Life Sentences (11 page)

Pilar pushed her hair from her face and smiled. “Don’t hold your breath. Husband prospects are slim, at the moment. Besides, you’re too young to be a grandmother.”

“There’s still hope, and a lot of time for even someone as ugly and incompetent as you to find the right man,” Celeste teased. “And, there’s always that nose. You could get it fixed.”

They laughed momentarily, but finished their tea in silence. After Celeste paid the restaurant bill, they walked arm in arm to the Mercedes.

S
UNDAY MORNING
P
ILAR PILED
her purchases into the car’s trunk. One of the first things she would do back in Marquette was to trade in the car. She closed the trunk lid.

Celeste handed Pilar a plastic bag filled with homemade scones. “Thanks. Did you bake these?”

Celeste nodded. “It’s a newly acquired skill to fill my free time — what little I have these days with my counseling work.”

Pilar hugged Celeste. “Maybe you should visit me the next time. A change of scenery would do you good.”

Celeste pecked Pilar on the cheek. “Yes, perhaps.” She took a quick breath. “Yes, I’d like that. I have this odd feeling …

“What? What kind of feeling?” Pilar asked as she remembered so many similar moments when her mother had had a premonition. Usually her insights turned out to come true, which made Pilar uneasy.

“Oh, it’s just a silly, motherly thought. It’s foolish, really. I feel like I’m going to lose you.”

“How could that be?” Pilar smiled and shook her head. “No matter where I live I’m still your daughter. And, we can always visit.”

“Yes. Well, I said it was foolish.” Celeste started to stand away from the car door, but stopped and asked, “Whatever happened to your yellow slicker?”

“I never had one. Mine was red, remember?

“Umm. That’s odd,” Celeste said, more to herself than Pilar.

“Odd? How?” Pilar’s voice became tense.

“I seem to recall a yellow slicker, that’s all.” Celeste leaned away from the car. “Oh, well. Its’ just one of those silly, aging memory things.” She bent forward and kissed Pilar’s cheek. Have a safe trip, dear.” Celeste turned and walked to the house.

As Pilar drove away, she watched Celeste who remained at the front door. Celeste waved once and then rested the tips of her fingers on her lips.

P
ILAR PULLED THE CAR
into her designated spot, thankful to have any place to park. The prison lot was crowded even that early on a Monday morning. The line of visitors, mostly women and a few children, wound its way through the waiting area and out the front door of the administration building. As Pilar passed the lobby desk, the officer announced over the telephone to central control, “There are five separate women here already to visit Chad Wilbanks and it’s only eight. How’d ya wanna handle it?”

Pilar analyzed the line of women. Which of them would visit a man like Wilbanks? She experienced an odd twinge, almost like the time her best friend stole the boy she had a crush on. She sighed and went to the front of the line, a privilege held for employees.

A new officer searched her. He was young, a recent hire like Pilar. The fish officer was a lot less thorough than Leonard.

“What’s up with all the visitors?” Pilar asked, trying not to sound too nosy.

“It’s like this once a week, on Mondays. Chad Wilbanks’ visiting day.” The officer shook his head. “It sure baffles me.”

“How’s that?” He had piqued Pilar’s curiosity. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed the large group on other Mondays. She probably got to work on those days before the visitors had arrived.

The officer contemplated the crowd in the lobby. “Those women don’t even know Chad Wilbanks. They’ve only read about him in the news, or got information on him from the Internet. Some of them travel more than two hundred miles to visit.”

“The Internet?” She was so astounded, her voice squeaked.

“Yes, ma’am. There are web sites that post pictures and information about prisoners interested in pen pals, but often the relationship goes further.” The officer thumbed toward the growing line of visitors.

“Web sites?” she asked, sounding like an echo. “I didn’t think prisoners had access.”

“They don’t directly. They send the information via snail mail to the web site host organization.” He chuckled. “It sure pays off.”

“That is odd.” Pilar glanced at the group. “I guess Wilbanks,” she said, then quickly added, “and several other prisoners, won’t have time for sick call today.” What could be on the Internet that would bring those women up here?

“No ma’am. Wilbanks is one of the most popular. Those women also deposit money in his account. He’s not likely to give that up for a few meds.” He called out to have Gate Two opened. “Have a good one, Doctor Brookstone.”

