Page 14 of Parrish

Chapter Six

Reina Parrish

In the years since Victor’s passing, I often visited Grace at her monstrosity of a home. She would put on a pot of coffee, sometimes tea, and we’d gather around her kitchen table as she shared stories of her husband. I learned more about the man in death than I ever did when he was alive and seeing him through the eyes of the woman who loved him most in the world was a gift.

In an age where social media plays such a major role and most people feel compelled to lie simply to compete with every post and picture, it’s always been refreshing to hear Grace talk about her and Victor’s life together. Never one to keep a façade, she spoke of the good and the bad. She didn’t try to hide his flaws. Instead, she embraced each and every one.

Grace didn’t agree with her husband’s decision to surrender. It broke her heart to stand by him, but she found some of the most memorable moments of their marriage were the conversations they had while he was incarcerated.

Listening to her now, as she sits in my kitchen, I wonder if I’ll feel the same after Jack’s gone. Will Jack remember every detail of our life together? Will he call and relive those moments with me? As similar as my husband and Victor may have been, Victor never had to battle with his mind. He never had to worry if he would forget the memories he cherished. At night, in the dark confinements of his cell, he relived the greatest moments of his life. Jack may not be so lucky.

“It sounds strange, but I fell in love with him all over again,” she admits, lifting her eyes to me. “You’ll see Reina,” she promises. “You’ll listen as he recalls the smallest details, like what you wore the day he met you and you’ll fall for him over and over again.”

“I hope you’re right,” I whisper, running my fingers over the rim of the mug. “I just pray he doesn’t lose his mind. I would never admit this to another soul, but I’m praying they force him to take his medication—even if that means restraining him.”

We’re already losing thirteen years, I’d hate for him to come out and not have any recollection of our love or our family. I don’t know how I’ll survive looking at my husband knowing all he is, is a vacant body.

“Let me tell you something,” she starts, leaning closer. “These federal prisons are more corrupt than the streets. If Victor’s sentence taught me anything, it’s that our prisons are a disgrace. If an animal was treated the way my husband was, there would’ve been a public outcry throughout the world. He was suffering with cancer and still they tried to bring him to his knees. They locked him in solitary and let him waste away. When he finally passed, they found him covered in his own feces like a goddamn animal.”

Tears stream down my cheeks and I don’t know if it’s a result of the harsh reality she just shared with me or if it’s because I’ve never seen the woman undone. Usually stoic, a vision of grace, she shakes with anger.

“I’m sorry,” she rasps, covering her face with her hands. I push my chair back and grab a roll of paper towels from the counter. Tearing off a few, I hand them to her and use the rest to dry my cheeks. She dabs at the corners of her eyes before smoothing a hand over her blouse. Doing her best to mask her anger and find her composure, she stares at me with a sorrowful expression.

“I wasn’t planning on telling you any of that,” she whispers. “Not yet anyway. I wanted you to enjoy tonight with your husband, but now that you know, you need to speak with his lawyer before he signs that deal. If you’re not already, you need to make yourself Jack’s health care proxy.”

I freeze at the suggestion, trying to comprehend why she’s saying any of this. When I think of health care proxy’s, I think of senior citizens living out their final days. People who are terminally ill. I don’t think of my husband—well, not at this stage of his life. I always assumed we’d be old and gray when it came time to speaking of healthcare arrangements.

“Victor refused cancer treatment, meaning chemo and radiation. He knew he’d never see the light of day again and gave up on living. That doesn’t mean his last days should’ve been spent suffering. The pigs in that penitentiary refused him any pain medication. I’m telling you this because we both know Jack’s way of thinking bears a lot of similarities to Victor’s. The proof is in the deal, sweetheart. Now, I wasn’t prepared to fight for my husband, but I sure as hell will be at your side, fighting for yours.”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I think about everything she’s said. It’s not a stretch to believe Jack would refuse his meds. He’s stopped taking them and he hasn’t even gone away yet. Since we first started discussing his plans to take this deal with the district attorney, I feared there were unspoken reasons behind the sudden need to surrender, reasons my husband wouldn’t divulge because he knew I wouldn’t agree with them. Reasons such as losing his faith in his ability to fight against his illness.

Jack would never admit to defeat, at least not to me, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s signing his life away only to succumb to his mind. Like Victor refused to be treated for his terminal illness, Jack might do the same with his meds. Locked in a cage, with no one to witness his descent to Hell, he’s free to lose his mind—free to give into the exhaustion he’s felt from fighting for so long.

“Say he is not of sound mind and all medical decisions are to be made through you,” Grace suggests, forcing my attention back to her. “Look, as much as you don’t want to think about it, thirteen years is a long time, Reina. Who knows what kind of treatment can evolve while he’s away. If a new drug becomes available, you’re going to want him to be a candidate. You’re going to want to save him from insanity and the only way you can is if you’re the one holding the power. Aside from that, having a proxy will be your security blanket. Should the warden or anyone else mistreat him and refuse him medical attention you can sue them for all their worth.”

“You make it sound like it’s inevitable,” I murmur. “Like, he doesn’t stand a chance.”

“My husband didn’t,” she replies. “Jack has been good to me, Reina. Since Victor’s death, he’s taken me and my children under his wing. Not too many men would worry about another man’s widow,” she says softly, cocking her head to the side. “I don’t know how else to repay you and your husband for all you’ve done for me and mine other than to offer you the advice I wish someone would’ve given me.”

Long ago, Jack vowed to Victor that Grace and their girls would always be property of Parrish, and in his world, that means they’re always protected, that they always have a place in our family. Through the years, my husband has kept his word. We’ve celebrated holidays with the Pastore’s and every milestone in their family is one in our family too. Weddings, baby showers, births—we’re present for everything. If it snows, there isn’t just a bunch of prospects shoveling my house, but they’re at Grace’s too. Every winter he checks the tires on her car and makes sure she’s safe. Last year when a kid threw a baseball through her window, he had it repaired and when she went to visit Victor’s mother in Florida, it was my husband who took her to the airport.

Not one of those things has been done out of obligation but rather out of respect and loyalty. There are no thanks required and yet right now, I appreciate her gratitude more than anything because Grace is right, I want the power to save my husband. After all, it’s high time someone took care of Jack, a man who has made it his mission in life to take care of those he loves.

“How do I go about getting the proxy? Does a doctor have to prove he isn’t of sound mind?”

“Yes,” she confirms. “Your lawyer will need to draw up the paperwork and submit it. However, you’ll have to ask him how it works since he’s signing the deal. You can’t consciously surrender and then say you’re crazy.”

“I’m confused,” I admit. “You said before he signs the deal, I need to become his healthcare proxy.”

“Once he’s inside, you won’t have much access to him. A stipulation in his deal needs to be that he is regularly observed by his doctors. This way, should he stop taking his medication and refuse treatment you can obtain the proxy and make medical decisions for him. You don’t want him signing anything unless you know you can still obtain that proxy while he’s in there. If you’re claiming he’s insane when he signs a deal, they can’t go through with it. He will go to trial for whatever the charges are, and he would have to plead insanity. They’ll lock him in a mental hospital and unless he’s proven to be no longer a danger to society or himself, he’ll stay there until he dies.”

He will truly lose his mind in a mental hospital.

I’m sure of it.

“This is a lot to digest,” I mutter, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach.

“I’m sorry, Reina—”

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