Chapter 4
Lena came to the next visit with Nia asleep against her shoulder and a plain white envelope tucked inside her purse.
I noticed the envelope before she sat down. She noticed me noticing it and pulled the purse closer to her hip. For a moment, neither of us reached for the phones mounted beside the glass.
The fluorescent lights flattened every color in the room. Even my orange jumpsuit looked faded in our reflections.
Lena settled Nia on her lap, then picked up the receiver.
“I got your letter,” she said.
I lifted mine. “I wasn't trying to push you.”
“I know.”
Her eyes dropped to the envelope. Nia stirred, one small fist bunching the front of Lena's blouse, but she didn't wake.
“I should've told you sooner,” Lena said. “I kept thinking if I left it alone, they'd leave us alone.”
“Who?”
She opened her purse without answering. Her fingers shook once, then went still as she removed the envelope.
“You asked whether I had anything that matched the date in your file.” She slid out a folded sheet of paper. “This came to me about two months after your sentencing.”
She unfolded it and held it against the glass.
It was a photocopy of a receipt. The print was faint, but I could make out a date, an invoice number, and a line for evidence storage fees. At the top was the name of Everett Shaw's county contracting office.
The date was three days earlier than the transfer date listed in the paperwork on my bunk.
I leaned closer without raising my hand. “Where did you get this?”
“A woman who used to work in that office brought it to me.”
“What woman?”
“She wouldn't give me her name. She met me outside the grocery store after dark and kept looking toward the parking lot. She said she'd already quit and couldn't afford to be identified.” Lena lowered the receipt. “She told me to make copies and not call her.”
“Did you?”
“I made two. This is one.”
Relief came first, sharp enough to feel like fear. Then I saw how tightly Lena held the page.
“What happened after that?”
She looked past me toward the officer stationed by the wall.
“I called Shaw's office,” she said quietly. “I didn't tell them about the receipt. I only asked why his company was billing the county for storing evidence in your case.”
My stomach tightened. “And?”
“The next day, the property manager at our apartment said there were questions about whether my lease paperwork was accurate. There weren't. Two days after that, my supervisor called me in and said someone had asked whether she would still give me a good reference if I left.”
Nia shifted between us. Lena rested a hand over the baby's back.
“They never said Shaw sent them,” she continued. “They didn't have to. One of his staff called me later and said I needed to think carefully before making accusations that could follow me around.”
“You should've told me.”
The words came out harder than I intended. Lena's mouth tightened, and I forced myself to breathe before I spoke again.
“No. I'm sorry.” I lowered my voice. “Are you safe where you're living?”
“For now.”
“And your job?”
“For now.”
I looked at Nia's sleeping face, then at the receipt. Every question I wanted to ask crowded behind my teeth, but none mattered more than whether they had somewhere to sleep.
“If keeping this puts you at risk, don't bring it here again,” I said. “Don't call Shaw. Don't meet that employee unless she contacts you somewhere safe.”
Lena studied me. “You believe me?”
“I believe you're scared. And I believe that date doesn't match mine.”
Her eyes filled, though no tears fell. “I thought you'd be angry that I waited.”
“I am angry.” I glanced at our reflections in the thick glass. “Just not at you.”
She raised the receipt again, keeping it flat so I could read the invoice number. I repeated it until I had it memorized.
“Put both copies somewhere dry,” I said. “Separate places. Write down when you received the original, where you met her, and exactly what she said. Don't add anything you aren't sure about.”
Lena folded the page along its old crease. “What are you going to do?”
“I don't know yet.”
That answer seemed to frighten her more than a promise would have. Still, she returned the receipt to the envelope instead of tearing it up.
Nia woke as the visit warning light blinked. She turned toward my side of the glass, blinking sleep from her dark eyes. I kept both hands around the receiver.
May you like
Lena pressed the envelope beneath her palm.
For the first time, the thing separating us wasn't only glass. It was one sheet of paper, two conflicting dates, and the reach of a man who had never needed to enter the room to make us afraid.
