“Of course,” I tell him, “whatever you need.”
I’ve never had to visit a family member in jail, but that’s because they let wealthy people to get away with anything. I almost told Mason a couple of times, but it just never feels like the right time.
Equating what Chris has done with what my parents still actively do is easy enough. The consequences, though, are a much different thing. I don’t know how he’d react.
There’s not much I know how to say on the rest of the drive to the county jail where Chris awaits whatever’s to come. When we get there, I just park and we both get out without a word.
As we’re walking up to the door, I grab his hand and hold it. He doesn’t pull away, but I can feel the tension in him.
“I’ll be right here the whole time,” I tell him quietly, just before we get to the door.
“Yeah,” he says in a near whisper.
We enter the jail and remove our keys, wallets and cellphones, placing them in the plastic trays to be scanned. He goes through the metal detector, then I get beeped back out of it.
He just stands there with crossed arms and a distant look while I go through all of my pockets until I realize my underwire bra is the culprit. They spare me the humiliation of removing it and use the wand instead while Mason stands unflinching on the other side of the metal detector.
I finally get through and we follow the sign to the visiting area. It hadn’t really occurred to me that there would be much waiting, but minute after minute ticks away on the old clock on the wall.
Mason is quiet. I don’t know that talking would even help, but I feel so helpless sitting here.
Finally, Chris comes into view of the booth where we’re sitting and he takes a seat on the other side of the glass. I’m busy looking for a phone when Chris starts talking, the sound traveling easily through the tiny holes in the glass.
“I know it’s not my best look, but I think I’m pulling off the whole incarcerated thing,” Chris says. “I haven’t shaved for a couple of days. That’s key.”
I don’t want to talk before Mason’s had a chance, but the silence stretches from a few seconds to half a minute. Finally, it’s too awkward and I break the seal, saying, “How are you doing?”
“I’m all right, I guess,” he says. “People aren’t as touchy-feely here as the movies make out.”
“That’s got to be a relief,” I chuckle nervously.
“It is,” he says, “definitely. Still, I’m so insecure, I can’t stop thinking maybe it’s me. Am I really that unattractive?” he asks. “You’d think I’d get at least a gentleman’s look in the shower.”
The fact that I’m trying to not laugh is making it that much more difficult to contain it. Mason’s clearly upset, more upset than I’ve seen him since that fight, though it’s coming out in a very different way. I don’t want to make light of things, but Chris really is kind of charming in a sleazy, I’d-never-leave-him-alone-in-a-room-with-my-purse kind of way.
“Have you worked out a deal yet?” Mason asks.
“Whoa, hey bro,” Chris teases. “When’d you get here?”
“Whatever,” Mason says. “I just need to know whether you’ll be out in time to pick up the stuff you left at my house, or if I’m better off donating it.”
“My little brother, always the bucket of sunshine,” Chris says, looking to me with a quick flash of the eyes.
The guilt I’m feeling tells me he’s looking for some kind of lifeline, some sort of validation, something. Being human and being here at the same time, I can’t help but want to offer him some sort of reassurance, but that’s not why I’m here.
I’m here to help Mason get through this.
Chris looks back to his little brother, letting me off the hook, but Mason just sits there, shaking his head.
“Listen, I know there’s nothing I can say right now that you’re going to believe,” Chris says.
“I believe that,” Mason says.
Chris sits up a little straighter and smiles. “See? I knew you still had a sense of humor.”
“Could you answer my question?” Mason asks.
“What question was that?” Chris returns.
“Have you conned the prosecutor into some kind of deal yet or are you waiting until after your arraignment to see if you can sweet talk the judge into throwing the case out?” Mason asks.
“I don’t seem to remember hearing that particular question,” Chris says, but finally drops the forced levity. “My lawyer’s talking to him. There’s nothing concrete yet, but my guy says the prosecutor’s starting to come around.”
“Congratulations,” Mason says. “When you get out, I want a phone call so we can set up a time for someone to pick up your things. I don’t want you at my house for a while.”
“I screwed up. I screw up a lot. I always have,” Chris says. “I’m not an idiot. I know you’re not gonna trust me for a while, and I get that you want someone else to come by for my stuff, but we’re family, bro,” Chris says, adding a tinge of frat boy to an otherwise decent appeal. “You can’t cut me out of your life forever.”
“Why do you think I’m so pissed off?” Mason asks. “When they took you away, I told myself that I could cut you out. I thought that I could finally stop caring so much about how long it’s going to be before you get your life worked out, but that theory kind of got blown all to hell.”
Chris looks to me and then back at Mason. “What does that mean?” he asks.
“That means,” Mason says, “after you’ve shown me some decent evidence that you’ve gotten past all this crap that put you in here, we can talk about being brothers again. This doesn’t change the fact that I’ve never trusted you any less in my life than I do right now looking at you in that jumpsuit. Do you know how many times I’ve imagined this conversation?”
Chris looks back to me with that same wide-eyed flash of the eyes, but if it is help that he’s seeking with that look, I’m not the one that can help him.
“They only give us a few minutes,” Chris says, his voice
“I’ll make this quick then,” Mason says. “I’ve imagined this conversation so many times I even came here knowing exactly what I wanted to say. If this had happened a year ago or ten years ago, I would have had the same thoughts going through my mind. The words have changed a little over the years, but now that we’re sitting here, none of it is anything that I want to say to you.”
“I don’t know if ya know this or not, big guy,” Chris says, “but I’ve thought about this day, too. You know me, I’ve always told myself it wasn’t going to happen to me, but here I am in a jumpsuit. Or are these overalls? I never really knew the difference.”
“Did you have a point?” Mason asks.
“I’ve imagined this going every way possible,” Chris says. “I could sit here and tell you that I’ve seen the error of my ways or whatever, but you’re never going to believe it and I’m not sure I’d still mean that if they let me out tomorrow. My point is that there’s nothing either of us can do or say that’s going to make this any worse. I guess I’d just like to know that there’s some chance that maybe down the road, we can talk about getting past it.”