“Lorrie, shh . . . sh . . . it’s okay. It’s okay. Just don’t rush into it. It’s tomorrow right? Just sleep on it and you can decide in the morning.”
I’d gotten myself so worked up I was shaking. “Okay,” I said, trying to stay calm, but my mind was already racing ahead. The end to all of our troubles was close. I could feel it.
Chapter Twenty-six
TOSS AND TURN
The rest of the day drifted by at a snail’s pace. I didn’t tell anyone other than Hunter about the letter. I hadn’t even decided what to do yet and I just knew that if Aunt Caroline found out, she would freak out.
Even though I managed to pretend to be normal the entire day, my mind kept weaving its way back to the letter. Was he really going to tell me if I went? What would he do if I left him waiting?
Hunter kept trying to catch my eye at dinner, but I avoided him and focused on my food the whole time. My aunt and uncle were continuing to try and give me space, so my silence didn’t get commented on. The general feeling in the house was a mixture of awkwardness and tension. Even the kittens seemed to be staying out of sight.
Dinner gave way to innocuous family time with the TV on and Billy and Joel horsing around, blissfully ignorant of any reason things should be any different than they were. Finally, everyone got ready for bed. I said goodnight thinking I would probably want to go to the prison the next day. Even if I was going to leave the final decision for when I woke up, that was how I was leaning.
I changed into pajamas, turned off the lights, and got under my covers.
And tossed.
And turned.
And failed to even begin to drift off. I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling, feeling my heart race. Adrenaline surged through my veins like I was running for my life, but all I was doing was trying to lie still.
Visions of Hunter’s expression as he tried to catch my eye at dinner ran through my mind. He looked worried. We’d been on pins and needles since we’d gotten back from the hospital, and it wasn’t getting better.
It wasn’t our fault. We were both trying hard, Hunter especially. Life was just awkward at the moment because we both had things outside of our relationship that were really weighing on us. Hunter’s problems were way more immediate than mine and they weren’t going anywhere. If I could just shed my obsession with Marco, I could focus more completely on Hunter.
I turned over onto my side and buried my face in my pillow. Tears emerged from my eyes and wet the pillowcase before they even had a chance to roll down my cheeks. Frustration welled up in my chest. I breathed in and out heavily, trying to calm down. What choice did I have? I had to take a chance on getting rid of this voice in my head asking why. Why?
Why?
When I rolled onto my back, I felt wide awake. Dawn was cracking through my window. Maybe I’d managed to sleep for a while, or maybe it was adrenaline, but I was full of energy.
I sat up in bed. Whatever sleep I’d gotten was all I was going to get. I shrugged my covers off, stood up, and flicked the lights on.
Before I knew it, I was getting ready to go. It was time to face this.
I thought about whether to tell Hunter I was leaving. He would probably want to come with me for support, but I wasn’t sure I really wanted him with me.
Hunter would be as sweet and as supportive as anyone could ask, but for this I really just wanted some space. This was between me and Marco.
I settled on writing a note and leaving it on the kitchen counter. Unless there was some crazy delay, I would be back by lunch. It would be just like I’d slept in. Our problems would be over by that afternoon.
Once the note was written, I headed out.
Chapter Twenty-seven
WHAT’S MINE TO KNOW
The sky was overcast as I drove to the prison. There were a lot of people on the road, especially for a Friday. Sitting in the stop and go traffic gave me time to think. That was the last thing I needed.
I hadn’t seen Marco since the trial, at least not in real life. My dreams had been haunted. Now that nightmare was going to be made into a reality, and I didn’t know if I was ready. At this point, though I didn’t have a choice. I needed to understand why my mom had died. If this could get me that, then I would put up with anything.
Traffic finally cleared as I got past an interchange and began the final trek toward the exit for the prison. I caught myself grinding my teeth and opened my mouth wide, trying to get some of the tension out. It was no use. As soon as I closed my mouth, there I was, grinding again. Eventually I stuck my tongue in between my front teeth to try and stop my jaw clenching. That helped.
I thought again about Hunter. He might be a little mad when he realized what had happened, but at the end of the day this was between me and Marco. A glance at the clock told me it was just a few minutes before seven-thirty. I would probably get back before ten-thirty. At worst he was going to miss me for an hour or two. That wasn’t the end of the world, Hunter would get over it.
This was just something that I needed to do. When Hunter had come to rescue me after the mess we had left in Studsen, I thought that all we needed to build a future together was to face our problems. We had made a lot of a progress, but clearly there was still something I hadn’t gotten over. Going to see Marco would fix that. I’d be able to move on, and then I could go back to helping Hunter face his MS. He needed me and I needed to get over this one last thing. He was counting on me, I couldn’t let him down.
Finally, the exit came and I got off. The road to the prison was littered with signs to beware of hitchhikers. Before I’d even thought about it, I locked my doors. The land was flat and treeless with nothing but fields in every direction.
After checking in at the gate and weaving my way to the correct lot, I parked my car. This was it.
