“What happened the night you were arrested?” Sloane asked. “We’re not here to judge. We want to help if we can.”
Mary Louise shook her head. “Honey, I appreciate that, but I’ve been in here eleven years. I don’t believe in miracles anymore.”
“We’re not offering a miracle,” I clarified.
“Anything that would get me out of this place one day early would be a miracle,” she insisted.
“Then tell us what happened that night,” I said.
Under the table, Sloane’s hand found my thigh and squeezed. Hard.
“Please,” I added briskly.
Mary Louise closed her eyes and reached up to rub the back of her neck. “My son was fifteen. His father and I had just split up, and he fell in with the wrong crowd. He had plans. He was going to be the first kid in my family to go to college.”
Sloane’s knee pressed more firmly against my leg. I kept my arm where it was on the back of her chair but allowed my fingers to brush her shoulder. I felt better, less anxious in here touching her.
Mary Louise locked eyes with me. “He was a good kid. A really good kid.”
“Good kids can make stupid choices,” I said.
Sloane tensed.
“I was working two jobs at the time. I wasn’t around as much as I should have been. I missed the signs. He’d started experimenting. Nothing too crazy. But his ‘friend’ told Allen he had a way they could make some money. Allen being Allen knew times were tough and thought this was a way he could help out the family. They took my car from the parking lot while I was working third shift to meet some dealer somewhere.”
She interlaced her fingers and rested them on the table.
“I got pulled over on the highway halfway between work and home. I had a headlight out. It turns out they decided it was safer to keep the drugs in my car. I had no idea I was driving around with almost five pounds of marijuana in my back seat. I didn’t even know what a dime bag was until I came here. I’ve learned a lot of things in here.”
There was no blame, no malice in her tone. She was simply stating facts.
“When you found out the drugs belonged to your son, that’s when you changed your plea, isn’t it?” Sloane guessed.
Mary Louise nodded. “He had a whole bright future ahead of him. I wasn’t going to let one mistake ruin all that.”
I felt a tightness in my chest. The sacrifice this woman had willingly made for her son was unfathomable. At least in my family.
“I had a public defender. The prosecutor offered me a deal. If I pled guilty, she would recommend one year with time served and the possibility of early parole. I was only supposed to do six months max. Six months and then I would be home. I’d see my baby’s high school graduation. I’d send him off to college.”
“What happened to the deal?” Sloane asked, leaning forward.
Mary Louise shrugged. “The prosecutor made the recommendation. But for whatever reason, the judge didn’t like the deal. He said drugs had been infiltrating his community for far too long and it was time to set an example for criminals like me.”
Sloane winced.
My free hand balled into a fist in my lap. I too knew what it was like to be at the mercy of a twisted justice system.
Mary Louise held up her palms. “So here I am in year eleven of a twenty-year sentence. But I wake up every day so glad that it’s me here and not my baby.”
It was too warm in this room. My tie was too tight. I needed air.
“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Sloane said.
“Do you know if the drugs or bags were fingerprinted?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I’m sure it wasn’t. From my arrest to me changing my plea was only a few days. I doubt any evidence was processed. My second public defender recommended that we appeal. He thought we could prove I didn’t do it without implicating my son. He was digging into the case, getting ready to file a motion. Then he got a job at his mother-in-law’s firm and moved to New York,” she said wearily. “I’m on public defender number four now, and she’s so overworked it takes her a week to return my calls.”
“That’s really unfair. But you don’t seem bitter,” Sloane said, shooting me a nervous glance.
She was about to promise this woman the world. I removed my arm from the back of her chair and squeezed her leg under the table.
“Bitterness is a waste of energy. All I can do is make the best of this situation.”
“It looks as if you’ve kept busy,” I said, flipping open the file I’d brought with me.
Her eyebrows lifted. “Is that a dossier on me?”
“Where did you—never mind,” Sloane said before turning back to Mary Louise. “What have you been doing since your sentence?”
“I got an associate’s degree in business and one in creative writing.”
“You founded a creative writing program for inmates,” I added.
She smiled wryly. “I did. But that was more for me than anything. I like talking about writing, and in here, I have a captive audience.”
“Your son. He’s in law school now?”
A slow, proud smile spread across her face, making her look younger, lighter. “In his last year at Georgetown. He says as soon as he graduates, he’s going to find a way to get me out.”
“We have to help her,” Sloane said as we exited the prison.
An involuntary shudder worked its way up my spine when the heavy door closed behind us. Had it not been for Sloane’s father, this could have been my fate. I turned up my coat collar and sucked in a deep breath of icy winter wind.
I could breathe again. It felt miraculous.
Sloane’s cheeks were flushed pink with excitement. “I mean, obviously it’s going to take a lot of time and energy—”
“And money,” I added. I could give it to her. But she wouldn’t take it. Not if she knew it came from me.
“And money,” she agreed. “But we can’t let her sit behind bars. Not for protecting her son. And certainly not for another decade.”
Her eyes sparkled behind her glasses. She hadn’t been this excited in my presence since we were teenagers. It was another sting of loss.
“I guess I need to talk to Naomi, Lina, and Stef first. Then I’ll call Maeve. We’ll have to find a lawyer. A good one.”
As she babbled on, I thought about how much her energy reminded me of Simon’s. Simon had loved nothing more than a challenge when justice was at stake.
It appeared the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.
The Waltons were good people. They weren’t stained with bad blood as I was.
“Your father would be…proud.” The word lodged itself in my throat, and it took effort to let it loose. It was the greatest compliment I could think to give.
Sloane stopped her bubbly, one-sided conversation to gawk up at me.
“Thank you,” she said finally. Her eyes narrowed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said testily.
“You don’t look fine. You look pale.”
“I always look fine,” I insisted as I guided her across the parking lot.
She glanced back at the building we’d just left. “I’m sorry. I didn’t really think about it, but I guess being in a prison even as a visitor could be triggering after—”