Page 10 of Jar of Hearts
“Yup, anytime up till thirty minutes before lights-out,” Bernie says. “Down the hall, near the bathrooms. Check in with the guard before you try to leave, though. They have to buzz you out.”
The women whisper among themselves as Geo makes her way to the guard’s booth, but nobody speaks to her. She wonders if they’re curious because they’ve seen her on TV, or because she’s new. Probably both.
There’s a long line for the phones, and the CO on duty informs her that she can talk for only fifteen minutes at a time before she has to hang up and get back in line. Geo stands for what feels like an hour until a phone frees up, then takes a deep breath and dials Andrew’s cell number. The call rings five times and then goes to voicemail.
Thinking he might not want to pick up because he doesn’t recognize the number, she tries calling him at work. His assistant answers, which means she had to press 1 to accept the charges.
“Hi, Bonnie,” Geo says. “Is Andrew in?”
“Miss Shaw,” the assistant says, sounding flustered. Instantly, Geo knows that everything has changed. She’s always been friendly with Bonnie, and not once since she began dating Andrew has the woman ever addressed her by anything other than her first name. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Shipp doesn’t wish to speak to you.”
Geo closes her eyes.Miss Shaw.Mr. Shipp. She opens her eyes again. “He told you to say that?”
“Yes, ma’am, he did. I’m only authorized to speak to you this one time.”
Geo lets out a breath, slowly, trying to gather her thoughts. When she speaks again, her voice is tight. “What would he like me to dowith the ring?” Her engagement ring is now in a box at her father’s house along with all her other personal belongings, as her house is currently for sale. “Does he want me to have it sent to him, or would he like to pick it up?”
“He says you should send it here to the office.” There’s a catch in the assistant’s voice, and Geo recognizes the conversation must be equally awkward for her.
“Bonnie—”
“Geo, I can’t speak to you.” Bonnie’s voice is hushed. “I’m sorry. I really am. The company’s going crazy. We’ve been getting so many calls; everyone wants to know if Andrew has anything to say about his former fiancée and a VP of the company being a convicted murderer and the girlfriend of a serial killer.”
“But I wasn’t convicted for—”
“It’s what everyonethinksthat matters,” Bonnie said. Her voice is barely above a whisper. “And you know how it is here, Geo. Everybody’s concerned about the company’s reputation. We’ve had to issue a press statement.”
“What did it say?” When the woman doesn’t answer right away, Geo says, “Bonnie. Please. Tell me.”
“It says we do not condone or support you in any way, and that we’re sympathetic to the victim’s family. Andrew…” Bonnie pauses. “Andrew wrote it himself. I’m sorry.”
“He paid my legal fees.” Geo’s voice, even to her own ears, sounds hollow.
“I know. He took some heat for that from his father, but you were his fiancée at the time. Geo, I’m sorry, but I have to hang up now.” Bonnie sounds genuinely upset. “Please… please don’t call here again.”
The line goes dead.
So that’s it, then. No good-bye, no chance to explain or apologize. Andrew had ended it, taking the coward’s way out by allowing his assistant to deliver the blow. A two-year relationship over, just like that. She hangs the receiver in its cradle, moving aside for the next inmate. Not quick enough, though. Their shoulders graze.
The woman’s eyes narrow. She’s smaller than Geo, but there’s no fear in her face. “Watch it, bitch.”
“Sorry,” Geo replies, managing to sound somewhat sincere, even though it was the other inmate who bumped into her. The last thing she needs is a fight, but if the woman starts one, she’ll have no choice but to try and finish it. Otherwise she risks being seen as weak. She’s watched enough TV to know that if she gets her ass kicked and a CO later asks her who did it, she can never, ever say. Tattling to the guards about anything is a giant no-no. In prison, the only thing lower than a pedophile (which is pretty fucking low) is a rat. And if you’re a rat once, you’re a rat forever. The other inmates will never trust you, and they’ll make your life a living hell.
Bernie is in a good mood when Geo returns. She’s still stretched out on the top mattress, a mountain of woman. The package of licorice whips is empty, the plastic bag dangling off the edge of the bed. She rolls over on her side, and with Geo standing, they’re pretty much eye-to-eye.
“Good phone call?” Bernie asks.
“You asked me earlier if I had a man. I can now officially say I don’t.”
The woman reaches forward and moves a lock of hair out of Geo’s face. “That’s okay. In here, we don’t need them. There’s lots we can do without them.”
Geo moves away, uneasy. She resists the urge to outwardly shudder, but inside, she feels sick. The inmate in the next bunk glances over, and a look of what appears to be pity crosses her face before she looks away again. Or maybe Geo’s imagining it. Maybe she’s being paranoid.
Nothing bad happens that night, or the night after, even though Geo lies in bed for hours, fists and jaw clenched, anticipating the worst. Every night, before she falls asleep, she can’t believe this is her life. Every morning when she wakes up, she can’t believe this is her life. It’s finally hit her, that depression P. Martin warned her about. The overwhelming feeling that she doesn’t truly belong here—that somewhere along the way a giant mistake has been made—is impossible to shake.And the cloak of denial isn’t protective at all. It doesn’t help. It suffocates her. It makes her vulnerable. It feels like someone took her life, shattered it into small pieces, and then put it back together, all messed up. The pieces are recognizable, but they’re all in the wrong places.
On her third day in the big room, she notices her bunkmate is in an extra-good mood. They go to dinner together that evening, sitting across from each other at a table with four other women. Bernie is chatty with Geo and the other inmates, talking up a storm about the good visit she had with her son earlier that morning. Every time she laughs, she places a hand on Geo’s arm. It seems harmless enough.
A woman with deep chocolate skin and a close-cropped Afro stares at Geo from a nearby table. There’s no hostility in her expression, just open curiosity. The other women at her table appear to defer to her, and occasionally they look over, too, murmuring to each other. Geo wonders what they see when they look at her. She knows she looks white, but she’s also aware that her ethnicity is evident if people are really looking for it. It’s in the caramel undertone to her skin, the slight almond shape of her eyes. Her hair, however, is straight. Her mother’s hair.
