Lisa

The days after Nayeon's visits usually dragged, but this time was worse. She'd caught me off guard when she'd broken unspoken protocol and mentioned Jennie. My self-control got slippery. Her name was everywhere. I saw it in books, heard it on the news. An inmate's daughter was starring in a school as Jennie.

I went to the library to distract myself. Since I'd been twelve credits short of a criminal justice degree before all this, I helped with some of the guys' cases and they paid for that. But combing through legal books reminded me of my early days in prison, when I'd done nothing but try to understand how I'd gotten here, so my mind drifted to that night in the truck with Jennie. It was the first time I'd thought of it in weeks. I left the library to work in the yard, mixing and placing concrete in hundred-degree weather until I thought I'd pass out from the heat. All that for fifty cents an hour, half of which went to the victim's compensation fund, but at least I'd been forced to learn a lot on the job. More than I would've jumping from crew to crew like I'd been.

A few nights after Nayeon's visit, following a full day's work, I went to my cell for lights out.

Wills sat on his bunk, short legs dangling over my bed as he sniffed the air like a rat. "You still got that jackbook?"

"No." I'd traded my porn for Cup Noodles and cigarettes.

"How about we swap—pictures of my girl for yours?"

"Not unless you want to take a trip to the infirmary."

Nayeon's Polaroids and catalogue tear-out were hidden in my legal paperwork with my letters. Just to make sure he hadn't fucked with me, I went and squatted in front of my locker, opening my files to check that everything was there.

"I've been looking at the same titties for months," he pleaded. "I need new material."

Jennie's name found me again, her pretty scrawl tempting me from the corner of each of her envelopes. If I could get one message to her, it would be to stop sending the fucking letters. She needed to know they made things worse for me. I was strong enough not to read them, but I couldn't bring myself to trash them like I should. The smart thing would've been burning each letter as it'd arrived. Having them here was dangerous. The guys, they couldn't know about Jennie. They didn't need that kind of lethal ammunition against me.

I stood up. My body ached, my muscles fatigued from a rough few days outside, but hard labor kept me sane. Focused.

Wills picked up his feet as I ducked to sit on my bed with the letters, and he belched a familiar tune. "It's the theme song from Growing Pains," he said. "You know that show with the curly-haired kid?"

Madison had probably watched it. I couldn't remember. I'd never talked to Wills about my sister, though. Or anyone in here for that matter. I lay back with an arm behind my head, staring at the underside of Wills' bunk. The springs glinted from the fluorescent lights, winking at me like stars. I could be back at the camp pool with Jennie if I'd just let myself go there. Her curious hand inching across the pavement toward mine. Even with my eyes on the sky, I'd heard her shallow breathing, sensed her nervousness. I'd wanted to find out exactly what thoughts ran through her head, what had made her come looking for me. What had prompted a quiet, almost shy girl like her to check out Lolita from the library and then tell me about it. I was pretty sure she'd talked herself into everything she'd done that night. Asking me questions about Madison. About myself. Leaning in to try and kiss me.

She was seventeen now.

I pushed the thought away. Her age didn't matter. She could've been twenty-four like me, but I'd still be a convict with a "suspicious" background as my lawyer had put it. A minimum-wage construction worker. The daughter of a murderer.

"You think it'll affect my daughter, me being gone the first few years of her life?" Wills got in a philosophical mood some nights. "Like babies just know that shit? Or you think they're as dumb as they look, all goo-goo ga-ga?"

It made me think of Madison as a baby. I was six when she was born. I'd been an okay sister. I could've been better. Looking back, after her death, there were some things I regretted. I'd stay out after my baseball games instead of coming home for dinner. I'd hide her annoying flute, even though she needed to practice for a recital. I hadn't considered that my little sister might not always be around to kick out of my room or tease for watching cartoons.

"I think babies know," I said.

"But how?" He sounded sad.

"Just do. It's biological or something. Like how they just love you without having to be told or taught."

The bunk squeaked as he shifted. "Deep," Wills said. "You know what I heard today? Avocado is a fruit. How fucked up is that?"

"What'd you think it was?"

"I don't know. A vegetable, I guess. I never thought about it."

