The Secrets on Chicory Lane: A Novel(31)

He took both of my hands in his and looked at me. “I would kill for you, Shelby,” he said, with those intense brown eyes drilling through me.

“Jesus, Eddie, I don’t want you to do that.” I tried to laugh it off. “Seriously, Eddie, does that mean you’d leave for me?”

“Of course it does. I’d do anything for you. It’s the same as when we were twelve and eleven. Everything I did then was for you.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“It was. Whatever I did back then, it was for you. You were everything to me. You still are. More.”

I don’t remember how the evening ended; I think we must have danced. Maybe that night I went home to sleep in my own bed for a change.

The thing was, it seemed to me that I had truly left Limite behind, and aside from my parents and Eddie, I had no real ties there anymore. Already, I felt as if I had progressed from a small-town hick girl to a more urban and sophisticated young woman. I had grown more cultured and, dare I say, snooty. Limite was yesterday’s news in my life, and I was a fish out of water there. Home was now Evanston, Illinois, though at the time I couldn’t have imagined that I would end up staying in Chicago for the rest of my life. All I knew was that I didn’t belong in Texas anymore.

For the rest of the spring semester, Eddie and I continued our long-distance relationship through phone calls, letters from me, and sketches from him. I know I received more drawings than what I still own. Perhaps I only kept the really good ones, though I don’t recall ever throwing them out. Even though I stayed in Illinois, I’ve moved four times since those years in grad school. Stuff gets weeded out with every move.

As soon as school was out in May, I skedaddled back to Limite to see my parents. And Eddie, of course. In fact, I planned to stay in Limite the entire summer, or maybe talk Eddie into coming up to Illinois with me. Whatever happened, I wanted to be with him for those three months, not doing anything else.

It didn’t turn out that way.





13


I check in to the Best Western and find myself in a comfortable no-frills room on the second floor. The only nonsmoking room available has two queen beds in it. Fine—I throw my suitcase on one and plan to use the other for myself. It’s nearly dinnertime, but before going out to explore the “metropolis” that is Livingston to find a place to eat, I phone Eddie’s lawyer. He had told me to call him when I arrived. Mr. Crane is in town all week long from Limite and staying at a different hotel.

“I’m here,” I say when he answers.

“Welcome to Texas. How was the flight?”

“Fine. No problems. Rented a car and drove to Livingston. I’m in the Best Western.”

“Good choice.”

I tell him I’ll soon be off to dinner, and he recommends a few joints, none of which sound very appealing. Tex-Mex is something I can’t get in Chicago, though, so there is that. He apologizes—he has an appointment with a client’s family and can’t have dinner with me, but I hadn’t expected to eat with him so I tell him it’s all right.

“So, everything is arranged. You’re on the visitor list, the warden’s approved, and you’re set to go,” he says.

“And what’s the plan?”

“I will meet you there in the registration area just inside the main entrance at ten o’clock. You remember the dress code I told you about?”

“Don’t wear white because that’s the color of the inmates’ clothing. Don’t wear anything that shows cleavage. No shorts, no short skirts—I wouldn’t dare these days—no hats, no sandals or shoes that show my toes, and no T-shirts with slogans protesting the death penalty.”

“Right.”

“I plan to wear a pantsuit. It’s blue.”

“Bring plenty of change, if you have it; otherwise they have bill-changing machines in the reception area. You can’t take bills in to see Eddie. Not that you’d be able to hand any to him through the glass.”

“So why have change?”

“For the vending machines inside. It’s good protocol to buy something for the inmate—a drink or package of snacks or whatever. Just remember that you can’t touch the product that comes out of the machine. An officer handles it and delivers it to the inmate, so you can both sit there and have a nosh while you talk. If you want.”

“Will Eddie expect it?”

“I always get him a Snickers. He likes that.”

“All right.”

“Bring your ID, and you should probably have your plane ticket with you to prove you traveled over 250 miles. It’s already in the notes for your visit, but just in case.”

Whew. The rules are overwhelming. What do they think? A sixty-one-year-old woman is going to stage a breakout?

Crane tells me to allow thirty minutes to drive to the prison from my hotel, go through the front gate, park, and enter the main building.

“Okay. I’ll see you there.”

He must detect the anxiety in my voice because he asks, “Are you all right, Shelby?”

With a sigh, I answer, “Sure. It’s going to be harder than I originally thought. I’m afraid it’ll be depressing.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but it will be. I imagine you’ll feel pretty wretched when you leave. Polunsky does that to people. It’s a very depressing place. It’s hell on earth. That’s just the way it is. It’s a prison. Prisons aren’t nice.”