42

Adamsville

When Summer Grace Carey-Blanc was born, she was just the tonic for Thomas. It thrilled him to hold the tiny princess, and he chortled at her every look and sound. With an exotic mix of fair skin, dark eyes, and wisps of dark, reddish hair, she was intoxicating. He could barely look away from her curious expressions.

And to see Grace become immediately maternal toward both Ravinia and the baby, well, Thomas found his whole attitude and demeanor changed. Even at work, Gladys said she noticed Thomas’s new enthusiasm for life.

“We all wanna see that new baby,” Gladys said. “See the little woman what put a smile on your face. But don’t you dare bring her to this cesspool. You got to invite us someday, that’s all.”

Little had changed with Dirk and Ravinia. Thomas sensed more distance between them, yet they both doted on Summer. Grace had the temerity to ask if she and Thomas could have the baby dedicated at Village Church sometime soon, but Ravinia put her foot down. “I don’t want to go all lawyerly on you, Mom, but I can use your own logic against you.”

“Well,” Grace said, “I do want to talk about it.”

“Fine. I grew up in church. I know what baby dedication is all about, and it’s hardly about the baby.”

“Pardon me?”

“Dad said it every time he conducted one of those things. What you’re really doing is dedicating the parents to raising the kid for Jesus, right?”

“Well, sure, but—”

“And we’re supposed to stand up there pretending to be good soldiers, committing ourselves to the task?”

“I’d certainly like to think the people at Village Church will get to know Summer and love her and want to commit themselves to teaching her and—”

“And so do you.”

“Of course,” Grace said.

“Then dedicate yourselves, but leave us out of it.”

“You mean we can dedicate her?”

“Without us? Not on your life! How would that look? You and Dad up there with our baby, making it plain to the world that the heathen parents are nowhere to be seen and oh, the poor child . . . ? No way. You just privately dedicate yourselves to having whatever influence you want on your granddaughter, and yes, we’ll let you take her to church now and then.”

Thomas and Grace did just that, hoping the day would come when Summer was old enough to be involved in a church program that Rav and Dirk would be unable to miss.

Adamsville County Jail

Brady had really done it this time. Violating his parole in just about every way possible, being found with a deadly weapon and ammunition and too many drugs for personal consumption, he found himself in the county jail before he could catch his breath.

His aunt and uncle buried Peter at their own expense, and Brady was allowed to attend the funeral, sitting in the pew between two sheriff’s deputies. He saw his mother there only briefly, just long enough for her to report that there had been no clause in Peter’s school insurance to cover death by act of God. She told him she was taking possession of Peter’s car, selling hers, taking the tiny insurance settlement on her trailer, and moving to just outside Nashville, Tennessee, to work in an auto manufacturing plant.

Brady nodded as she talked and shook his head as she left, then was escorted to an unmarked squad car for transport back to his cell. The county jail rivaled Los Angeles County and Cook County in Chicago as the most crowded such facilities in the United States—jam-packed, understaffed, and full of violence, gangs, and drugs.

Brady used his acting skills and gift of gab to get next to, of all people, the head of one of the most notorious black gangs. He told the glowering, heavily tattooed fat man—who called himself Tiny—that he wanted to become a member.

“You? Pasty white boy? Prove it.”

“How?”

“Lemme give you a tat.”

“A tattoo? Oh, I, uh, can’t do that, ’cause of my career.”

Tiny laughed, his big belly jiggling. “You got a career?”

“Yeah, I’m an actor.”

Tiny squinted. “I watch a lot of TV. Never seen you.”

“Uh, just regional commercials so far—mostly West Coast—but my agent says I have big potential, so, you know, no tats. And you want me to keep my options open on that front, Mr. Tiny, because it can mean a lot of money for you guys when I get out.”

“That so?”

“Yes, sir, and I also have a lot of money stashed away from an armored car robbery I engineered, which was what got me sent here.”

Tiny’s eyes lit up. “You pulled that job?”

With that enticement and more every time he thought of something, Brady bought himself protection from one of the most feared cons in the place. He had no idea what would become of him when he got out and never came through on all his promises. But why worry about tomorrow today? The story of his life.

