CHAPTER TEN

A month later and Myra was still suffering badly with morning sickness. Dr Mike had told her that it should subside by her third month so she hoped that it would let up any day now. At the moment she was tied to the apartment at least until lunchtime, for fear of being sick outdoors.

Horace had accompanied Myra to her hospital appointment for her ten week scan just over a week earlier and it had been confirmed that the baby was healthy and growing well. They were told the baby had been conceived on January first or second so it must have happened that first morning right after Myra moved in with Horace. The baby was due on October seventh. Myra begged Horace not to tell everyone until the third month was passed, just to make sure everything was alright and he kept his mouth shut with difficulty, but talked none stop about their approaching parenthood while at home.

Myra was overjoyed at the prospect of becoming a mother and enjoying every minute of married life and looking after Horace, however, it was only a matter of time before something happened to briefly spoil the fairytale.

Myra was in the bathroom when the mail arrived on Saturday. She still couldn't keep a thing down and had given up trying to eat breakfast until the sickness settled. She could usually manage some dry toast by the middle of the morning. Slowly it subsided and she washed her hands and face and looked at herself in the mirror. Pregnant women were supposed to 'glow', weren't they? Myra thought she looked like the walking dead.

"Myra? You alright?" Horace called.

"Yes, I'm just comin'." She opened the door.

"Ya got somethin' in the mail," Horace said at once.

"I ain't expectin' nothin'." She walked past him into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Horace followed and dropped the envelope onto the counter in front of her. The stamp on it said it had come from Colorado Department of Corrections in Denver.

"What does he want?" Horace demanded grimly.

"I dunno, do I?" sighed Myra. "I didn't expect to hear from him."

"Didn't ya?"

She sipped the water and glared at him.

"Ya gonna open it, then?"

Myra put the glass down and ripped open the envelope. It was a visiting order for the following Tuesday. Her stomach flipped over and she put a hand over her mouth, hoping she wasn't going to vomit again.

"Well, ya know what you can do with that!" Horace said angrily, snatching the card out of her hand. He tore it in half and then in half again before tossing it into the garbage can. "Even now he's locked up, ya still ain't free of him!"

"Sorry, Horace." Myra darted past him to the bathroom again as another wave of nausea overtook her. Was Hank ever going to let her forget about him?

The second visiting order turned up three weeks later. Horace had already gone to work when the mail arrived, much to Myra's relief. She sifted through the half dozen envelopes, all of which were addressed to Horace except for the one at the bottom of the pile which was from the prison. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, hoping that she would open them again and find that the stiff white envelope was merely a bill or a circular. Another look revealed that it was still a visiting order from Hank.

"Horace will go mad," she muttered to herself, glancing over her shoulder even though she knew he was over a mile away in his office. Without opening the envelope, she ripped it and its contents into small pieces and went to flush them down the toilet, her hands shaking. Damn Hank, what did he want to see her for anyhow? She doubted it would be to apologise.

"Forget about him," she said aloud. "He's miles away, he can't hurt ya."

Another month passed and Myra's morning sickness finally subsided. She was over four months pregnant now and showing quite a bit. A second scan had showed the baby to be healthy and progressing well and the midwife had printed out a photograph for her and Horace to take home. Horace was so excited he spent a good part of Saturday on the telephone to family and friends, talking about it. Myra smiled to herself as she listened to his side of the conversations and began to feel that at last she could relax and enjoy her marriage and pregnancy.

On Monday morning another visiting order arrived.

"Damn you, Hank, leave me alone!" she cried, throwing the envelope carelessly into the trash. She sat down at the kitchen table with a sigh, wondering if she would ever be allowed to forget him. Every time she began to put him out of her mind, he would pop back up again like a bad penny.

She sat there for a long time staring at the table top, chewing her finger nails and thinking about the wretched visiting order in the garbage can in the corner of the room. Eventually she got up and retrieved it, ripping open the envelope. The visiting time was for one o'clock on Thursday. Perhaps the only way she could put all of this behind her was to go and see him and tell him to stop bothering her. Maybe then he would leave her alone once and for all.

