The facility where Danny was being held was all the way in Rhode Island, in some crappy little town just over the Mass. border. Madison took her mother’s phone and typed the name into Google Maps.
“Take Mem Drive, get on 90, and then I’ll tell you from there. It’s saying an hour and twenty-six minutes with the traffic.”
“Jeez, we’ll be the last ones in line,” Mom said.
The drive was harrowing on the slick roads in her mother’s little car, with its broken heater and smell of gasoline. The parking lot near the prison was full by the time they arrived. Her mother circled, looking for a spot, face tight with anxiety. They left their handbags in the trunk and locked it. You weren’t allowed to bring anything into the facility except your ID and a single car key—not your phone, not an extra Tampax, not even a stick of chewing gum. The hulking concrete prison loomed over the street, surrounded by a tall metal fence topped with coils of deadly looking barbed wire. As her gaze traveled up the grim facade, Madison felt sick. No matter how mad she was at Danny, he was still her goofball kid brother, a string bean with big ears and an infectious laugh. Young and foolish, but never mean; certainly not evil. And not beyond redemption. No matter what he’d done—and if she was honest with herself, there was some chance the charges were true—she couldn’t stand to think of him locked up in this god-awful place.
The line of visitors stretched down the block, around the corner, huddled in winter coats, some of them holding newspapers over their heads because you couldn’t bring in an umbrella. It took them forty-five minutes to make it to the entrance, by which point Madison’s boots were saturated, and her puffer jacket and jeans soaked. The lobby looked like something out of a gulag. Harsh lighting, cinder block walls, scuffed linoleum floors streaked with muddy water. The smell of wet clothing was everywhere. The buckles on Madison’s boots set off the metal detector, and a female CO patted her down roughly before waving her on to the next CO, who was checking IDs.
“Yolanda and Madison Rivera. Here to see Daniel Rivera. My son,” Mom said, handing over their driver’s licenses.
She recited Danny’s inmate number from memory. The corrections officer checked the number in the computer, and waved them through to the visiting room. The cavernous space was filled with screaming babies and sobbing girlfriends. Guards stationed at intervals along the wall scanned the crowd, alert for any physical contact or other violation of the rules. Madison and her mother sat down at a table to wait. Every few minutes, an air horn would blow, followed by the sound of a lock disengaging with a heavy clank of metal. An inmate would then shuffle in, chains rattling, clutching a manila folder in his manacled hands, escorted by a CO.
About ten minutes later, that inmate was Danny, and she had to stifle a cry of dismay. He walked toward them stiffly, like he was in pain. The guard uncuffed him, and her mother threw her arms around him. He towered over her, coltish and lanky, just a kid embarrassed by his mother’s emotional embrace. The other inmates could see from the way Yolanda’s shoulders shook that she was sobbing.
“That’s enough, ma’am,” the corrections officer said. “You need to limit physical contact, or the visit will be terminated.”
Mom stepped away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, too overcome to speak. Madison had a lump in her throat and tears in her eyes. She blinked them back as the three of them sat down, waiting until the guard moved away to voice her concern.
“You’re walking funny,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Are you hurt?”
Danny shook his head, tears in his eyes, too. They were all struggling to get their emotions in check enough to talk. It occurred to her that this was the worst thing that had happened to her family other than her father’s death.
“Don’t worry,” Danny said. “I’m just happy to see you. I was surprised when they called me for a visit. Are you sure it’s okay for you, Mom? Maybe it’s too much.”
Yolanda wiped her eyes and sat up straighter, shaking her head.
“I’ll be okay, son. We came to ask you why you pleaded guilty when you’re innocent. We don’t understand. Tell us what’s going on.”
His face clouded over. “Ah, Ma, look, if that’s why you’re here—”
“I’m here because I love you,” she said, her voice cracking. “And I need to understand what’s happening.”
The tears in Danny’s eyes spilled over. As he wiped them with a shaking hand, Madison had a sudden vision of him crying in her arms as a small child. Just like then, she wanted to make things better for him. But it wasn’t always within her power to do.
“I don’t want you guys mixed up in this,” he said.
“We are mixed up in it, whether you like it or not,” Mom said.
“Like Mom said, we want to understand,” Madison said. “Why plead guilty if you’re innocent? At least there should’ve been negotiations. They should offer you a plea to a lesser charge. Isn’t that how it usually works?”
Danny looked around nervously, making a shushing gesture with his hand. “I can’t talk about this. Not here.”
“Why not?” their mother said under her breath. “Did somebody hurt you? Threaten you?”
“Mom, leave it alone. It’s too late. What’s done is done.”
“That’s not true,” Madison said. “If something illegal happened, you can challenge your guilty plea.”
“Listen to your sister. She’s a law student, she knows.”
Madison nodded. “I could give better advice if I knew the specifics. Do you have a copy of the plea agreement?”
“The lawyer wouldn’t give me one.”
She narrowed her eyes skeptically. “He’s supposed to give you copies of everything.”
“Jesus, Maddy, they tell you something in school, and you just swallow it. You don’t have a clue what goes on in the real world.”
This was why she’d missed a whole day of classes—so Danny could tell her she didn’t know what she was talking about? She tried not to let get him to her, but Mom was crying again. All the gray in her hair was from him.
“This isn’t about me,” she said. “Look what you’re doing to Mom. You claim you’re innocent. You pled guilty because you were forced, so now she’s worried that somebody’s hurting you. Just tell the truth. We’ll still love you.”
“You want me to say I sold drugs? Because that’s what you think, right? That I’m lying?” He leaned toward her, eyes flashing, lowering his voice. “I am innocent. I haven’t touched drugs in two years, and that’s to use. I never, ever, ever sold them. Not once in my entire pathetic, fucking life. Adrian, though. That’s a different story.”
Adrian was Danny’s best friend from high school, and he was bad news.
“I should’ve known it was him,” Yolanda said, shaking her head and cursing in Spanish under her breath.
“Don’t get down on Adrian. He was trying to help me out. You know how I want to open my own garage, right?”
After a number of false starts, Danny had found something he was passionate about and good at. He completed the automotive program at a local community college and got what seemed like a great job at a local garage. But he didn’t get along with the boss and had started talking about opening his own shop. The problem was, he didn’t have the cash.
“I found the perfect location. It’s all set up—tools, jacks, lifts, everything. That type of opportunity won’t come around again. Between the lease of the property and buying the equipment outright, I needed twenty-five grand.”
“Why didn’t you come to your family for help, son?” Yolanda said.
“With you paying so much rent now, Mom? Madison up to her ears in debt for law school, and Aunt Nilda about to retire? I’m not gonna burden any of you. Adrian’s my oldest friend. I knew he was making bank, so I asked him. He said he’s overextended and can’t personally float me. But his boss, this guy Ricky Pe?a, was looking for legitimate investment opportunities.”