Trying to steady myself, I emptied my purse of everything except my two forms of ID—my license and my Arrowhart ID—and the note with Marco’s ID number on it. I double-checked everything, then put my purse under the passenger front seat and stared out the windshield.
Visiting hours started at seven-thirty, meaning I could go in whenever I was ready. I watched a small family filter in and steadied myself to do the same.
I thought for the millionth time about what he was going to say. Why had he done it? What did my mom ever do to him? The questions had eaten away at my dad until he’d been driven crazy. I didn’t want the same thing to happen to me.
I opened the car door and tried to get out before realizing I had left my seatbelt on. My chest feeling slightly bruised from the sudden jerk of the belt across my chest, I sat back, undid my seatbelt, and got out of my car.
The parking lot was poorly maintained. Weeds sprouted from cracks in the asphalt. I caught motion from the corner of my eye and nearly jumped. When I noticed what it was, I shook my head. It was just a cat. Its black fur shimmered in the early morning light. For a split second I had the bizarre thought that it was the same one I saw around Lake Teewee before I fell in.
Taking a deep breath, I shook the idle thoughts out of my head and walked across the parking lot to the visitor’s entrance. I was actually doing this. My heart thumped against my light jacket as I worked to steady my nerves and opened the door.
Even though I had arrived only ten minutes after the beginning of visiting hours, there was already a line of a dozen people waiting to check in. I got in the back and waited, my shoulders tense.
The drab beige walls and brown linoleum floor weren’t unexpected, but the decor was depressing all the same. All but one of the people in line were women. Several of them had brought small children.
Everyone there was very excited about their visit. The emotion in their voices as they shared the pain of having a loved one incarcerated made me feel awkward. Then one of them spoke to me.
“Is this your first time?” the woman asked. She had dark hair and wore a lot of makeup, but her eyes were kind. By my guess she was in her thirties.
I nodded
, unable to say anything more.
“It’s not so bad. They’ll check you in and pat you down, then bring you into a separate room. You can even give your man a little kiss and a hug if you want. It ain’t like the movies with glass separating you or nothin’.”
My stomach felt queasy. I knew she was trying to help, but what she said only made me more uncomfortable. There was no glass? I was going to have to sit in the same room with Marco and not even have a pane of glass to separate us?
She cocked her head and looked concerned for a moment. “He’s not in segregation or anything is he?”
My throat felt dry and shut tight. I shook my head and dug through my reserve of willpower to try and be polite. I attempted a response but the words just wouldn’t come out. My knees shook, and I steadied myself against the wall. Something oily and slimy crawled in the pit of my stomach and I wanted to throw up. I thanked myself for not eating anything that morning.
She put her hand on my shoulder. “Oh gosh, you’re shaking. I’m sorry if I made things worse. Good luck with your visit.”
With a pat on my shoulder, she turned and went back to waiting in line.
Chills ran up my sternum and down my spine. I’d already been on a knife’s edge, but this was nearly enough to tip me over.
The line moved faster than I expected and suddenly I was up next. I dug through my pockets as the woman at the visitors desk waved me over.
She was heavy-set with short dark brown hair and wore brown wireframe glasses. To her credit, when she spoke it was obvious she was making an attempt to be cheerful.
“First time?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Okay, I’m going to need you to fill out this form and give it back to me with two forms of ID. You can just cut in line when you’re done. Pens are over there.”
I thanked her and took the form over to a nearby table. When I got there, I wiped the sweat away from my forehead and tried to focus on filling out the paperwork. The form mostly consisted of questions about my identity, the identity of the person I was going to visit, and whether I’d ever committed a crime or been to jail. Since I was clean on that front, it took very little time to complete.
After double-checking Marco’s prisoner number at the top against the note I’d brought with me, I went back to the visitor’s desk and handed my ID over with the form.
The attendant took it with a smile and entered the information from the form into the computer. I watched her work, keeping one eye nervously on the women who had gone to the next stage where they were patted down by a female prison officer before they were allowed into the visiting area.
Every second was bringing me closer to seeing the man who had destroyed my life. I knew he had the answers I needed. I just had to get through this and I would start to understand things again. I’d be able to start over anew with Hunter. We would be happy again.
“Ms. Burnham?”
The woman at the visitor’s desk was speaking to me. Shaking my head, I gave her my full attention.
She pursed her lips. The previous friendly demeanor looked somehow strained. “You’re here to see Mr. Peralta, correct?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes.”
She pursed her lips and turned away. “Okay. One moment please.”
I shifted awkwardly as she got on the phone and began speaking into the receiver. What was all this about? Was Marco in segregation or something after all?
After a couple minutes, she nodded and hung up. She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled for another guard’s attention. His head turned and he came over quickly. He was a heavily muscled, dark-haired man with beady eyes and a buzz cut.
“Daryl,” she said, “can you take this young lady to CR One please?”
Daryl nodded, apparently not needing any more clarification about his orders. “Follow me,” he said.
As I followed him, my scalp began to prickle down to the nape of my neck. Why were they taking me somewhere different than everyone else has gone?
