller.
At the end of Grammy's first visit, she asked me to pray with her, and while I did as she asked, I had to be honest with her that I had never gone to church much, and I had never seen prayer as very useful. I could see the disappointment in her eyes, as she told me that had my father lived, he would have raised me in the Catholic Church. I didn't tell her that I never once heard Uncle Manny mention church.
"A child needs to be in church from the beginning. It's not your fault that you don't know our religion, River," said Grammy. She spoke English very well, but she had a thick accent that I loved to hear. She pronounced my name, "REEver."
"The boys home offered us rides to church but never forced us to go," I explained. "I only went a few times with my foster families." I told Grammy about going to River Baptist with the Abernathy family and about going to hear my maternal grandfather preach. Even Grammy had heard of my grandfather.
Grammy hesitated, considering something she wanted to say. She twirled the rosary beads around her neck and then reached across the small table to clasp my right hand in both of hers. "River, would you do something for me?"
"Yes, ma'am, if I can."
"Would you visit with a priest, if I send him here?"
I thought about her request. It wasn't as if my schedule was too busy. "Sure, Grammy, if you want."
She smiled widely. "Thank you. Please give him a chance for a few visits. Let him teach you about our faith."
"If it makes you feel better, I will take his visits, as much as he wants to come."
"That's my good boy. I also want you to talk to him about giving you the name of a priest for the next place you have to go."
"Yes, ma'am." The word "prison" didn't roll off her tongue easily, but she was not naive about my future residence or the kind of life I might have.
"River, the place you go will be very hard with evil men, and you are still only a boy. The priest can help you find your faith, and your faith will always be a comfort to you in bad times when you hurt and feel all alone. It may be all you have to keep you strong until you can have your life again."
There were not many Catholics in Bergeron County and only one Catholic Church, but Grammy found Fr. John Baxter, who began visiting me on a regular basis. He was only thirty-years old, so he was not the old man I had expected to bore me to tears. He was actually very interesting, and we got along well. In addition to our discussions, he brought literature to acquaint me with Catholicism. For my grandmother's sake, I listened, read, and learned.
Besides my Deer Lake family and my grandparents, I had other regular visitors at the county jail, including Hal and Jenny, Coach Haney, Coach Riddle, Miss Martin, and Howie Spearman. A few others came once or twice.
I was surprised when I received a request from Beth Summers to place her on my approved visitors list, but I understood when I spoke with her. She missed Carlee terribly, and she wanted to know how Carlee spent her time before she died. I told her how much Carlee enjoyed hiking, camping, and trail rides. She told me cute stories of Carlee when she was a little girl. We smiled when we reminisced, but there was so much sadness inside both of us.
Mrs. Summers told me how much I resembled my father and how it drove her nuts that first day when she met me at her house. She had seen my father working with his shirt off, and when she saw the same birthmark on me, she was shocked. She believed that I had to be related to him. Mrs. Summers didn't miss the irony that Carlee was obsessed with me for a long time during which I rejected her, just as my father had rejected Mrs. Summers in favor of my mother.
Mrs. Summers shared stories about my father, and it was interesting to hear about him from her point of view. She was definitely in love with him and had nothing but good things to say about him. She cried when she told me about hearing the news of his death, and I had no doubt that she took it very hard. It was obvious to me that she never lost her crush on my father.
***
One of the guards was named Duncan, but everyone called him Dunc. I came to know him well during my stay in the Bergeron County Jail. The first time I saw Dunc, he came to my cell one day and told me to back up to the bars to "cuff up," which meant that I had to turn my back to the bars and push my hands through a rectangular opening for him to handcuff my wrists. He then opened my cell, applied shackles to my ankles, and ran a chain around my waist to which both the handcuffs and ankle shackles were attached. It was the normal procedure when they took an inmate out of the cellblock, which contained our cells, the day room, the cafeteria, and the showers. I assumed I was going to one of the offices because I wasn't expecting any visitors at the time.
I didn't question Dunc, but I was confused when he led me to the visitation room to talk to one of the last people I ever expected to visit me. Bill Summers was not on my list of approved visitors, and he had made no request of me as Mrs. Summers had. I immediately wondered if Big Bill had paid to beat me while I was shackled and defenseless.
Dunc pushed me down in the chair across the small table from Big
Bill and spoke to my visitor before leaving the room. "Mr. Summers, I'll be watching from behind the glass. Just raise your hand if you need me."
