Page 47 of Kentrell

KENTRELL

The walkfrom the visitor lot to the main entrance felt longer than usual.

Maybe it was the air. Too quiet. The kind of silence that don’t sit right in your chest. Or maybe it was the wind—carrying that sharp scent of pine like it was tryin’ to disguise what this place really was.

Whitmore Correctional Facility.

From the outside, it ain’t look like no prison. Looked more like one of them rehab centers they send burnt-out CEOs to when they crash the market. Beige walls. Glass panels. Manicured bushes lined up like they practiced stillness. But ain’t no landscaping slick enough to fool anybody from the city.

We know a cage when we see one—even if it’s padded soft.

The guards didn’t make me wait. They never do. They already knew what it was.

No pat down. No wand. Just a nod, a clipboard, and a lazy “She’s expecting you.”

I didn’t nod back. Just walked in.

Through the second set of doors.

Into the visiting room.

And there she was.

Shaniece “Jellybean” Johnson.

My mama.

Gray state-issued uniform hanging looser than the last time I saw her. Hair pulled back into a puff, silver creeping through her edges like time was tryin’ to catch her. But her eyes?

Still sharp.

Still cut through bullshit like she invented it. Like she never left the game, just moved the board behind bars.

Even in here, with all the soft edges and fake comforts?—

She was still her.

“You look tired,” she said before I could sit.

“Morning to you too, Ma.”

She laughed, waving me closer. “Don’t start with the attitude. I know my child.”

I sat across from her and placed the bag on the table. “Brought your stuff.”

She peeked inside, inspecting like always. Lip balm. Extra cocoa butter. One of those over-the-top chocolate bars she liked. A couple prepaid phone cards.

“You forgot the honey buns.”

“They said you got too many infractions behind them shit.”

She sucked her teeth. “That’s a damn lie. I ain’t had no infraction since that girl tried to steal my radio.”

I raised a brow. “So you didn’t trip her in the kitchen?”

“She slipped,” Jellybean said, deadpan. “Accidents happen.”

We both laughed, but mine faded quick. I glanced around the room, at the other women, the stale air, the guards pretending not to watch. My stomach twisted like it always did in here.

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