Ricochet

The door vibrates shut behind me. Baring my escape. Trapping me.

Closing my eyes, I let out a shaky breath.

You can leave at any time.

I focus on the brightly lit room. Bare walls, the metal tables and chairs screwed to the ground, a guard watching my every move.

Exposed with nowhere to hide.

After thirteen weekly visits, I should be used to this by now.

But I’m not.

And that won’t change in the foreseeable future.

Too many bad memories fester in my head and will never let me breathe easily in this room.

“You are at table five. Remember, absolutely no contact, or this visit will be over.”

Nodding, I meet the pale blue eyes of the guard. He is a brute with a slightly sweaty body odor. For too long of a moment, his gaze lingers on my cleavage; he smirks and turns away.

I sit down at the assigned table. Now the waiting game begins and eats into my time with Dante. I get thirty minutes, even if it takes them half of that time to bring him down here.

Scanning over the other tables, I focus on the only other couple in the room. She is holding a small baby and is silently sobbing while he mumbles soothing words.

Reassurances that he is fine.

Pleads to deposit more money into his commissary account, so he can buy some decent food.

Promises that he’ll be home soon and she should hang in there.

It’s the same thing Dante tells me.

Lies.

The reality is that he’s facing violence and rape every day, that he buys drugs and cigarettes with any spare money just to make it through the day, and that the parole board won’t grant him an early release.

I went through this for years with my dad.

It’s no different for any other inmate. This is a high-security prison and everyone incarcerated here is doing some serious time.

The door across from me opens and Dante shuffles in. He lost even more weight. The guard who is with him prompts him in my direction and makes him sit down. His cuffs are secured to a hook in the table; the first year, they won’t allow him to go without them. Twelve months of no contact before I get to hug him at the start and at the end of each visit.

Been there. Done that. Survived.

The Florida Department of Corrections won’t beat me down.

Dante grins. “How are you?”

“Fine.” The lie is about to choke me. I search my husband’s face. Haunted eyes, sunken cheeks, cracked lips. The buzz cut left nothing but stubble on his head; his cute locks I loved to tousle have fallen victim to his criminal endeavors together with our carefree life. “How are things with you?”

“Got into a few minor shuffles, but overall, I’m behaving. I’m giving them nothing that could land me in solitary.”

I shudder; solitary would be the end of him. He couldn’t handle the small space and extreme isolation. “I’m really worried.”

“Don’t!”

I shrink back at the sharpness of his command. The guard looks over and shoots my husband a warning glare.

Dante balls his hands into fists until his knuckles turn white. “The lawyer said he’s going to file the appeal on Monday. Hopefully, it won’t take too long to get this ridiculous sentence reduced and then I’ll be out in no time. You’ll see.”

“Are you sure it’s gonna work?”

“Positive.” His fingertips brush against my hand and he smiles. “I’m not gonna wait fifteen years to life to see your pretty legs without pants again.”

When the guard clears his throat, I pull my hand away. “If this appeal fails . . .” Tears fill my eyes.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be rotting away in here like your dad.”

“I couldn’t handle it, Dante.”

“I know.” He leans closer and drops his voice to a whisper. “But I need you to do something. I got a message that Elio is looking for some stuff I kept at the house for him. I need you to take it to him.”

I grimace; there’s no easy way to break the latest news to him. “That’s gonna be a problem. I sold the house.”

He straightens. “You did what?”

“With my job, I didn’t have the money to pay the mortgage, so I had no other option.” I was weeks away from foreclosure. “We closed the deal last week.”

“And how did you sell the house without my signature?”

“Remember, you gave me power of attorney.”

“Fuck, KC, that wasn’t meant for that. And you should’ve talked to me before taking such a drastic step.”

A few tears fall. “I’m sorry. This is all too much—”

“Hey, babe, it’s okay. Don’t cry.”

I wipe my face dry with my sleeve.

“But I still need you to get Elio’s stuff from the house.”

My forehead wrinkles. “How? The buyers moved in already.”

“The stuff is in the garage, so you don’t even need to go back into the house. Just wait until they run an errand and then go in through the side door. The envelope you are looking for is in the wall panel behind the metal cabinet. It shouldn’t be too hard to find, and once you get it, take it to Elio at the restaurant.” My husband’s tone is insistent and doesn’t allow for disobedience.

I nod. “If it’s that important to you, I’ll do it.”

“It’s crucial that you do it today.”

The guard who escorted Dante materializes at the table. “Alright, Carano, time’s up.”

I shake my head. “That wasn’t thirty minutes.”

“I saw him touch you, so you are lucky you got the extra time.”

“He accidentally brushed against my hand.”

The guard snorts. “Lady, please. If I had a dollar for every time I heard that excuse, I’d be a billionaire.” He pulls Dante’s arm. “Let’s go, Carano, or you’ll land yourself in the hole.”

Dante gets to his feet. “Will you be by next week?”

“Of course.”

Helplessly, I watch the guard unhook Dante’s handcuffs and push him toward the door. If this appeal doesn’t work, I’m gonna go insane.

~~~~