Page 39 of Jar of Hearts
For Geo’s five years of work—most of it in the hair salon earning less than four dollars a day, minus what she spent in commissary every month for “extras”—she will pocket a grand total of $223.48. The processing clerk informs her of this amount with some relish, as if Geo should be proud, somehow.
“Is that good?” she asks.
“Most inmates leave with only the hundred you’re supposed to get on discharge day.” The clerk, a balding middle-aged man, peers at up at her from his desk through Coke-bottle glasses. “The fact that you’re getting more means you must have saved.”
Geo never saved. She never had to. Her financial planner had been instructed to transfer money from her personal account to herprison account every month, so money for extras like better shampoo and ramen noodles was never an issue. “Can I transfer the funds to another inmate?”
“Nobody’s ever asked that before.” The clerk frowns. “Do you have her DOC number?” Geo gives him Cat’s number. He taps his keyboard for a minute. “Done. You need a bus schedule?”
She shakes her head. “I have a ride.”
“You’re officially free.” The clerk pushes some paperwork toward her, along with a plastic bin containing the clothing she was wearing the day she entered Hazelwood. “Sign here and here, then you can get changed in the bathroom down the hall. Leave your scrubs in the bin. Or you can take them with you. Like a souvenir.” He laughs at his little joke, revealing uneven coffee-stained teeth.
Fuck, no.
In the bathroom, Geo peels off her prison sweats and puts on her old clothes. She’s dismayed to discover that the Dior dress she wore at Calvin’s trial is now tight on her, pulling at the hips and stomach, confirming that she’s gained weight from all the rehydrated, processed food she’s been eating for the past five years. Nevertheless, as she checks out her reflection, she has to admit that it’s nice to see herself looking like a person again, and not an inmate. The high heels feel strange on her feet. After five years in running shoes, they feel stiff and slippery. It’s weird to think that she used to wear these all the time, and actually thought they were comfortable.
She exits the bathroom to find Bukowski waiting for her. His jaw drops when he sees her. “Wow,” he says, his face flushing. “Holy shit. You look… wow.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you.”
They walk down the hallway together toward double doors marked with anEXITsign. Bukowski reaches for the buzzer on the wall, then stops and turns to her. “You got my number, right?” he says in a low voice. He glances up at the camera above her head. Normally Geo hated all the cameras in Hazelwood, but she’s grateful for them now. It means the guard won’t try to kiss her, or even touch her.
“I do.” It’s a lie. Geo doesn’t have it. Bukowski scrawled it on anapkin the other day, and she slipped it into her pocket. Far as she knew, it was still there, in the pants that were now crumpled in a plastic bin in the bathroom down the hall. “I’ll call you once I get settled.”
The doors beckon. Beyond them is her father… and her freedom.
“I’ll miss you.” Bukowski’s eyes are wet.
Open the fucking door, you asshole.She pulls her duffel bag over her shoulder. “Me, too, Chris.”
The CO hits the red button, and the double doors buzz open. Drops of rain and crisp morning air hit Geo’s face. Her father is standing beside his old Lexus, same one he had when Geo was arrested five years ago. He waves to her. She waves back, and without giving Bukowski another glance, she pulls off her high heels and runs forward to meet him in her bare feet.
“Good to see you, Dad.” Her voice breaks as Walter Shaw’s arms engulf her. They were allowed brief hugs in prison on visitor’s days, but Geo never allowed her father to visit her more than once a month. It was too hard.
“You, too, sweetheart. Let’s blow this pop stand.”
She laughs a little too hard at the silly phrase. Classic Walt. In the past she would have rolled her eyes, but not today. She climbs into the car, holding her breath for another minute as they drive past the final guard check, and then past the gate. Only when they’re on the open road does she allow herself to exhale.
“Hungry?” her father asks. “There’s a diner I passed on the way here, about thirty minutes out. You can get a burger and fries.”
Geo shakes her head. “Actually, Dad, what I really want is a green tea latte from Starbucks. And I need to stop and see someone on the way home. Any chance we can make both of those happen?”
“Sure. Who are we seeing?”
“He’s the brother of a friend from Hazelwood,” she says carefully, not wanting to lie to him, but unable to tell him the whole truth. “He’s expecting me. You don’t need to get out of the car; I’ll only be a few minutes.” She tells him the address. It’s in south Seattle.
Walt raises an eyebrow. “Georgina, you’re not involved in anything shady, are you?”
She rolls down the window a few inches. There’s nothing much to see on this particular stretch of highway except miles of road, endless gray skies, and drops of rain on the windshield. But the air smells like freedom, and she breathes it in. She thinks about the notebook in her duffel bag, the small one she carried around in her pocket whenever it wasn’t stashed away in an overhead air vent at the hair salon. It contains account numbers, logins, passwords, and the name of the financial planner Geo used to launder Ella Frank’s money while at Hazelwood. In a couple of hours, it will all be turned over to Ella’s brother, Samuel, the woman’s only surviving adult relative and the caregiver to her children. Samuel will receive the keys to the kingdom, and in return, he’s going to give her a gun. To protect herself and her father from the monster that’s still out there.
“No, Dad,” she says. “Not anymore.”
15
It looks like blood from a distance, but as they pull into the driveway, it’s clear that it’s red spray paint.
MURDERER. Written across their white double garage doors in a series of angry slashes large enough to be read from a block away. It’s out of place, the word screaming into the pleasant suburb as loudly as if someone were actually shouting it.
