He leans forward, matching my pose but doesn’t say anything. Damn it. I don’t know what he’s thinking right now.
I have no idea where to start, so when I open my mouth words just flow out. “You asked me not to visit you in prison. I couldn’t do that. I had to look for a way to see you. I went back to Mr. Taylor—the warden at the prison—and asked if there was a way he could help me. He informed that it was against the rules and he didn’t promise me anything. But I held hope and prayed that he would find a way. Somehow. During those months, Mr. Taylor and Grandma became very close. He was like a son to her. I think he filled the void in her that my dad couldn’t. During that time, Mr. Taylor’s mom passed away and he stopped visiting Grandma for a while. The only thing that kept me going was your letters, taking care of my sisters and my mom, and school. The college work load was getting too much and the therapy sessions were more intense. I wanted to be better before your release from prison.
“I didn’t hear from Mr. Taylor until a couple months before your release. I was helping Grandma finish up an urgent delivery one Saturday afternoon when he walked into the shop. After chatting for a while he asked me to be in his office on Monday at ten o’clock in the morning. That was two months before your release, but I didn’t care. The opportunity to see you was there, right in front of me. Two months to see you again was a long time.”
I pull up my legs on the couch, wrap my arm around my knees and rest my chin on top of them, angling my face so Cole can see my mouth. And then I start to tell him how our lives drastically changed nine years ago.
BY MONDAY MORNING, THOUGH, I’M a complete nervous wreck. I’m excited and anxious to see Cole. He will probably be angry when he sees me. How could he ask me the impossible, to stay away from him? I can understand he didn’t want me to see him behind bars, all beaten up by the thugs sent by my father. I couldn’t let him push me away and I was determined to do what I could to see him. My heart was his heart and nothing was going to change that.
I make sure my clothing complies with the dress code--not too fitting or provocative. I’m wearing a simple knee-length, black dress with sleeves that stop slightly above my elbows. I finish the look with my blue Keds with little light blue and yellow hearts on them. Satisfied, I leave the house. After texting Megs to let her know that I’m on the way to visit Cole, I get inside the Old Station Wagon and drive away.
I arrive at the correctional facility with just about thirty minutes to spare. After reporting to the reception area and letting them know I have an appointment with the Warden, one of the guards asks me to follow him down a hallway and to the north side where the offices are located. He deposits me in front of a receptionist with white hair, blue eyes, and a grandmotherly smile. But I know that behind that smile, there’s a tough woman. You can’t work in a place like this without being some sort of ninja or something.
I sit on the offered chair. Nervousness sets in and my fingers fiddle with the edge of my skirt as I wait. How does Cole look now? I haven’t seen him in one year and six months. He never says much in his letters, most likely to avoid worrying me. I still can’t forget the night I wept for him after Megs told me about his injuries.
My heart skips several beats. Is my father still paying the inmates to hurt him? What if they hurt him badly? Maggie would have told me if that were the case. Or maybe not. I’m certain Cole would have asked her not to tell me anything.
I straighten in my chair when the warden steps out of his office, scowling.
He flicks his wrist to look at his watch, and then faces his secretary. “Ask the guards on Block C to bring inmate C two hundred and eighty to my office,” he barks the order to his secretary, and as soon as he sees me his face softens. After exchanging pleasantries, he asks me to follow him into his office. He sits on the leather chair behind his desk, props his elbows on the wood surface and steeples his fingers.
“You understand this is against procedure,” he repeats the same warning he told me months ago, I nod.
About twenty minutes later, someone knocks on the door. A guy with dark hair, even darker eyes and rugged features pushes the door in and steps in. I’m hypnotized, staring at the door, waiting to see Cole. The second he comes in, I exhale long and my pulse picks up. At first, he doesn’t notice me and then his eyes wander lazily around the room until they land on me. He gapes, his eyes widening. His shocked gaze darts between Mr. Taylor and me.
“Nor? What are you doing here?” he signs, taking a step forward, his eyebrows scrunched up in a worried frown.
“Twenty minutes, Holloway,” Mr. Taylor says, shooting a stern look at Cole, then to me. “Don’t make me regret this.”