Avocado sounded like the most luxurious thing in the world right then. On sourdough bread with turkey and ham, sliced cheese and mayo? I'd trade a pack for a bite of the Jennie Special. I lay there, imagining Jennie layering meat with the precision of a surgeon. Even if the sandwich hadn't been so good, I would've enjoyed it just because of the care she'd put into it. Why? What'd made her want to feed me? What'd given her the courage to come over to the wall that day I'd found her bracelet?

I forced my eyes open. It was as if finding out Jennie's birthday had busted some kind of dam in me. I couldn't keep her off my mind. I picked up the top envelope from the stack, turning it over in front of my face, and ran a fingertip along the corner, over my name in her neat, girlish handwriting. A mix of cursive and print, smooth but broken.

"What're you doing down there?" Wills asked. "Jerking off to your girl?"

"Fuck you."

"Fine, geez. I did it the other afternoon just knowing she was in the building."

I was thinking about my girl, and it made my chest burn. I grabbed more letters, sorting through them for the only one I'd actually opened. The first I'd ever gotten and had attempted to read. I unfolded the lined paper that had been ripped out of a spiral-bound notebook and words jumped off the page at me.

So sorry . . . my fault . . . can't live this way, knowing I did this . . .

I gritted my teeth, looking away. I didn't want to read this. Couldn't. I still had two months in here and if I let her in now, it'd make things so much fucking harder. Why did she send them? What good did it do? I turned the page over to the last few lines.

I'll come visit every chance I get. Don't be mad at me. I'll make this up to you.

I almost crumpled the page, my hand shook so bad. There was no mention of anything in the letter other than what she'd done. How sorry she was. All the ways it hurt. That wasn't the life I wanted for her, and she knew it. I could still feel her between my legs on the horse, laughing into the wind, gripping my forearms even though she had to know I'd never let her fall.

Since I'd gotten here, I'd been in two fistfights, had faced down a man with a shiv, and had been verbally abused by CO's. But reading about her guilt over that night was harder than any of that. I found her most recent letter, the one I'd picked up last week, and stuck my finger under the flap, easing it open.

Wills started on some rant about tonight's mystery meat and how he'd probably have diarrhea in the middle of the night. That small motherfucker had a weak constitution. One thing I'd learned in prison was that I could eat anything and still, sometimes, try to bargain for more. I tuned Wills out.

Dear Lisa,

I had to make a hard decision this week. I wasn't going to be a camp counselor again. I thought it would be too hard without you, but I think I'm going to do it. I love it up there and I want to see the kids. I hope it doesn't upset you. I'll make it up to you by riding a horse, but since I can't imagine being up there with anyone other than you, I'll do it by myself.

I swallowed and almost stopped reading. Selfishly, it did upset me. I wanted to be back there, in the woods where the air was fresh and cool, with no worries. Just her.

My dad and I had a fight. He wants me to join the track team next year so I can put it on my college apps. I said no. I don't run for him or for USC. I run for myself. Some days it feels like the only thing I can do. By the way, my infection is gone. I hope you weren't worried. I know you worry.

There will be a scar. Doyeon says it's cool, at least.

My gut tightened, my hand instinctively balling up the envelope. What had infected her, scarred her? Who was Doyeon? Was that a man or a woman's name? Fuck.

I skimmed to the end of the letter.

Please write me back. Please add me to your visitor's list. I miss . . . everything.

Love,

Jennie

PS My birthday is in less than two weeks. I'll be seventeen (but you know that).

I dropped my hand, clutching the page. Love, Jennie. The words were tiny daggers dipped in sweetness and plunged into my heart. I'd never approve her as a visitor, that was for damn sure. She was a minor and couldn't come alone anyway.

Next to me on the mattress were the answers to my questions, but the first and last letter told me all I needed to know. I wasn't strong enough to handle being in Jennie's head. When she hurt, I did more than hurt—I felt like shit. Like a real criminal for letting things get this far. But hearing she was doing better without me around, yeah, that made me feel like shit, too.

I closed my eyes. She was going to camp. Getting back on the horse. Running for herself. She was better, stronger, growing up, and if I were still in the picture, that wouldn't've been the case. The evidence was clear—in a matter of weeks, I'd turned her perfect life upside down. She was getting it right-side up again, like I'd always known she would. That didn't mean it didn't hurt, knowing she was moving on, but as long as she was happy, being away from her was the right thing.

