Dad’s face was flushed after he came through security but it paled when he saw me sitting in my prison clothes, the guard watching everyone in the room through a window. I hated thinking of my parents going through the metal detector, having their stuff X-rayed, putting it all in a locker. The room had about seven tables, four chairs around each one. A couple of families were at two of the other tables. We weren’t allowed any physical contact, and I ached for a hug from my dad or to even hold his hand. They slid into the chairs across from me.
I tried to smile, fought to hold back tears thick in my throat. I didn’t want to freak them out. I looked at my mom, searching her eyes, wondering if it was a good sign that she had come. Her face was even thinner than the last time I had seen her, giving her dark hollows beside her lips, which were pale. Only a faint trace of lip liner was left, as though she’d chewed off all the color. Her hair was pulled back tight, the ends ragged in her ponytail. She was also starting to show some gray at the roots, so she must not have been going to the salon anymore for her monthly touch-ups. The lines were deeper around her eyes, which had the same exhausted, desolate expression she’d worn since the murder.
“Are you okay, honey?” Dad’s face was so kind, his voice so familiar. The voice I’d heard late at night when I battled measles or the flu, when I fell hard off my bike. But now there was this, and it couldn’t be fixed.
“I’m all right,” I said, doing my best to smile. “Three meals a day and I can sleep all I want. What’s not to like?”
Dad tried to smile back, but Mom looked shocked for a second, anger flashing in her eyes: How can you make jokes? After what you did?
We retreated into silence. Dad glanced at Mom like he was waiting for her to say something, but her eyes were darting around to the other inmates and their families, her body stiff. Her hand fidgeted with her shirtsleeve, running the hem between her fingertips, twisting the buttons. For a moment she looked like she might rip one off, maybe run around the room screaming. I wished she would. Anything would be better than the contained agony she’d been walking around in. I wanted to reach out and grab her hand, hold her still, wanted to tell her a hundred times how sorry I was for bringing Nicole out with me that night. But I’d already said it before and she just stared at my mouth, watched my lips move. She couldn’t hear the words, no matter how many times I said them.
“How are you, Mom?” I said.
She pulled her mouth back in a smile, but it was strained and made her lips look even paler—bloodless. “Good, busy, with your dad’s work. We’re finally getting some contracts.”
I’d heard her hushed conversations in her office. We aren’t getting any calls. I don’t know if we’ll be able to keep the company, but we need the work, the lawyer bills, all the expenses. And another part of me died with guilt. Dad had reassured me over and over again. Don’t worry about us, we’ll be okay. Now justice had been served in the eyes of everyone in town, and my parents were getting work again. Everyone was moving on, except me.
Dad started chatting about one of the new houses he was building while Mom fiddled with her shirt and nodded once in a while, agreeing or adding a bit of information. They could’ve been at a dinner party, making conversation with a stranger. I was just as bad. I told them my new roommate was okay and I was settling in. I had no intention of joining any of the programs but I mentioned a couple, wanting to make them think I was focused on the future. I was finally being the responsible daughter they’d wanted. I tried to sound upbeat and positive, anything to make my dad’s shoulders ease down from where he was holding them around his neck—the way he’d been holding them for over a year.
Dad bought some chips and Cokes from the vending machine, and we shared them as we talked. Mom only nibbled on the corners and took tiny sips of her drink. The chips were dry in my own mouth, the carbonated liquid getting trapped in my throat, the sugar giving me a headache. I wished I had a cigarette.
They didn’t stay long, only a couple of hours. Then Mom looked at her watch, said, “We should get going … the ferry traffic, and you have to do that estimate tonight.” She glanced at Dad, and something was exchanged, some signal. She had come here for Dad, I saw it clearly now. He had made her come.
I met my dad’s eyes. “I love you, guys. Thanks for visiting—I really miss you.” The tears I’d been trying to hold back were now rolling down my face. I wiped them away quickly, before the other inmates saw me losing it.
Dad said, “We love you too,” and turned away, blinking hard like he was trying hard not to cry too. Mom was silent beside him while he composed himself.
“We’ll come back as soon as we can, hopefully in a couple of weeks,” he said. “Hang in there and stay strong for us, okay?”
“I will.” I glanced at Mom and she gave me a little smile, so forced it looked painful.
As they walked toward the exit Dad reached for Mom’s hand, but she didn’t hold it back, her hand limp in his. I remembered their raised voices behind closed doors after Nicole was murdered, how they’d retreat into silence whenever I entered the room. I’d thought my going away might help their marriage, but it seemed I was still the wedge driving them apart. I couldn’t stand thinking I’d taken something else from them that night.