Was Daryl going to pat me down? A female had patted all the other women down, which I would definitely prefer. I didn’t want to be felt up by some strange guy.
We got to the room. Daryl turned the knob and opened the door, stepping back to hold it for me. I held my breath and stepped in. Once I was in the room, he flipped the lights on for me, closed the door, and walked away. I could hear my pulse throbbing dimly in my ears.
What is going on?
I stood there, not knowing what to do as I listened to his retreating footsteps. The room had concrete walls that had been painted a creamy off-white and contained a single table with two chairs on one side and one chair on the other. The table was woodgrain laminate, the chairs black plastic. I took a seat on the side with two chairs, figuring the other side had to be the one for the inmates.
It wasn’t until I was seated that I realized how small the room was. The table was maybe eight feet in length and four feet wide. It took up the majority of the room. There wasn’t much more space than was needed to scoot back your chair and get around the table. Marco and I would be in close quarters. I thought about where the prison guard would stand while Marco and I were talking. The palms of my hands felt moist with sweat. I wiped them against my jeans.
Without any windows, I began to feel a little claustrophobic. There wasn’t even anything on the walls. This room was just a concrete box. My heart pounded against my ribcage.
I looked down at the table legs. They were bolted into the ground. I nodded to myself and looked at the door, but I didn’t hear anyone coming. I supposed it took a while to go and get the inmate.
There was nothing to do but wait.
And wait. As I scanned the walls I noticed a clock above the door that nearly touched the ceiling. Once I’d become aware of the ticking noise, I couldn’t get it out of my head.
I took a deep breath and tried to settle myself down. The clock ticked. My breaths became more shallow. I caught myself clenching my jaw. My tongue went between my teeth. I bit down. My hands were shaking and I couldn’t steady them. I tried to tell myself that it would be okay. This would all be over soon, I’d get my answers and be on my way.
Footsteps came down the hall. I closed my eyes and tried to slow down my breathing, but my throat felt like it was closing off. The world began to spin like a top.
The door opened. I jumped even though I’d been expecting it. A man in a cheap-looking charcoal suit came in and closed the door.
He had wavy, black hair that was going gray at the temples and brown eyes. I couldn’t read his expression and a jolt of panic surged through me.
“Lorrie Burnham?” he asked. His voice was raspy, like he smoked cigarettes by the pack every day.
I nodded, and he sat down.
“Lorrie, I’m Michael Rizzo with the Prison Bureau. I understand you are the stepdaughter of Marco Peralta. Is that correct?”
A shiver ran up my spine when I heard Marco’s full name coming from someone else. “Yes,” I answered shakily.
He nodded and clasped his hands together in what seemed to me to be a nervous gesture. My chest tightened until I was afraid I would need to lie down.
“Your stepfather was found hanging in his cell earlier this morning.”
The room spun around me and my stomach felt like it was in freefall. “Marco?”
“Marco Peralta, yes. I’m sorry for your loss.”
His words came from far away.
“But how?” I asked, trembling.
His hand came up to his mouth for a moment as if covering his expression. “For what it’s worth, when they found him, he had a smile on his face.”
I stood up, my legs unsteady. The news finally hit me, a dull throbbing pain starting in my gut. Panic seared through my chest and tears stung my vision. There would be no answers. I wouldn’t be able to confront Marco and find out the reason everything had happened. There was nothing.
My heart hammered in my chest and I couldn’t breathe. Sweat bea
ded on my back and I felt droplets slide down my spine, sending shivers through me.
Michael shot up to his feet and made his way to the door. “You can stay here,” he said quickly. “I understand this has come as quite a shock.”
“No,” I said, barely able to muster a whisper. “Please let me go.”
The room was too small and I couldn’t stand another moment trapped in here.
“You’re sure?”
I came to the door and stared at it, barely aware of his presence in the room. At some point, the door opened and I was led back out to the visitors area. I shuffled along in a daze, hoping that I could make it out of the prison before I broke down.
He was gone. When he had taken his life in that cell, he had locked the explanation for why he killed my mother away forever.
I was buried under the rock he’d left, and I would never be free.
Chapter Twenty-eight
STORM
I walked out into the parking lot, a hollow pain throbbing in my chest.
Rain had begun to fall from the sky while I was inside and the day had somehow gotten even darker. Water quickly soaked through my clothes as I trudged to my car, but I barely felt it.
I was lost. Marco was gone. I was never going to know what had happened to my mom. He had trapped me in a world that made no sense. Just like he did to my dad. Hunter had been right. Marco had wanted to torture me one last time. In fact, he’d been willing to take his own life to do it. My heart felt like it was being sliced open bit by agonizing bit.
Tears welled warm at my eyes and mixed in with the rain pelting my face from the sky. The parking lot seemed to go on forever. My shoes sloshed through puddle after puddle. I was wading through quicksand, unable to make any progress. My hair stuck to my head like a threadbare blanket soaked through.
Why did I even come? I was stupid. So stupid. How could I really think something good was going to come from this?