I must've drifted. When I came to, the lights in the cells and hallway had dimmed. The jail was still, quiet, and that only happened at the dead of night. I gathered up the letters to put them away when I noticed the other one I'd been avoiding. It wasn't from Jennie, but it'd be easier to read since I didn't really give a shit what it said.

I ripped open the envelope, probably taking off some of the letter itself, and held it out to the bit of light coming into the cell.

Did you get my last few letters, Daughter?

I've been calling, but they say I'm still not approved to visit. Your mom, either.

I was planning to drive out there. I didn't want to go into all this over a letter, but what else can I do? It's like a parasite inside me, and I can't move on with my life until I get it out.

Weak, pathetic piece of shit. My dad's chicken-scratch filled up three whole goddamn pages, front and back. I'd read his first letter with my eyebrows drawn, certain it'd gotten to the wrong "daughter."

Apparently, he'd been released from Pelican Bay and had been looking for me ever since. If he'd reached out to Henry or my aunt, they hadn't mentioned it, because we all had an understanding—we didn't talk about my dad. It wasn't until I'd been locked up that Dad had been able to find me. His letters were so fucking pitiful, sometimes they even made for a good laugh.

I skimmed the words so I could trash it as fast as possible.

Rehabilitate myself . . .

In a program . . .

Bad things.

Your sister.

Innocence.

My attention snagged on Madison's name. I held the letter closer to my face, squinting to read.

Your sister lived in her own world. Madison could occupy herself for hours. Sometimes I just couldn't stand not knowing what was in her head. It drew me to her . . . and it infuriated me. My counselor says her innocence and simplicity "defied" the chaos in my head. I would ask her what she was thinking, but she kept me out on purpose to torture me. To tempt me. She matured too fast. One minute she was my innocent little girl, and overnight she started to change. You don't know what it's like to watch a girl become a woman.

The priest says I can be forgiven, but I have to ask for it, so here I am, asking. First, I should explain.

My father, your grandpa, started molesting me when I was seven or eight. The first time I touched your sister, it was an accident.

The floor bottomed out. I sucked in a breath as I shot up to a sitting position, knocking my head on the top bunk. No no no. This wasn't happening.

I made confession to the Lord. It's not enough. I want your forgiveness, too.

My teeth ground together to the point of pain.

Your mother took it hard, but she's decided to stand by me . . .

The dankness of the cell began to close in, suffocating me. I put my head between my knees, holding my ears as the room spun. My quiet, thoughtful sister who'd once cried herself to sleep because we'd caught a mouse in a trap. Who wouldn't harm an insect. It had to be wrong. A sick joke by a sick motherfucker. My dad had always been off, had demons.

I got up and paced the cell. I hadn't known any of this, but I had known he was fucked in the head. That he'd beaten each of us up at some point. And I hadn't stopped him.

My brain pounded, swelling in my head. My eyes burned. My heart blistered, setting fire to my chest, face, and scalp. That fuck. That stupid fuck. It wasn't enough to kill Madison, he'd had to ruin her, too. Steal her innocence from right under my nose. Maddy's and my bedrooms had shared a wall. How could I not have known? I wanted to scream, howl, feel the cold, steel bars of my cell breaking apart by my hands. I want to get loose so I could wring his neck and drain the life from his body.

I leaned my back against a wall and pinched the inside corners of my eyes. Like a sponge, hot water came out. I hadn't shed a tear since Madison's death nine years ago, not even during her funeral.

Because I didn't cry. I didn't breakdown. I got stronger. I made sure it didn't happen to anyone else I loved. I protected.

This, though, this was different. I'd lived under the same roof as a monster. Madison had never said a thing to me. She'd been a shy kid, and now I knew—she must've been a scared one. She'd never try to spite or manipulate my dad. That wasn't her. His belief that she had, that she'd tempted him, was one of a coward. Fuck forgiveness. He hadn't changed a bit.

I slid down the wall, sitting with my head between my knees and my hair in my fists. This was the end of the fucking line for me, a second death for Maddy. Any goodness I might've thought there was in this world, my dad had just weeded it right out. And there wasn't a fucking thing I could do about it, barred in an eight-by-six cell, trapped with nothing but my father's sins and the encroaching memories of Jennie, the seventeen-year-old girl I needed to forget—now more than ever.