Page 38 of Jar of Hearts
Geo can’t help but laugh. “Okay. Continue.”
“I’ve been in here a long time. Nine years. The first four were shitty. There were days when I didn’t know how I was going to get through it. And then you came along.” Cat’s eyes grow moist. “And it got better. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Geo bites her lip. She will not cry. She stares at a spot on the wall until she gets herself under control, and then pats Cat on the leg. “You know I feel the same way. That won’t change, no matter where you are.”
Cat reaches into her pocket. “I got a box of stuff from Lenny yesterday. He moved most of my things into storage, but he sent mea box of my old photos, figuring I’d want to see them before I…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. “Anyway, I thought you’d get a kick out of seeing this one.”
Geo looks down at the photo her friend is holding. Four by six inches, it’s a faded color photo of a young woman wearing a tight black satin corset, sheer black pantyhose, and bunny ears. Wavy auburn hair spills over small porcelain shoulders, and large brown eyes are accented with thick, precisely applied wing-tipped eyeliner. The corset has cinched her waist to nothing, and her breasts are soft and full. Around her neck is a thin leather strap, and attached to it is an open box of cigars.
“I used to be a cigar girl at the Playboy Club,” Cat says with a smile. “I was nineteen.”
“This is you?” Stunned, Geo turns over the photograph. On the back in fading blue ink, someone has scrawledCatherine “Cat” Bonaducci, Chicago, 1973.She turns it over again, admiring the image. “Holy shit, look at you.”
“Always a Cat, never a Cathy.” Her friend taps the photo. “I want you to have this. This is how I want you to remember me.”
The sudden lump in Geo’s throat is painful. There’s no denying that Cat no longer resembles the young woman in the photo, not by a long shot. Her breasts aren’t perky, her skin is loose, her lips chapped, her hair devoid of any shine. But her eyes are unchanged. Still large, still warm, a perfect shade of coffee brown. Catherine Bonaducci is still beautiful, if you take the time to look.
“Well, it isn’t how I want to remember you,” Geo says. “I didn’t know you then. But I’ll keep the photo for you. I’ll put it in my room, in a frame, and when you get out, you can have it back.”
“In case we don’t see each other—”
“Stop it.”
“—I want you know how special you are. You might never get a job working for a big company again. I know that’s hard. But you have brains, and you have money. I know you’ll figure it out.” Cat kisses her on the cheek. “I love you, Georgina. Like you’re my own blood.”
Geo is desperate to find something positive to say, something uplifting, but they know each other too well. Cat can’t tolerate bullshit, and Geo can’t dish it, anyway. Cat is sick. She’s going to die, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not in three months, but soon. The question is, will she die inside Hellwood or in some hospital, surrounded by strangers? Or will she die with Geo by her side, holding her hand?
Dying from cancer isn’t pretty. Cancer takes its time, and it kills from the inside out. If Geo had to choose, she’d rather go the way Boney did—short, fast, furious. Geo’s father kept her away from her mother in her last days, terrified that his young daughter would be haunted by the memories of her mother wasting away.
But what haunts Geo now is the memory of waking up early one morning only to be told that her mother had passed away in the night. She never got a chance to say one last good-bye, to give one last kiss while her mother’s cheeks were still warm. She’s never quite forgiven her dad for that.
There’s someone at the doorway, and both women look up. It’s Chris Bukowski. Geo’s not overly surprised to see the CO today, though he’s not technically assigned to her ward. She should have known he’d want to say good-bye and escort her out; she just hopes he doesn’t suggest a quick trip to the library first.
“Ready?” he asks.
Geo stands, taking one last look around. She won’t miss this place, with its gray walls, gray floors, and no windows. There’s literally nothing here she wants to remember, except for the small, thin woman still sitting on the bed. She helps Cat up, taking both of her friend’s hands in her own.
“I’ll see you soon, okay? Go to all of your appointments, and try to eat and drink as much as you can. Keep up your strength because there’s so much I want us to do together when you get out.”
“Georgina—”
“I’ll be waiting for you.” Embracing her friend, so tiny and frail and nothing like the picture that’s now in her duffel bag, Geo desperately wants to sayI love you. But Bukowski’s watching, and the words won’t come.
She takes her bag and leaves her cell for the last time, following Bukowski down the hallway and out of the ward. On the way to processing, he’s stopped by another CO, and while the two are discussing some incident or other, she hears her name whispered softly. Ella Frank is standing just around the corner of the corridor, and she beckons Geo over.
Glancing at Bukowski, still deep in conversation with the other guard, Geo walks over. She’s surprised to see Ella, who she assumed was still being questioned in Boney’s murder.
“I wanted to say good-bye,” Ella says, slipping something into Geo’s hand. It’s a piece of paper with an address written on it. “I made a call; he’s expecting you. Go today, okay? Before the kids get out of school.”
“I will. Thank you. For… everything.”
“Back atcha,” Ella says softly.
Geo turns to check on Bukowski, who’s finishing up his conversation. When she turns back, Ella is gone.
***
The exit process takes thirty minutes. Papers have to be signed, old belongings have to be found and returned, information has to be entered into the system. Bukowski hangs around, although there are surely more important things he could be doing. After all, an inmate was murdered earlier that day.