Of course it was not beyond Brady to play both ends against the middle, putting him in position to risk his life every day. As the only white aide to Tiny, he became both a target of other gangs and vigorously protected. And when the antigang unit at County called Brady in, he saw the opportunity to help himself in new ways.

Lieutenant Dale, head of the task force, sat Brady down and told him that since he was a known gang member, he was missing out on an important opportunity.

“Such as?”

“Early release.”

“How would I qualify for that?”

“Few do, but we’re processing in over a thousand new inmates a week, and fewer than that are being processed out. We can’t expand, and we can’t add cells, so all we can do is add newcomers to the cells we have. How many cellmates you got now?”

“Six.”

“See? Your cell was built for two, and by next week, you’ll have a seventh in there. Guys with worse records than yours are getting out, just due to overcrowding. Don’t you want that? ’Cause as a known gang member, you don’t qualify.”

“But if I don’t have protection, I’m dead anyway. See, I’m not really part of the gang. You gotta believe me. I’m just playing Tiny to stay safe.”

Lieutenant Dale sat back and slowly looked Brady up and down. “Fact is,” he said, “I’m inclined to believe you. You don’t look the type. Amazing you’ve kept from getting hurt this long.”

“It’s true!”

“You want to prove it? Help us out.”

“I’m listening.”

“We need information. We have a pretty good idea who’s who and where they all fit. But we have to know for sure. If you’re as wired in as you say you are—and if you’re really just using them—then you can tell us things we would otherwise have no way of knowing. Is that right or not?”

“Sure, and I’d be happy to help. But aren’t they going to notice if I keep getting called in here?”

“We can fix that. We’ll spread the word that we shook you down for information, even offered you early release, and you turned us down flat out of loyalty. How’s that sound?”

“Beautiful!”

“But you have to give us straight stuff on as many of these guys as you can.”

Over the next two years, Brady became the most reliable informant the antigang unit had at County. He had been scheduled to be sent to state prison for eight years, but Dale worked to get him released after five, provided he could serve it all at Adamsville County.

“This is where we need you most, and if you stay helpful, it’ll shave three years off the other end. But you have to be honest with me, man. You’re getting dope, aren’t you?”

Brady pressed his lips together, considering his options. He had been honest with this guy all along. So far it was paying off, and if he could really be free in a few years, that’s what he wanted. But no one was supposed to stay at County that long. He only hoped the other cons never figured that out.

“Drugs? Me? What makes you ask?”

“I can see it in your eyes, Darby. I just need to know the truth, man.”

“Yeah, I’m getting what I need.”

“At some point, we’re going to need to know how that stuff gets in here.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“You think I’m naive enough to be surprised it’s coming from our own people?”

“No, I’m just saying—”

“Here’s the thing: you know it’s a crime for a convicted felon to possess, let alone use. That alone could get you five or ten more years tacked on. But we both know that if you all of a sudden go clean, you give yourself away.

“Now, we’re trying to help each other, Brady, and I like you. So here’s what I want from you: a pledge. You promise that when we finally get you out of here, you won’t go straight back on the streets as a meth head.”

“I don’t want to.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Yeah, but I know myself. I want to be straight with you, and I’m telling you, if I don’t have some kind of help, I could be in trouble as soon as I get out. I got no job waiting for me, no family, no girl, no place to live.”

“How do you feel about a halfway house?”

Brady shrugged. “Better than nothing. I mean, I got zero else out there.”

“There’d be accountability. They’d know where you are, and you’d have to stay clean. They’d help you find work and eventually a place of your own. It won’t be much, but you can build from there. Start making yourself a real life.”

“I’d try. I sure would.”

“Is that a deal? We do what we say we’ll do, and you’ll do what you say?”

Brady was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to remain transparent with Dale. He was the first since Clancy Nabertowitz who really seemed to believe in him.

“I got to tell you the truth, sir. They’re going to really have to keep an eye on me. And I’m going to be going through withdrawal and all, you know. I mean, it’s a few years away, but like you say, I can’t all of a sudden turn clean in here.”

Lieutenant Dale leaned forward. “You ever heard of Hug-a-Thug?”

“No.”

“Name came out of LA County. It’s a program they have for ex-cons who really want to get their lives turned around. You got to qualify; then you join the program, live in a halfway house, work some, go to classes, study a little, and actually graduate. By that time they have found you some kind of work, and they stay in touch, keeping track of you after that.

