Page 111 of The River Is Waiting

“What? I don’t… Did they beat him with one of those?”

“No. They strip-searched him. Then they made him bend over, and raped him with it. Sodomized him.”

My stomach heaves. I have to get away before I lose it. “Excuse me,” I tell Manny, standing abruptly.

“Are you all right? You said you needed to know, but—”

I rush past stores and kiosks until I find a restroom. Lock myself in a stall, put my head down, and cry long and hard for Corby. When I’m finally able to stop, I go to the sink and splash cold water on the puffy red face in the mirror. I leave and Manny’s standing there, waiting for me. “You forgot this,” he says, handing me the envelope. I manage a thank-you, but I need to get in my car and drive away from here.

“It caught up with them eventually, Emily,” he says. “Not what they did to Corby, but they were pulling stuff with other guys, too. They both got fired. Then they got arrested. Corby knew about that at least. I just wish he had lived long enough to know they’re both doing time now, one in upstate New York and the other in Massachusetts. And if word’s gotten out about the crap they were pulling at Yates, they better watch their backs twenty-four seven.”

It’s spontaneous. I reach out and touch his cheek, and he puts his hand over my hand. I tell him I really have to go.

“Yeah. Hey, listen. After they let me leave Connecticut, I’m moving back to Jersey. Me and my sister inherited a motel from our uncle. It’s just over the GW Bridge in Fort Lee. If you’re passing through and you want a place to stay, you’re welcome anytime. Free of charge.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

I start walking fast toward the Nordstrom exit.

“It’s on Route Nine, close to where Palisades Park used to be.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“There’s a pool! And free continental breakfast! Anytime, Emily.”

Driving home, I can’t unhear the things I heard.Metal rods that extend to about two, two and a half feet. Raped him with it. Sodomized him.…Whenever he felt like giving up, he’d hold it and it would give him hope.… I’d hear him crying down there, sometimes even when he was asleep.… Addicts usually give themselves away in one way or another.

I might have smelled alcohol on Corby’s breath once when I got home from school. And when I counted his Ativan that time, I wondered why he was going to run out before he could get a refill. But he was so touchy about everything by then, I figured I’d monitor the situation instead of saying something and getting into another fight. So maybe thereweresigns. Maybe hewasgiving himself away, waiting for me to notice.

When Corby’s remains came back from the crematorium, his mother and I agreed to divide his ashes: half to her, half to me. Vicki bought a plot at the Sheltering Arms Cemetery. To memorialize her son, she had a flat stone carved and installed. Her portion of Corby’s remains were buried at the foot of it so she could have a place to visit and a grave to decorate. This all happened a year and a half ago. Meanwhile, my canister of his remains has sat on a shelf in my bedroom closet since I received them, but it’s time for me to stop procrastinating.

Given Corby’s love of nature, I decide I’ll release the ashes I have into the Wequonnoc river. There’s a boat launch at the river’s approach to Three Rivers. I pick a date, imagine a small early morning service, and jot down whom to invite: Corby’s parents, of course; Manny; Dr. Patel; Mrs. Millman. I’d invite Solomon if he was well enough to come, but I wouldn’t know how to contact him. Should I include Maisie? I’m undecided. The concept of her birth father having been transformed into dust and bone fragments might be difficult for her to handle. Maybe I’ll have her stay home with Bryan.

That evening, thinking about my plans for the memorial, I remember that Solomon’s stepmother, Adrienne, and I exchanged phone numbers that night at the prison. I find her in my contacts and call her the next morning. She says she’s sorry for my loss and sorry that she’s late in acknowledging it. “I found out how much your husband advocated for Solomon when he was at Yates, and that he paid a price for doing that.” She doesn’t say how she knows this and I don’t ask.

“So how is Solomon doing?” I ask.

“Muchbetter,” she says. I tell her I’m calling to invite him to join us when we scatter Corby’s ashes. Give her the date and the time and ask if she could let him know. “But please tell him not to feel obligated.”

She says she and Solomon have very limited contact these days, but she’ll make sure he gets the message. “A couple from the tribe, Ron and Bev Bramlett, have taken him under their wing and he lives with them on the reservation now. I’ll call Bev and let her know. Solomon works at the casino in food service. I didn’t imagine he’d ever be able to hold down a job, but he’s done very well. The medication he’s on has helped. There are side effects but the gains he’s made have been worth it.”

I tell her that’s wonderful to hear and would have made Corby very happy.

When I call Manny’s halfway house, I learn that he has left the state.

Dr. Patel says she wishes she could come but will be in Europe. While I have her on the phone, I ask her whether I should bring Maisie to the service. “Well, Emily, you’ve told me more than once that you came to regret having withheld Maisie from her father while he was in prison. Why would you withhold her from an opportunity to tell him goodbye?”

“Because if I try to explain cremation to her, it might scare her.”

“Then don’t dwell on that. Maybe you could give her a task—something she can focus on so that she feels she has an important part in what’s happening. That’s my suggestion, but of course it’s up to you.”

“Oh, dear, we have a commitment that morning,” Mrs. Millman says. “But that will be over by midmorning. Hey, I have an idea. Sinceyou’re going to be in that area anyway, how would you like to see your husband’s mural? I’m retired now and the library hasn’t reopened since Covid, but I’m sure I can arrange a visit. Maybe we could meet there after Corby’s service.”

My desire to see Corby’s work competes with my dread of returning to that awful place, but I tell her I’d like that very much. “I’ll have my daughter with me. Will I be able to bring her, too?”

“Of course!”

Corby’s mom and dad have already attended their son’s graveside memorial, and with the others unable to be there, I scrap my plan. It will just be Maisie and me at the boat launch. Then we’ll drive over there and meet Mrs. Millman.

---