Myra hid the visiting order in the inside pocket of one of her jackets and went out later that day to the bus station and the railway station to find out how she could get to Denver and back before Horace returned from work at six. The bus would be slow, but there was a train leaving Colorado Springs at eleven-fifteen which reached Denver just after twelve. The railway station there was about ten miles from the prison so she could get a cab at the other end. Another train left the city at three and arrived home at four-thirty. Feeling sick with nerves and guilt about doing this behind Horace's back, Myra bought a return ticket for Thursday and went back to the apartment, wondering how she was going to behave normally for the next three days until it was all over.

Somehow Myra managed not to let Horace see how nervous and worried she was during the next few days and she was fortunate in that with Easter approaching, Horace was busier than usual and when he wasn't working extra hours, he was thinking about work so if she seemed distracted he didn't even notice. At last Thursday arrived and Myra busied herself in the kitchen, making breakfast and packing up lunch for Horace who gobbled one, grabbed the other and dropping a brisk kiss on Myra's cheek, hurried out of the door at eight-fifteen.

At ten Myra began to get ready to go. She took out a small black purse and put into it the visiting order, the train ticket and some money, then tried to decide what to wear. She supposed it didn't matter what she wore and took out a pair of jeans, but then changed her mind. They were too tight and made her pregnancy obvious; it would be more sensible to cover it up and look nice; let him see she was better off without him. She put on a smart pair of navy trousers and a simple white shirt hanging loose, pinning her hair up neatly with a tortoiseshell crocodile clip. She added a neat black jacket and high heeled boots, a hint of peach lipstick and a dab of powder.

By the time she was ready it was ten-thirty and she grabbed her purse, locked the apartment and began to walk to the railway station. She dawdled and made the walk last fifteen minutes, then checked the departure board for the train to Denver. It was on time and due in at Platform 4 in twenty minutes. She made her way to the platform and sat on a bench, fidgeting nervously and trying not to bite her nails. Her stomach was doing somersaults and her heart thumped unevenly. There were still two hours to go until visiting time at the prison and she began to have second thoughts about going. She was more nervous about seeing Hank again than she could remember being about anything else in the past. She began to go over and over in her head what she intended to say to him. 'I'm married to Horace now; I don't wanna hear from you again.' How difficult could that be?

The train pulled slowly into the station and Myra leapt to her feet, dropping her purse on the ground and having to stoop and retrieve it quickly. 'Just forget about it and go home,' she thought to herself and began to walk along the platform. Dozens of people were now disembarking from the train and a number of others clustered together, waiting for the way to be clear for them to board. Myra hovered uncertainly watching them, then finally turned and followed a couple of students as they climbed the steps into one of the train carriages. She found a seat and sat down, removed the ticket from her purse ready for the inspector and did her best to relax.

People shuffled up and down, loading luggage in the overhead racks, finding seats, chattering. Myra gazed out of the window at the activity on the platform and thought of Horace sitting in his office at Fedex, oblivious that his wife was on her way to visit the man who had caused the pair of them so much misery.

The train pulled out of the station at exactly eleven-fifteen and after Myra's ticket was checked she put it away and watched the scenery flying past as she hurtled towards Denver. The journey seemed interminable and the closer she got to the city, the more her stomach churned and the more she wished herself back home. As the train finally pulled into the station she reasoned that in less than ninety minutes it would all be over.

Perhaps a dozen cabs waited outside the station and Myra joined the line of people wanting them. She took the fifth car and slid into the back seat.

"Where ya goin', Miss?" the driver asked.

"Colorado Department of Corrections, please," she said.

She saw his eyebrows rise slightly in the rearview mirror before he put the car into gear and headed out of the station.

'Please don't talk to me,' she thought to herself.

"Visitin'?" asked the driver.

"Yes," Myra said shortly.

"Family? Friend?"

"Neither."

"Secret rendezvous?" He grinned wickedly in the mirror.

"In a prison?"

"We get all sorts."

"Please, just drive," Myra said with a sigh, wishing for the hundredth time that she hadn't come.

