Rapid Falls(50)

“Only three years,” she said, smiling as if searching for confirmation.

“Yeah,” I said too quickly, eager to find less emotional ground. I didn’t have the words to reassure her, and I was not there to make her feel better about what she’d done. I was there to say goodbye. I was leaving for college soon. I was going to get away from Rapid Falls and Anna, forever. My dad sniffed like he was trying not to be heard. I wished I had come alone. Or not come at all.

“What’s the food like?” I asked.

Anna blinked hard, then rolled her eyes, making a fake gagging sound. I was glad she was willing to change the subject. “So gross. Like powdered eggs and meat that I can’t even identify. It’s awful.”

I laughed, but Anna didn’t. Her eyes had a faraway look again.

“Three years,” she said. My dad reached his hand across the table to clutch Anna’s, and I looked around quickly again, hoping the other prisoner didn’t notice. She was reaching over to brush a strand of hair from her daughter’s face.

“You can do it, Anna,” my dad said. “You made the right choice to plead guilty.” Anna looked at him. There had been no right choice for her to make. Just one that was less wrong. Anna was alone. More alone than my dad or I could ever understand.

“Mom will come next week I’m sure,” I said. Anna nodded. She was looking down now, at the table. We were silent again. I struggled to find something to say. Technically our visit was supposed to last forty-five minutes more, but I wondered if we could get away with leaving early.

“So you’re all packed up?” Anna forced a smile.

“God, no. Every time I finish a box, Mom comes in and starts giving me more. Dish racks and towels and soap. Like I can’t buy any of that stuff there. It’s only three hours away, but Mom is acting like I’m moving to Guatemala or something.”

“Sounds like Mom,” she said distractedly.

“Yeah,” I said. “It will be good to finally get on the road.”

My awkward statement hung in the air. I looked at the clock again, and this time Anna saw. Her eyes turned frantic, probably at the thought of me cutting the visit short, and she rushed in with another question.

“When do you leave?” Anna said.

“Day after tomorrow,” I said. “But I’ll be back at Thanksgiving. I’ll see you soon.” As if November was around the corner, instead of months off. I tried to ignore the tremor in Anna’s lip at my answer. I had always imagined leaving Rapid Falls with a celebration thrown by Cindy and my parents. Instead I felt like I was slinking away like an unwanted guest.

“Totally,” she said, pasting on a fake smile. “I’ll be super fit by then. There’s a workout room here.”

“Exercise?” my dad asked, seeming lost. I looked over at him quickly, grateful he had decided to enter back into the conversation, even half-heartedly. It was a heavy load to carry alone.

“There’s a track and a fitness room. Most people are working on their GED, and they have a bunch of different activities. There’s lots to do.”

“That’s good,” he said vaguely, like he had already forgotten what we were talking about.

“Yeah, it’s cool,” Anna said, her voice shaking like she was trying to convince herself. I gave her an encouraging grin to make up for my dad breaking eye contact. Anna smiled at me. This time, it seemed like she meant it. “Man, I always thought I’d get your room when you left.”

“You still can,” I said. I would be long gone when Anna got released—nearly finished with my degree and on my way toward a life in politics. “It’s all yours.”

When Anna spoke, I could tell she was like me. She was never going back to Rapid Falls again. “Right. Thanks.”

I didn’t know what she was thanking me for, and I didn’t care. I came to say goodbye. I didn’t owe her anything else. I was finally free.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

September 2016

Anna’s apartment smells awful. When we were growing up, I used to marvel at how disciplined she was about making sure everything was in its place. We always played in her room because mine had too few clear spaces. Now she lives in filth and chaos.

“Jerry?” I call. When I come by, her cat still scuttles away from me like he’s feral. It infuriates me that he still treats me like I’m trying to hurt him when I’m the only reason he’s survived Anna’s stint in rehab. I keep my shoes on and walk to the bathroom where Anna keeps the litterbox. As soon as I walk in, something coppery stings my nose. My shoe sticks to the floor. There are pools of blood on the tile, brown and congealed. My stomach flops at the thought of the animal dying on my watch.

“Jerry? Here, kitty,” I call again, walking into the cluttered kitchen. The garbage under the sink is festering. I find a spray bottle of window cleaner with about an inch of liquid left in the bottom. Good enough. A sharp rattle shakes the walls of the small apartment. It makes me jump and scream. Someone is behind me.

I turn into the dark living room and see a white blur clatter across the room. The cat. I laugh at my stupid fear until another shrieking howl fills the space. Jerry is another of Anna’s flea-bitten rescue projects, and he sounds like he’s come completely unglued. The sound is so awful that I feel close to panic. I find a bag of cat treats on the coffee table and shake it. The cat finally comes crawling over, and I can see he’s dragging something on his foot. I spread the treats out on the floor, and as the cat bends down to eat, I see the problem. His paw has been crushed by a mousetrap that is still clamped onto his dark, blood-matted fur. Jerry growls at me, gobbling the treats while shrinking away from my every move. I have to do something. I grab the cat’s scruff as he fights and howls. I narrowly avoid his claws as I pull the release of the trap, and Jerry sprints away. I can hear him panting under the couch as I fill his dishes with food and water.