Freedom of Love (Letter From Home #2)(11)

“I know something happened that night when you went back to your house. I know something must have caused you to strike at your stepfather. The report verified that he was legally drunk at the time of his death. In fact, the blow you struck alone would not have killed him. It was when he fell over and hit his head that caused his death.”

I stared at her, surprised she had read more details into the investigation than just the initial prison report. But it was not my story to tell. Licking my lips, I said nothing, offering a shrug instead, hoping she would drop the inquiry.

Pursing her lips, she said, “Quite frankly, if you’d had proper legal representation, I think you would have gotten off completely vindicated.”

Eyes wide, I was unable to hold back the wince as I remembered the lackadaisical attorney that had represented me. His boredom with me and with my case had irritated me at the time, but without any known recourse I simply accepted it. What does it matter now? There’s no going back to change anything. “Susan, I appreciate your concern, but I don’t see how this matters now.”

“Because every once in awhile someone crosses my path that truly does not belong here. I can’t do anything to change that, but I can try to assist them in making the best of this time and not let it ruin their lives.”

Barking out a rude snort, I tucked an errant curl behind my ear as I shot her an incredulous look. “For the rest of my life, I’ll have a prison record for involuntary manslaughter. Every time I try to get a job or do anything, that blight on my record will always be there. I’ll never be able to do anything out there without knowing it was affected by being in here. I don’t see how it can keep from ruining my life.”

Susan leaned back in her seat, eying me speculatively. “I believe that is the most I’ve heard you speak at one time about your stay here.”

Blushing, I stayed quiet not knowing how to respond. My chest heaved but I worked to steady my breathing, wanting to find a sense of calm.

“Then let me help you,” she begged.

I was tempted, sorely tempted. Taking a deep breath, I stood up. “I need to get back to the library now. Thank you.” Turning, I walked away feeling more alone than ever.



Dear SGT Brody Molina,

It’s always so nice to hear from you. You are so right about the difference between some of the more famous mystery writers and some of the new indie authors. It is so much fun to read some of the new ones…they have such a freedom of expression that many of the older mystery writers didn’t have.

If you love political mysteries like Tom Clancy, you should try some of the new ones. I’ll attach a list of ones that I think are particularly good. I confess that it has been really nice to have someone to talk books with, even if you are across the world.

You said your father assisted with your love of reading. For me it was my grandmother. Her eyesight was not very good, so as soon as I could read, she would have me read to her. I spent a lot of time with her until she died, so I got a lot of reading in.

I’d love to know more about what you do in the Army. You mentioned being a medic. Do you work in a hospital? I’m terribly ignorant about the military.

I thought it was funny that you thought I was an old lady. I guess Molly seems like an old name. Your description did match the librarian here, though. She’s nice enough but has her hair pulled back very severely and wears the half-glasses that she lets ride down her nose so she can stare at me over the top. It’s kind of creepy!

We get in a lot of books that have been donated – several boxes a week. My job is to go through them and decide their fate. Books seem so real to me that it is hard to have them go in the recycle pile, but a few are really close to destruction. I rescue as many as possible and, now that I have this project, I can save even more.

I confess that when I go through them, I now always think of you. I wonder if you would you like it? Would you want me to include it in the package? You know, that kind of thing. I’ve reached my email max limit so I must close. Be on the lookout for a letter in the next shipment.

Your friend,

Molly



The new cellmate entered our cell slowly, her wide eyes taking in the room. We had had a few different women come in, taking Jocelyn’s place, but they had been temporary. Now, with Ellen and Jackie on duty in the cafeteria, I was the only one to greet the new inmate. She appeared younger than me, but it was hard to tell. I was only twenty-four, but sometimes I felt ancient. And when I looked into the mirror, I saw ancient. Whatever youthful innocence I used to have, it was completely gone now.

The guard who brought her into the cell said, “This is Cynthia. Show her the ropes and make sure she finds her way to the cafeteria at dinner.”

Nodding my compliance, I walked over with my hand out. “I’m Molly.” She stared at my hand as though it were venomous and I felt immediate empathy—only a few months ago, I had reacted the same.

“I won’t bite, but you’ll learn that when someone extends friendship here, it’s best to take it.”

She shook my hand then looked around the room again, her gaze raking over the room, the fear pouring off her in waves.

“There’s not much to show here. That’ll be your bed over there,” and I pointed to the corner. “Here, I’ll help you make your bed.” Taking the sheets still clutched in her hands, I escorted her over and together we got her bed put in order.