"Sure thing." He stopped talking and accelerated down the sliproad onto a highway. Two exits further on they turned off the freeway and headed down a wide undeveloped road. Myra could see metal fencing in the distance and buildings behind it and she licked her dry lips.

The car stopped at the gate in the fence and Myra was required to show her visiting order to a guard. The taxi was required to turn back, leaving her to walk the last couple of hundred yards. She paid the driver and asked if he would wait for her. He nodded, pulled the car to the side of the road, switched off the engine and took out a newspaper and a pack of cigarettes. Myra walked through the gate and headed for the building. A number of people were waiting outside and she joined them, clutching her purse tight in both hands and avoiding looking at them.

"Ya got the time?" a woman asked no one in particular.

"Twelve-forty," another voice replied.

The next fifteen minutes crawled by and at last the large metal door in the building swung open and two prison guards appeared. The other people appeared to be regular visitors and all immediately trooped through the door and down a long corridor lit with fluorescent strip lights. Myra followed anxiously. The visitors reached a long counter and waited in line while two other staff behind it checked their bags and pockets to make sure they weren't bringing anything in that wasn't permitted. Several people had brought a variety of gifts for those they were visiting. Myra handed over her visiting order and opened her purse, then a moment later she was waved on towards another corridor. She followed the other visitors to a closed door with a guard standing by it. He unlocked the door and pushed it open. Myra waited for the other visitors to walk through into the room beyond, still in two minds about turning around and leaving.

"You goin' in or not?" the guard prompted her.

"Uh…yes."

She decided to just go in and get it over with and taking a deep breath, she walked briskly into the room. A number of small tables were set out with chairs surrounding each. She went to a vacant one and sat down, gripping the strap of her purse tight and and pressing her hands between her knees to stop them trembling. She glanced around nervously at the other people and then looked up as the heavy metal door at the far end of the room opened and a dozen or so men came in. Each one quickly found the friends or family members who had come to see them and sat down with them.

Hank came in last. He was wearing jog pants and a grey t-shirt, his hair tangled. Myra's eyes quickly took in the bruises on his face and the torn knuckles from fighting. He looked depressed and lethargic as he walked towards her and sat down.

"Myra," he said gruffly. "Didn't expect to see ya."

She met his eyes, noticing the dark smudges beneath them and the constricted pupils.

"You look terrible." It was out of her mouth before she thought about what she was going to say.

"Thanks." He stared back at her. "You look good." His gaze drifted away again.

"Hank?"

He didn't answer or even look back at her. Myra resisted the urge to reach across the table and shake him.

"Hank!"

His eyes slid back to her face and remained fixed there for a few seconds, but he didn't speak. He leaned back in the cheap plastic seat, running a hand through his hair, then glanced to one side and then the other as if he would rather look at anything other than Myra.

"You've been fightin'," she stated.

Hank snorted. "Ain't exactly news, is it? Ya gotta stand up for yourself in here."

Myra was silent for a moment. She hadn't thought it would be so hard to speak to him, but then she hadn't expected him to look so rough either.

"You need to get yourself together, Hank, otherwise you'll end up dyin' in here," she said quietly.

"Don't pretend ya care," he grunted.

"I don't."

"So why ya here?"

"Ya sent me a visitin' order, remember? Three actually." Myra pulled herself together and said what she had intended to say when she made up her mind to visit. "I just came to tell ya to leave me alone. Horace and I are married now and we're gonna have a baby. I don't wanna hear from you again."

"You're pregnant?" Hank's face was already pale, but whatever colour had been in it now drained away.

"Yeah."

"Ain't nothin' more to say then, is there?"

"I guess not." Myra stood up and pushed her chair back under the table. Hank didn't move or look at her and she turned away towards the door. She glanced back once just before she reached it. Hank was still sitting at the table, his head in his hands. She hesitated, filled with guilt and sadness, despite everything he had done.

"You goin'?" the guard at the door asked her. "Ya got another ten minutes."

"Yes, I'm goin'."

He opened the door for her and she stepped through and walked away without looking back again.