Page 38 of Brave
“Puppy!” Pony cried.
Menagerie girls never ran, but Puppy did. As fast as she could, she tore back down the sterile prison corridor, stopping only when two officers appeared out of the blur of her surroundings to block the way back to the now empty reception area. One caught her arm, the other grabbed her shoulders, but only because she collapsed. What had started as halting an unruly exit in which they no doubt thought she might be trying to flee after picking up or dropping off contraband, turned into the officers guiding her gently to the floor as she erupted in a full-fledged panic attack. She gasped, she sucked, she obediently tucked her head between her knees, breathing the way the officers coached her to, while in the back of her mind, over and over again, the thought, ‘I did it; I’m free of him; I don’t ever have to come back’ kept repeating itself. Over and over like a badly skipping record, those glass brittle words carved her insides into pieces.
“Look at me.”
Raising her face, she stared into the eyes of a tired-looking female guard, short and chubby, with more than a hint of grey in her short black hair. Over the past year, she couldn’t begin to guess how many times she’d seen this woman, spoken to her when required, signed her forms or followed behind her going to or from the visiting room. Her name tag was on her chest and for the life of her, Puppy couldn’t even remember what it was.
“Are you okay?” the woman asked.
Puppy glanced down. Her tag read Sanchez. Returning her gaze to the officer’s, she nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’m fine.”
Except, she didn’t feel fine. She felt shaky, hyper, scared and elated and terrified, and with every step she took as the guards helped her out to the reception area and into the nearest chair, she expected the floor to suddenly drop out from under her. A prisoner with her head on the chopping block, she could feel the impending edge of the axe taking aim on the back of her neck. Every nerve in her body reverberated with none of the exhilaration and all the dread of what she’d done.
Whether today’s visit was taking longer than normal or it just felt that way, she didn’t know. Pulling out her notebook, she did her best to fill the time with calm thoughts and line after soothing line of I am not broken or stupid, I’m brave.
Noon came and went, and so did her assigned lunchtime. Pulling her apple and the sandwich she’d packed for the visit, she took her required before picture, and then a few minutes later took another picture of the apple, gnawed to its core, and half the sandwich gone.
Three more bites, Carlson texted back within minutes of her sending the pics off.
A few minutes later, her phone went off again.
Where are you?
Kentucky federal prison, she returned. And then, afraid he might be frowning in quiet disapproval at her wherever he was, she followed it with: I’m sitting out front. I went back with Pony, but I couldn’t stay there.
Are you okay? was his instant reply.
She melted a little. Stroking her thumb over the screen, she liked that he seemed genuinely to care. Yes, she wrote back.
Are we still on for Black Light tonight?
That made her smile even more, and for the first time since her panic attack, she actually felt better. Yes, Sir, she replied.
You ready to risk my picking you up instead of taking a cab into town?
It was in that moment as she hesitated that Pony came storming back through the reception area. Barely looking at Puppy, she stalked out the front door in long, angry strides.
Scrambling to throw everything but her phone back into her pack, she shouldered the strap and hurried after her. Arms folded against the cold, head down, Pony didn’t wait for her. She was almost to the Greyhound bus stop on the far side of the lot before Puppy caught up.
Without a word, Puppy fell into silent step just behind her, and very nearly plowed right into Pony when she suddenly jerked around and slapped her. The clap of her open hand caught the full side of her face so hard and so unexpectedly that it knocked her sideways off her feet. She caught herself on her hands before her head cracked against the pavement. Her phone bounced and skittered four feet before coming to a stop facedown.
Chest heaving, Pony retreated half a step. Staring at her hand first, she then fixed her glare back on Puppy, too furious to be apologetic.
Hands stinging, scuffed from her fall, Puppy touched her burning cheek. The entire side of her face throbbed, the icy air only making the stinging worse. In all the years that they had been together, not once had Pony ever hit anyone. She tattled, she bullied sometimes, she carried Ethen’s words as if they were law, but never had she ever hit.
Folding her arms tight across her chest again, Pony hissed, “You’re ruining everything!”
Turning on her heel, she left Puppy and stormed into the sheltered bus stop.
Moving slowly, Puppy picked herself up off the ground. Tiny rocks were impressed into her palms, but they brushed off. Her knee hurt as if she’d skinned it, but her pants weren’t torn, so she couldn’t tell. Rubbing her throbbing cheek, she gathered her pack and cellphone. The screen was cracked, but not so badly that she couldn’t read Carlson’s unanswered text and the single question mark that had popped up right below it. Both were followed by When Sir asks a question, he expects an answer. It’s okay to say you’re not ready for that. I’ll respect your limits, but it’s a hard limit for me if you ignore my questions.
Creeping into the bus stop shelter, she found a place to sit as far away from Pony as possible.
Please pick me up, she texted. Swiping her wrist across both eyes, trying to bring the watery world back into focus, she stared down the empty road in the direction the next bus would eventually come and pretended that she couldn’t hear the broken sniffles of Pony weeping.
Chapter 11
Carlson pulled into a sleepy suburban cul-d-sac, eased up the driveway to Puppy’s house, took one look at the two women who came chasing out the front door and instantly recognized World War III had somehow started without him. One did not spend twenty years defusing explosives not to recognize when one inadvertently stepped into a minefield.