“They’re pretty proud of their record. Listen, you know how many times you’ve been in and out of jail. Well, these guys have a good record for avoiding recidivism. Know what that is?”

“Keeping on coming back?”

“Exactly.”

“Why they call it Hug-a-Thug?”

“’Cause that’s one of the things they do. The teachers and counselors there are handpicked. They’re empathetic. They really care, really want to help people.”

“And they do a lot of hugging?”

“Can you handle that?”

“As long as I don’t have to hug back.”

Adamsville

Grace was beginning to really slow down. Her doctor’s visits became more frequent, her prescriptions stronger, her treatment more vigorous. The doctor told Thomas to start insisting that she cut her daily activity by at least half and begin a nap regimen.

It was obvious Grace found that restraining, but Thomas enlisted Ravinia in helping enforce the new rules.

“Mom,” she said one day, “I will quit bringing Summer if I don’t have your solemn promise that you’ll let Dad do most of the work, including keeping an eye on her.”

As Thomas knew she would, Grace promised anything to keep seeing Summer. She was even allowed to have a third birthday party for her, including inviting Summer’s day care friends. Everyone seemed to think it strange that the party was held at Grandma’s, but Thomas knew that Ravinia feared there might not be many more such opportunities for Grace.

It wasn’t that she was dying, but her strength was ebbing.

That Saturday party marked a new highlight in Thomas’s life. Ravinia agreed to let him invite coworkers, and six showed up, including Gladys, who became the life of the party. Summer seemed fascinated by the chocolate-skinned woman in the loud clothes, though the birthday girl kept her distance.

“Come on, little one!” Gladys said, cackling. “I know you’ve seen my color before!”

“Of course she has,” Ravinia said. “The day care center is totally cross-cultural.”

“Then where are they? You invite only your kind?” Gladys’s eyes were dancing.

Ravinia seemed troubled. “You know, I gave Mother all the names, and we really did invite everybody.”

“Maybe they’re as scared of this neighborhood as I am,” Gladys said, laughing. “What street corner are we on, anyway? Mason and Dixon?”

Thomas was amused by all the activity but had to admit it didn’t break his heart to see his friends and the toddlers and their mothers finally leave. The mothers mostly reminded him of Ravinia, and why not? They were all career women in the legal field.

But Summer, despite her friends being there and all the attention lavished on her, had stayed close to Thomas all day. It was as if she had all of a sudden gone from being Grandma’s girl to Grandpa’s. And it seemed nothing could have pleased Grace more. “I’ve been praying for this, Thomas,” she said.

“So have I. You see how she talks with me, looks at me, smiles at me? And she’s so articulate. Did you hear her say she wants to come back to Sunday school soon?”

Grace nodded. “She’s going to be a lifelong friend.”

Thomas could imagine nothing better, though it pierced him to recall that he and Ravinia had been best friends when she was Summer’s age too.

When it was about time for Ravinia and Summer to leave, the toddler fell asleep in Thomas’s arms. “Don’t go yet,” he said. “Let her sleep.”

“I don’t know, Dad. I promised Dirk he could see her on her birthday.”

Thomas shot her a double take. “You what?”

Ravinia clearly looked frustrated with herself. “This wasn’t exactly how I wanted to tell you,” she said. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

“Tell us what?” Grace said.

“In here,” Thomas said, moving to the living room, where he sat carefully in his chair, cradling Summer to his chest.

Ravinia and Grace sat on the couch.

“Dirk and I are taking some time apart,” Ravinia said.

“You’re separated?”

“Not formally.”

“What does that mean?” Grace said.

“What?” Ravinia said. “You’re not happy? I thought you’d be ecstatic. I know how you feel about Dirk.”

“Don’t say that, Rav,” Grace said. “The last thing we want is for Summer to become the product of a broken home.”

“Well, it’s not broken yet, but we’ve got work to do.”

“What’s the problem?” Thomas said quietly. “Is he seeing another woman?”

Ravinia looked down, and Thomas knew. “Rav, not you.”

She nodded.

“Ravinia!” Grace said. “What are you saying?”

“It was nothing serious. It just happened.”

“Don’t give me that,” Grace said. “Nothing just happens. You violated your wedding vows?”

