Night Road(74)

All around her, women were stomping their feet and calling out to her. In the steel and concrete prison, the noise was thunderous. Lexi didn’t look up, just kept her belongings pressed to her chest and her eyes downcast.

The guard stopped suddenly.

The cell door in front of them buzzed loudly, clicked, and opened.

The guard stepped aside. “Inside, Baill. This is your permanent cell.”

Lexi stepped around the guard’s bulky body and peered into the cell that would probably be her home for the next sixty-three months.

The cement walls were plastered with photographs and drawings and magazine ads. A heavyset woman sat on the lower bunk, her broad shoulders slumped forward, her thick, heavily tattooed arms resting on her bent knees. She had long, ropey strands of gray-black hair and dark skin. Moles dotted her cheeks, and tattoos curled around her throat.

The door clanged shut behind her. “I’m Lexi,” she said, having to clear her throat before she had enough confidence to add, “Baill.”

“Tamica,” the woman said, and Lexi was surprised by the pretty sound of her voice. “Hernandez.”

“Oh.”

“My kid’s about your age,” Tamica said, heaving her considerable bulk off the narrow bed. It was concrete and steel; no springs pinged at the movement. She moved forward, pointed to a tattered, worn photograph taped to the concrete-block wall. “Rosie. I was pregnant with her when I got in here. Didn’t know it, though.” Tamica crouched down by the toilet and rolled a cigarette. As she smoked, she exhaled into the vent on the wall. “You got any pictures?”

Lexi put down her box of belongings and sat next to Tamica on the cold floor. She picked up a few photographs from the pile. “This is my Aunt Eva. And this is Zach.” She stared down at his senior picture. She touched it all the time. Already it felt as if she were starting to forget him, and that terrified her. “And this is Mia. The girl I … killed.”

Tamica took the picture of Mia, studied it. “Pretty girl. Rich?”

Lexi frowned. “How’d you know that?”

“You’re here, ain’t you?”

Lexi wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. The question seemed to imply facts that weren’t quite true, or that she hadn’t really seen before.

“I killed my husband,” Tamica said, indicating a picture on the wall.

“Self-defense,” Lexi said. It was something you heard about a lot in here. She seemed to be the only guilty person in prison.

“Nah. Killed the f*cker in his sleep.”

“Oh.”

“I been here so long now I can hardly remember the bad shit I done.” Tamica put out the cigarette and hid the unsmoked half inside of her mattress. “Well, I guess we might as well talk. Get to know each other.” She looked at Lexi, and in those dark eyes, there was a sadness that made Lexi uncomfortable. “We got time, you and me. And I could use a friend.”

“When will you get out?”

“Me?” Tamica smiled slightly. “Never.”

*

On a Wednesday in late August, Zach emerged from his bedroom looking disheveled and a little disoriented. His short hair was dirty and spiky; his T-shirt had a big stain across the front.

Jude and Miles were in the great room, staring at the TV, though neither was watching. They hadn’t spoken in more than an hour. When Zach walked into the room, Jude’s heart ached at the sight of him. If she weren’t so exhausted, she would have gone to him, maybe asked how he was, but she hadn’t slept in weeks, and even the merest movements were beyond her. She’d lost fifteen pounds this summer, and the loss left her looking skeletal and wan.

“I’m going to USC,” he said without preamble.

Miles rose slowly. “We’ve talked about this, Zach. I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s too soon.”

“It’s what she would want,” Zach said, and with that, the air seemed to get sucked out of the room, leaving them all breathless.

Miles sank back to the sofa. “Are you sure?”

“Sure?” Zach said, his voice dull. “It’s what I’m doing, okay?”

Jude stared at her son, seeing the salmony patch of new skin along his jaw. Blue veins in his cheeks looked like cracked lines in aged porcelain. He was this big, broad-shouldered kid who’d been whittled down by grief. How could she tell him to stay here, in this airless, dead place? “Okay,” she said at last.

*

For the next few days, Jude made a herculean effort to act like her old self. She wasn’t that woman, of course, but she wanted—this one time—to think about her son instead of her daughter. In the old days—only months ago now, a lifetime—she would have thrown a huge “good luck in college / going away” party for her kids. Now, it took everything inside of her to invite a few friends over to say good-bye to Zach. Honestly, she didn’t want to do even that, but Miles insisted.

On the big day, she took a shower and washed and dried her hair. When she looked in the mirror, she was surprised by the thin, fragile-looking face that stared back at her. Too many sleepless nights had left dark circles under her eyes, and even in this final week of August, after a long, hot summer, she was as pale as chalk.

She brought out her makeup kit and went to work, and by three o’clock, when the doorbell rang, she looked almost like her old self.