Page 11 of Bed of Thorns

Water. The gorgeous flower needed water. I searched through the few boxes I’d brought with me and had yet to unpack, forced to settle for a drinking glass to use as a vase. It didn’t do the gorgeous rose justice.

An odd sense remained in the back of my mind. It was my favorite flower, but no one knew that. Certainly not William. This didn’t make any sense. The sudden appearance was a riddle, and I didn’t like those.

I poured a glass of wine and leaned against the counter. As I took a sip, the red table wine all I could afford, I realized for the first time that it reminded me of the color of blood. What was wrong with me? Was it guilt?

After taking another whiff, I took the wine into the bedroom with me. I flipped on the light, and my eyes were drawn to the painting I’d only recently started. While the rendering wasn’t finished, it was an exact copy of an important photograph that I’d kept with me during the years. I stood in front of the small canvas, studying the intensity of the colors.

The photograph had been taken on a beautiful sunny day, the almost cloudless sky a perfect backdrop. Edmond had been so happy that day, his smile beaming. Of course, he’d also just tormented me for several minutes, chasing me around the back yard just being a guy. I don’t know why my mother had snapped the picture, but I was grateful she had.

As I fingered the piece of artistry, tracing the brushstrokes I’d made, I was determined to give it to Edmond as a present one day. I had to finish the project.

Then I stared at the bulletin board I used to hold my favorite mementos. The photograph had been placed on the cork surface minutes after moving in, exactly where it had been placed in my dorm room. A place of reverence.

Flutters formed in my stomach as I walked closer, placing the wine on my desk, then pulling the pushpin away. As I held the photograph in my hand, several memories rushed to the surface and on this late afternoon, tears formed in my eyes.

“Ice cream?” I asked, trying to act as if a girl my age didn’t eat that kind of thing. Edmond knew better. He’d caught me twice with a spoon in a carton from the freezer late at night, chiding me in a joking way for days afterwards.

“Why not? It’s hot outside. I think we both deserve a tasty treat,” Edmond said as he held the keys to his prized Charger in his hands. He adored tinkering with cars, making them purr like lions, he’d always say. “I might even let you drive. In the parking lot.”

“Oh!” He’d only started talking to me four weeks before, but we’d become good friends. When I reached for the keys, he snatched them away, shaking his head.

“Only if you’re very good.” His singsong voice always drove me nuts.

“I don’t have any allowance left,” I said, giving him the saddest look I could muster.

He moved closer, tousling my hair. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I’m buying. Come on.”

A single sob pushed up from my throat. If only I’d known that was one of the last times that I’d see him.

As I fingered the picture, I tried to push the memories aside. So many years had gone by. I could tell from his letters that he’d changed, but at least he’d seemed happy when I’d written to him. I pulled out the box of letters, laughing halfheartedly because I’d kept them all these years. He’d been my little secret. I’d honored my mother’s wishes and never mentioned him again and I certainly didn’t waste my time saying anything to Fernando.

The letters had kept me grounded as much as I’d hoped they had him. At least it was a single tie to the past. I flipped through several until something sparked another memory.

I’d told Edmond about my favorite flower. He’d been the only person I’d shared that silly piece of information with. Wait a minute. Had someone else found out? Had Edmond been hurt?

No. No! I raced into the kitchen, grabbing my cell phone. It would be like my parents to not tell me something horrible had happened to him. I was sick inside as I tried to look up the main number for the prison. It was after six. I had no idea if they kept regular hours.

My hands were shaking as I dialed the number. Of course, I got a recording. As I listened to the various choices I could make, I had no idea which department was the correct one. I chose administration.

The recording was a clear indication I’d need to call back. Damn it. At least I could leave a message.

“This is Mercedes Carver. I’m calling to inquire about a prisoner you have on Cell Block D. His name is Edmond Montego. Please call me so I can inquire about his well-being.” After spouting off my number twice, I almost tossed the phone across the counter, still shaking. Was William playing a sick game with me? If so, I’d ruin the man. I wouldn’t care how long it took. The son of a bitch would suffer like Edmond had.

After a few minutes, I returned to my bedroom, sitting down and pulling out the stationery I’d purchased for the sole purpose of writing him letters. Edmond had been denied visitation for years, his anger keeping him on lockdown. Cringing, I realized I’d been lying to myself for those same years. While he had been denied certain privileges at first, I could have visited him, especially after turning eighteen. I’d chosen not to. The thought of seeing him in prison had been too difficult to comprehend. I’d failed him just like everyone else had in his life. Not once had his father taken time out of his precious life to go see him. Not once.

Why in God’s name had I agreed to return to this horrible place? The only reason that had allowed me any comfort had been because I knew I’d feel closer to the boy I’d barely gotten to know. I was fooling myself. I made a promise to Edmond and to myself that I’d start sending out resumes. It was time to live my life the way I wanted, not the way others expected.

By the end of the week, I was going to that damn prison. He had rights, just like every other prisoner, and no one was going to keep me from seeing him. And I would find a way of overturning his conviction, so help me God.

After that, I would find a way to have William Villanova disbarred.

Then I’d have him arrested.

After that? I’d find a new place to live, far removed from this horrible nightmare.

CHAPTER4

“Until we have seen someone’s darkness, we don’t really know who they are. Until we have forgiven someone’s darkness, we don’t really know what love is.”

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