“Yes, and I’m going to hell and will pay for it for all eternity, okay? Does that make you happy?”

“Rav, please. What happened?”

“Dirk and I were both working long hours and not seeing each other much. I thought he wasn’t spending enough time with the baby and certainly not with me. I was lonely. We argued. He stormed out. He’d spend a couple of nights at a friend’s and then come back. We’d work it out, forgive each other, and then it would happen again. Just getting on each other’s nerves, you know? Well, no, I don’t guess you do know. You never did that. I used to think that was so phony, that you were just faking it, not sticking up for yourselves just so you could say you were getting along. I thought normal couples fought. Well, they do. Everybody I know does. Hardly anybody I work with is still even on their first marriage.”

“Sad,” Grace said.

“But true. That’s life, Mom. Real life.”

“You’re supposed to put others above yourself, and that starts at home.”

Ravinia stood and moved to the picture window. “You know what, Mom?” she said, her back to them. “I’m not even going to argue. You guys have always done that. I have to hand it to you.”

“I can never tell whether you’re being serious or sarcastic, Ravinia,” Grace said.

Ravinia turned to face her. “Dead serious, Mom. I admire your commitment to each other. I really do.”

“Well, thanks for that, but let’s get back to you and Dirk. Have you ended this other relationship?”

“It wasn’t a relationship, Mom. It was a one-time thing. But I did tell Dirk about it.”

“And what did he say?”

“He didn’t say anything. I have never seen such pain in his eyes, and I never want to again. I’ve written him, talked with him. I feel terrible. I mean, I don’t think it was entirely my fault. Don’t say it; I know how you feel about that. But he had emotionally left me some time ago. But he’s a good man and a pretty good dad. I do love him and want him back. We’re working on it.”

“How?”

“Counseling. We meet at the counselor’s office and we take turns with Summer.”

“No wonder she’s become so attached to your father.”

Adamsville State Penitentiary

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, it was Dirk’s turn to pick up four-year-old Summer from day care so she could spend the night with him at his apartment.

On those days, Ravinia arranged her schedule to spend the afternoon meeting with her various charges at the supermax prison. At the end of the day, she found her way to the administrative wing, spent a few minutes bantering with Gladys, the warden’s secretary, and then wandered into her father’s tiny office at the end of the hall.

Like clockwork, Thomas would hear Gladys’s high-pitched cackle and Rav’s chuckle, knowing he would soon enjoy—was that the right word?—another melancholy chat with his only daughter, a county public defender.

At some point or another—he couldn’t remember when this started—they had taken to embracing each other when she arrived. Ravinia had said something once about how amusing she found her dad’s courtliness, evidenced in his rising when she entered. And one day she had simply wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder.

At first it had been awkward. Thomas loved Ravinia deeply and always had—even through her rebellious years. But he had never been physically affectionate with her. He was making up for that with Summer, but he had long feared he could not change the way things had begun with his own daughter.

Ravinia was still not “walking with the Lord,” but he had long since quit attributing that to rebellion against her parents. She was, after all, in her late thirties now. He had long believed—and preached—that adults were free, independent moral agents. She had chosen her path, and while she was still at the top of his prayer list, Ravinia Carey-Blanc was certainly free to conduct her life any way she saw fit.

The problem was that it was clear she was not happy. That saddened Thomas to his soul. Ravinia’s daughter, his granddaughter, had become the light of his life. She deserved parents who loved each other, lived together, and loved her. One out of three just didn’t cut it.

Thomas and Ravinia’s twice-weekly chats always seemed to begin and end the same. They would embrace, which after a while he came to cherish. Just looking at her made him smile. She was attractive in her own understated way, well-dressed, and perfectly groomed. And smart? He and Grace had been good students, but Rav was off-the-charts bright.

They would discuss her clients and how hopeless most of their cases were. They laughed at the naiveté of men who could not face the truth about themselves and seemed incapable of telling the truth about anything. Rav had become a fierce opponent of capital punishment and a proponent of convicts’ rights—to a degree—and Thomas was pleasantly surprised to find that they could engage in vigorous debate without offending each other. She was full of statistics and arguments and usually quoted them verbatim without notes.

