Page 47 of The River Is Waiting

“If that’s supposed to be funny, it’s not. Actually, I’m relieved to hear your voice. How’s it going?”

“Oh, you know. Fun times down here. You been getting my letters?”

“I’ve gotten two. God, that first one was… when you wrote that you weren’t sure you wanted to live anymore because you didn’t think you could survive for three years in there. And that same day, the TV news said the police were investigating another suicide at Yates. I lost it, Corby. I was so scared it was you that I went out in the backyard, wailing and walking around in circles.”

“Oh, jeez. I’m sorry, Em. That suicide was a guy from our block, but on another tier. I’ll spare you the details. But listen, things are a little better now. I guess I’m getting used to the place.”

“Your second letter said you got a new cellmate. I was relieved to read that. Your first one sounded horrible.”

“And I held back some stuff. But this new bunkie’s all right. Kind of annoying but harmless enough. Actually, I sent youfourletters—so you should be getting the others pretty soon. Oh, and I’ve been going to meetings. That’s been helpful. There’s this one I like that meets on Sunday after church and—”

“You’re going to church?”

“No. Only the first time because I got there early. It’s interesting, though, the way they improvise around here. The service is set up in a corridor. The altar’s a sheet of plywood on top of two sawhorses. Kind of surprising who gets into the Communion line. I’m no expert on Catholic Masses, but I’m guessing this is a pretty unconventional one. The priest is doing time like the rest of us. But enough of that. How’s Maisie?”

“Good, overall, I think. I upped her daycare to four days a week and she still goes to my mom’s on Friday.”

“How’s she adjusting?”

“Well, some days she’s fine when I drop her off and some days she resists. Which is typical, I think. She balks at going to my mother’s sometimes, too.”

“The girl’s got good instincts, huh?”

“Don’t start, Corby. I know she’s not your favorite person, but Mom’s been super helpful these three months.”

“And super happy that I’m out of the picture, I bet. Okay. Sorry. Is Maisie still asking about Niko?”

“Not as much as before. Hard to tell, but I wonder if her memory of him is fading. I’m not sure if I should let it happen or try to keep those memories alive.”

“I guess you just have to play it by ear. Take your cues from her.”

“And I can run it by Dr. Patel. I’m seeing her this coming Tuesday.”

“Really? Wow. What for?”

“Just some things I want to work on.”

Like what, I wonder, but I know not to ask.

“By the way, Maisie’s been talking about you a lot lately. Daddy this, Daddy that. We look at photos, watch videos on my phone. Niko’s in some of them, too, but her focus is on you. It’s all about her daddy.”

With my free hand, I swipe away the tears in my eyes. One of my nagging fears is that my daughter’s memory of me will fade away over time. “God, I miss her so much, Em. Miss both of you. I know how busy you are, how much you’re balancing, but I haven’t seen you since I came here. Maybe some weekend soon—”

“I want to see you, Corby, but to tell you the truth, I dread having to see you atthatplace. But Iamgoing to visit. I promise.”

“That would mean a lot. And maybe Maisie could—”

“Please don’t start that again, Corby. I’ve made myself very clear on this subject. I’mnotbringing my daughter inside a men’s prison.”

Ourdaughter, I want to say, but I drop it. Ask her whether she’s talked to my mother recently. When she says she hasn’t, I remind her that Mom has said she’d be happy to babysit Maisie. Neither of us says anything for several seconds. Then the canned voice breaks the silence.

You have one minute remaining.

“I still can’t believe they cut your calls off at ten minutes,” she says.

“Well, lots of times there’s a line of guys waiting to use the phone, so I can understand that. What Idon’tappreciate is that Big Brother can listen in on our conversations in the interest of ‘safety and security.’ That’s their excuse for everything they say no to. ‘Sorry, it’s a matter of safety and security.’ Man, they love that phrase.”

“But that’s an invasion of privacy.”

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