"How are they treating you here?" Big Bill's voice was casual, almost friendly, almost as if I had invited him.
"I won't bother asking what you did to get a visit with me."
"I hope you're not upset, but I wasn't sure that you would speak to me otherwise."
"Mr. Summers, you know I can't discuss the case, so what else do you want?"
The man surprised me. "Well, for one thing, I wanted to apologize for my part in having you arrested and prosecuted for Carlee's death. It never crossed my mind that it could have been Max, and I wouldn't have believed it, if I hadn't heard it from his own mouth. I realize now that he was a very sick young man, and I blame my brother for most of that. Hell, maybe I'm to blame too."
"Mr. Summers, Max made his own decisions. I still don't know how he could have killed Ant and injured me, and then acted as if he had done nothing wrong. He sat with me for hours in the hospital. He read to me, cleaned me up, and helped me with meals. I never once suspected that he was the one who put me in that bed."
"River, I wish you didn't have to serve any time, but they can't just excuse what you did. I want you to know that his family won't pressure the solicitor for a long sentence, and there's a group of us who will ask for leniency on your behalf."
"Thanks, Mr. Summers." The idea of Bill Summers helping me was a strange one.
He changed course. "You really loved Carlee, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir, I really did."
"She was my little girl, and I loved her very much. I hate that I was fighting with her before she died. She was so angry with me that I can't stop wondering if she died hating me."
"Mr. Summers, there were times when Carlee didn't like what you did. When she thought you mistreated people, including your family. When you didn't listen to her and were too controlling. But no matter how angry she was, she still loved you. Even the night before she died, she loved you. She told me."
Big Bill's voice wavered before he gained control. "Thank you for telling me that. It helps a lot. I've made so many mistakes, and my priorities were all wrong. It's taken losing my family to see how damn stupid I've been."
"Mr. Summers, it's not my place to say, but I think you still have a chance with Billy. Maybe even with Mrs. Summers."
Big Bill nodded. "Billy is spending the weekend with me, and I'm not going to work. We're going to do something together."
"He likes playing ball." I couldn't help adding a jab. "You could take him to the old park before you tear it up."
"About the park. I've changed plans. The town needs some decent apartments, but we're keeping the rest of the property as a park instead of building the retail stores and the parking spaces they would have used. I'm having plans drawn up to revitalize the park so that it's all good as new. When we are finished, we will have two new ball fields, a basketball court, a tennis court, a kid's playground, and a wellness trail suitable for walking and jogging. New benches and new bleachers. Beautiful landscaping. It won't be as big as the old section, but it will be much nicer and well-maintained."
I was surprised and grinning. "Thank you, Mr. Summers. The neighborhood kids and their families will appreciate that. I know that Carlee, Ant, and Papa would too."
"See what you think of this idea, River. When we're done, we'll have the new Carlee Summers Memorial Park, the Papa Ray Long Athletic Fields, and the Ant Jefferson Health Trail. We'll have bronze signs with dedications at the entrance to the park, in front of the ball fields, and at the start of the trail."
He amazed me. "Thank you, Mr. Summers. They would be proud. Thank you especially for considering Papa and Ant along with Carlee."
"I can't make up for what Max did to Papa and Ant, but my family at least owes them the honor of recognition. They were good people who meant a lot to our town." Big Bill turned his massive wrist to see his watch. "My time is about up. Is there anything I can do for you?"
The conversation was so odd. I never thought I would see Big Bill as anything but an asshole, and there I was smiling at him. "No, sir. I guess not."
Big Bill chuckled. "I never liked you, but that's because I didn't give you a chance. All I could see was that you were turning my little girl against me. I blamed you for her rebellion when it was really my fault. I was an idiot, and now I'll never be able to tell her I'm sorry."
"I hope things work out with your family, Mr. Summers. It would make Carlee happy."
Big Bill nodded. He shook hands with me and stood to leave, but I stopped him. I had to ask. "Mr. Summers?"
"Yep?"
"That night after the homecoming dance. How come you never came after me for punching you?"
Big Bill took a few seconds to answer. "I almost did, but the more I thought about it, you did the same thing I would have done. You stood your ground like a man. By the way, I apologize for all those things I said. I always respected how hard you worked."
"Okay. Well, anyway. Thanks." I didn't expect the explanation he gave, but I was learning that other people were just as complicated as I was.