On the home front, Ravinia continued to insist that she and Dirk cared for each other, and while the counseling had become inconsistent, they still talked about someday trying again to make it work. Meanwhile, he lived in a tiny apartment and swore he had never cheated on her, despite, by now, more than a year of separation.

Ravinia claimed the same fidelity, though it had been her unfaithfulness that had led to their problems. Ravinia still insisted that Dirk take some of the blame for that—reasonable at some level, Thomas conceded, but probably also the reason they had not been able to repair the breach.

Thomas never hesitated to tell Ravinia that he saw hope for her marriage only if she returned to a spiritual base and became an example to Dirk to do the same. And she seemed to accept that her father’s view would never change and appreciated that he seemed less judgmental all the time.

“In fact,” she said one day, “I suppose I would be disappointed if you weren’t so consistent.”

“Predictable, you mean.”

“Well, you’re nothing if not that. But your weakness is also your strength.”

“Thanks, I think.”

Then the discussion always moved to Summer and what a precocious child she had become. Like her mother, she was full of curiosity, peppering every adult in her life with endless questions followed by more questions based on every answer. The mere thought of her brightened Thomas, and Ravinia never seemed to tire of hearing him repeat, “That one, she’s going to be something.”

Their frequent conversations had so freed Thomas emotionally that he had even taken to letting his guard down and admitting to Ravinia that now, at fifty-nine, he had many regrets. He allowed that his current work—fourteen years being the longest he had ever invested in a single ministry—was the hardest he had ever done. And that the lack of much to show for it wore heavily on him.

Today he was on that theme again, and his daughter seemed to study him. “What were you dreams, Dad, your hopes when you got into the ministry? Did you expect to have some global impact, ‘win the world’?”

“Not really. I think I’ve always been fully aware of who I am and who I’m not. And if I ever wondered, there was always someone there to tell me.”

“Not Mom. She’s always been in your corner.”

“That she has. We’ve always known that the journey is more important than the destination, as they say. I just wanted to win people, you know.”

She nodded. ”Working here has to be awful, then.”

“It’s pretty rough. Some men pretend to listen. Some have even prayed with me and then started a study program with me. But not one has persuaded me in the end that anything took or stuck or that he was serious. Each had his own agenda.”

“And yet you’re still at it. Still singing with Mom?”

“You bet. Those are the most precious times we have these days. Mostly we just continue our love affair with our eyes.”

Ravinia cocked her head and covered her mouth. When she pulled her hand away, her lips were trembling. “That’s about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Thomas realized, to his great delight, that after more than a year of these regular meetings, he and his own daughter had become friends and confidants. In many ways this unexpected relationship so late in his life had become an oasis. He looked forward to their every meeting and was disappointed anytime it was postponed.

Ravinia, despite the pressures of being separated and shuttling her daughter back and forth between her husband and her parents, not to mention helping out with the care of her mother a couple of times a week too, also found time to do pro bono work.

Thomas was more than impressed; he knew that work as a public defender—especially regularly defending some of the dregs of society—was not much more than pro bono in itself. She and Dirk had to be struggling to make ends meet, especially with both of them having to pay rent.

Ravinia’s helping with Grace fell into the same category. She could have easily begged off of that or cut way back, citing time pressures, Summer, marriage counseling, whatever. But she never shirked her duty. Whenever she was at her parents’ home, she was cooking, cleaning, waiting on Grace.

Rav would sit with her mother, talk with her, read to her, bathe her, even do bedpan duty. Nothing was beneath Ravinia. Amazingly, when Grace asked, Ravinia would even sing old hymns with her, harmonizing as she had learned as a child.

From the leased hospital bed Thomas had moved into their bedroom, Grace was often too weak to converse. But she would sing softly or hum all hours of the day.

The highlight of her week, however, was Saturday, when Ravinia would bring Summer by to see Grandma before carting her off to Dirk’s. Somehow the rambunctious youngster had come to understand that she had to tone down her enthusiasm when visiting Grace. She would sit still and talk softly and—when allowed—actually crawl into bed next to Grandma and assure her that she was there and that everything would be all right.

Thomas wondered if Summer would always possess that gift of mercy and maybe someday become a doctor or a nurse.

“Grandma,” Summer said, “who watches you when Grandpa is at work?”

“Wonderful friends from church,” Grace said. “They love Jesus and they love me.”

“If they ever can’t come, I will.”