Page 14 of Daddy's Little Convict
“Don’t test me,” he said for her ears alone as he and his clipboard walked passed her. “You won’t like the consequences.”
“Yes, sir, Travis, sir,” she just as softly replied, and he continued to walk the line until everyone was logged in for the morning.
“Bus comes in five,” he told them.
Tabitha didn't move until everyone else did. None of them had said so much as a word as they scattered back to their rooms to finish getting ready. Not knowing how her day would be regulated at the farm, she ducked back into her room, keeping the door wide open so she wouldn't miss the bus. She made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and ate it while she made her lunch—another peanut butter and jelly sandwich with two apples. She wrapped the sandwich in a plastic grocery bag to keep it from drying out, and then stuffed both it and the fruit in another plastic sack. Her lunch. It looked strange, sitting there in such a pathetic heap. In her past life, she'd have had a can of soda, soup or salad, a meat sandwich, carrots and veggie dip, cookies and chips—all of it stuffed into a temperature-controlled lunch cooler.
That wasn't just a whole different life ago. It was a life that felt as if it belonged to someone else entirely. She had nothing to do with it anymore. She wasn't the little girl she had been. She was different now and different wasn't always better.
"Psst."
Turning, Tabitha stared at the sun-bronzed woman in cut-off jeans and a dirty yellow tanktop hovering in her doorway, an empty, beat-up plastic water bottle out to her.
"You got one of these?" the woman whispered.
Glancing at it, keeping her hands to herself, she shook her head.
"Take it. Fill it every chance you get, whether it's empty or not. Don't lose it, ‘cause I don't have another to give you."
Beware of gifts that seem free. Nobody got something for nothing, not even a used up disposable bottle. Prison had definitely taught her that.
"I've got watermelon," she offered, reluctantly taking the water bottle from her.
"God, I haven’t had watermelon in forever," the woman said with a grin, and ventured inside. “What’s your name?”
"Tabitha."
Extending a friendly hand, the woman said, "I'm Mara. I love watermelon. We can have it tonight after you've survived the day. Hurry up, if you're not ready. The instant the bus gets here, your butt needs to be on it, or you'll be in trouble. Stick close to me today, I'll walk you through the rules. Break any of them, including the ones you don't know, you'll be in trouble. Trust me, trouble isn't what you want from that bastard." Mara mouthed that last word, giving it no sound at all.
Tabitha had no problem reading her lips.
Adding the water bottle to her lunch sack, she gathered her things and followed Mara out into the bright sunshine of the already hot Utah morning. She was careful to close the door behind her.
"Don't keep anything out in the open you don't mind having stolen," Mara continued as she headed toward a group of other women already gathering. When she looked way down the road, Tabitha glimpsed the short, white form of the bus driving toward them with a cloud of red dust billowing out behind it. "More than anyone, it's Travis you need to worry about."
"And me," another woman muttered just loud enough to draw giggles from the ladies around them. The tallest among them, her red hair was gathered in a tight bun at the back of her head. "I'll bite your face off."
"Oh, you won't either," Mara snickered, then turned back to Tabby. "Sandy's not a hardass. She just likes to act that way.Also, piss her off and shewillmop the parking lot with you. So... yeah, don't do that. But Travis, he'll rob you blind if he thinks you've got something. And there's nothing you can do about it."
"You can't report him?" Tabby asked, casting a wary eye to the office where Travis could be seen, one shoulder propped against the building as he sipped from his coffee cup and waited with them.
"God, you're new," a blonde on her other side told her.
"Who do you think you're going to tell?" a dark-skinned teen on the other side of the blonde snorted. She looked even younger than Tabitha.
“You’re young,” Mara informed her. “You’re a woman and you’re a convict fresh out of prison. Ain’t nobody gonna listen to a thing you’ve gotta say.”
“Yes, sir and no, sir,” the teen stated. “No matter what they tell you to do, that’s what you say and then you do it. Do your time and when you get released, they’ll give you whatever money you got on the books and even drive you up to Salt Lake. I’ve got three weeks left. I’m going to get drunk as hell and forget all about this place, baby.”
“Yes, ma’am,” several women said at once.
With a crunch of gravel under the tires, the bus slowed as it pulled off the road and rolled to a stop in front of them.
"Make good choices," Travis called from the porch of his office.
Was he talking to her or to all of them? Tabby couldn't tell, so she kept her head down and waited for her turn to board the bus. It smelled like earth and old sweat, and she got as far as the bus driver before realizing neither he nor the bus had been washed in quite some time.
The driver was young, maybe only a year or two older than she was. His head was shaved, with prison tattoos on his neck, shoulders, the backs of both hands. Two blue-inked tear drops decorated the corner of his left eye, and his teeth were brownfrom the tobacco he chewed. Judging by the mess around his spit cup, he wasn't all that concerned with getting the waste all the way in it when he spat.