As Bill Summers turned to leave, he added, "Besides the football season wasn't over yet, and I had bet a butt load of money that you would lead the Hawks to another state title."
He grinned and I had to laugh. When I see Bill Summers in my mind, I picture him with a smart-assed smirk on his face as he tapped on the door to signal to Dunc that he was done.
***
The Bergeron County Jail staff treated me as well as I could have reasonably hoped. Because I was a high profile prisoner awaiting trial, they segregated me from convicted inmates who were already serving time in prison, and had been brought back to the county jail for a hearing or a trial on another charge. A few of those prisoners, who were doing long stretches, were apt to attack a famous inmate, such as me, just for the additional notch on their prison rep. In the future, I would find out how important prison reps were to inmates.
Dunc told me that another reason for separating me was that they tried to keep young, pre-trial inmates away from the older, hardcore criminals. He added that all of their lives would be hell if the media heard that I had been beaten or raped, so I had my own cell except for one period of a couple of weeks when the jail was overcrowded. My cellmate for that period was another young guy who was in for his first time on a drug charge, and I had no problems with him.
My jail cell was not a pleasant place to live, but since the staff worried about my safety, I spent little time out of it. There were bunk cots, and I always slept on the bottom one. Attached to the wall, there was a tabletop, which served as a desk and a meal table. There was one small chair, a shelf to place personal belongings, and a stainless steel sink and toilet. That was it for my cell furnishings.
Since I couldn't eat in the cafeteria with the other prisoners, a guard brought my meals to my cell. The food wasn't horrible, but it wasn't good either. I was fortunate that I had visitors bringing me much better food that the guards delivered to my cell.
Kirby Wallace was one of my regular guards. He was a young man, only a few years older than I was. He was a huge Hawks fan and had watched me play almost all of my home games. Instead of giving me the normal jail dinner, he often brought me a warm plate of food from his home. He still lived with his parents, and his mom could sure as hell cook. Kirby often took his dinner breaks with me, and he would sit just outside my cell while we discussed sports. Sometimes, I would listen to him talk about his family, mostly about hunting and fishing trips he took with his dad.
With my previous experiences, I was suspicious of any guard who would be so kind to me, but I soon saw Kirby as just a good guy with a big heart. He was a decent, working class white guy from a family of real Christians, not the fake, racist variety common to Harper Springs. If I could accuse Kirby of wanting anything from me, it was for me to relive my football days and share my experiences with him. He had w
anted to play during high school, but he lived on a farm, and there was never time for afterschool activities. He accepted the fact at a young age that he had a responsibility to help his father, and if he was bitter, he never showed it to me.
Kirby and I became friends, and he did all he could to make my life less miserable. I did my best to make him look good in front of his superiors by addressing him as "sir" and immediately following his commands. With Kirby, I kept thinking about the job I would have had as assistant coach of the Hawks, and how I would have wanted everyone to take me seriously.
The staff allowed me to shower on Wednesday and Saturday mornings, which meant that I was cleaner for the two visiting days. After the other prisoners showered, a guard would take me to the showers alone and stay with me until I was finished. I was supposed to limit the shower to five minutes, but when Kirby worked that shift, he would give me as long as he could. Sometimes, we would talk about the latest sports news for as much as twenty minutes before he would make me cut off the water.
I could have two hours a day for outside exercise, which in my case meant walking back and forth alone in something that resembled a long batting cage. I was very limited as to what I could do while the other prisoners had the whole yard in which to run, play basketball, or work out with weights. Since I wanted a way to keep up my arm strength, Kirby managed to find some hand weights and a few other portable exercise pieces that I could use in the cage.
Kirby was not the only decent guard. Once they knew me, most of them were friendly and treated me as if I were human. In return, I followed the rules and was respectful of them and the jobs they had to do. There were prisoners who complained daily, but I was not one of them. I didn't expect any special treatment for good behavior, but the guards often did more for me than they did for the whiners.
The staff always gave me my medicine on time, and when I was not feeling well, they cut me slack. There were some days, when my back was in such bad shape, that I couldn't bend over without agonizing pain, and that was a much bigger problem in jail than if I had been home. After an inmate left the visitation room, he had to stop off at a small room for a strip search before he went back to his cell. In my case, if it was one of my bad days, the guards would still search me thoroughly, but they would help me so that I didn't have to bend so much.
My Name Is River Blue Page 47