“You, too.” Pilar was delighted that the officer seemed so nice after Leonard’s treatment. As the gate closed, she peeked one more time at the lobby. Such ordinary lookingwomen. She heard Lorrie’s singsong voice; “Virgin Mary, marry a virgin.” Pilar headed for her office.

Officer Leonard escorted Chad Wilbanks past Pilar to check him in for his day of visits. Chad smiled. Leonard nodded. “Ma’am.” She’d been so engrossed with Lorrie and the female visitors. Had Chad’s elbow deliberately brushed against her arm?

Then she heard Chad whistle. “There’s more than usual, today.” He sounded amazed. Pilar touched the place where Chad’s elbow nudged her and caught his eyes following the motion. Pilar was intrigued by his obvious lusting, and felt relieved that he was interested in her even with a bevy of cash-carrying women at the prison to visit him.

Today, Chad wore the street clothes permitted for visits rather than the usual prison blues that resembled hospital scrubs. The red crewneck sweater and white shirt brought out his large, sensual, mink eyes. His alluring smile invited an encounter.

Pilar squeezed her attache to her chest and lowered her head to hide her burning cheeks as she fled to the solitude of her office. Had Leonard noticed her foolish behavior?

While Pilar waited for the first patient, she started a list of reasons she might be acting like a teenager with a crush. The only thing she wrote was
Father
. What was she searching for? How could she harbor even the slightest belief she’d find whatever she sought in a murderer she hardly knew, no matter how charming he was?

Jane knocked on the door and teased, “No more napping, Doctor Brookstone. Your first client is here.”

“I’m on my way,” she yelled with too much exuberance. The inmate’s arrival was perfect. Pilar had no desire to waste any more time on her father or Chad Wilbanks.

L
ATE IN THE AFTERNOON
, Jane knocked again. “Sorry to tell you this, but you have one more patient.” Her face formed an exaggerated grimace, turning the corners of her mouth so hard her bottom teeth were exposed.

Pilar checked her watch. “So late?” She had hoped to finish the ever-growing pile of paperwork before she left for the day. She closed the folder she was writing in and placed it on top of Tommy Johnson’s institutional file. Jane focused on Johnson’s name.

“What room?” Pilar asked quickly without hiding her exasperation, and to allay Jane’s obvious curiosity.

“One.” An unexpected smile filled Jane’s face as the two left the office.

Pilar grabbed the medical record Jane handed her and pushed the exam room door open. The folder slipped to the floor at Chad Wilbanks’ feet.

“Hey, Doctor Brookstone! How’s it going?” He leaned from his chair, one hand cuffed as usual, and picked up the file. When he handed it to Pilar, their hands touched. They lingered in that space. Then, Pilar yanked the folder away.

Chad relaxed into the chair. His confidence suffocated Pilar.

“I’m surprised you have time for sick call with all those visitors,” Pilar said, then hastily chided herself for the friendliness. And, even she recognized a jealous undertone — had Chad? She was like an open book when she acknowledged her awareness of the other women.

“No big deal. They come every week. Amazing, huh?”

“Yeah,” she answered, “amazing.”

“But,” Chad rapidly added, “those women aren’t real friends. They don’t understand me.”

“Umm,” Pilar waited for him to tell her why he was there. “Well?” she asked.

“Well, what? Oh. Why am I here?”

Pilar tapped her foot.

“My throat’s gotten sore again.” Chad opened his mouth wide and showed off nearly perfect teeth free of fillings.

Pilar leaned against the exam table and folded her arms over her chest. “Not good enough, Mr. Wilbanks.” Her hand was still warm where he had touched it. “Are you trying to get out of a work assignment? Because your throat is fine.”

“You haven’t checked it.” He pointed to the jar which held tongue depressors. “So, how do you know? Besides, it’s not time for me to work yet. I’m the night block porter.” He pointed at the container again. “I used to be the librarian before I tried to escape.”

Pilar snatched a depressor and a small flashlight. As she approached him, she said, “Open wide.” She jammed the wooden stick on his tongue and to the edge of his throat. His eyes narrowed as he choked. Pilar retracted the wooden stick. “Like I said, you’re fine.” She walked around to the other side of the exam table to keep her distance.

“Thanks, Doctor Brookstone.”

She nodded.

“Do you like to read?” Chad asked, and went on before Pilar answered. “I sure do.”

“Yes, I do like to read,” she responded, taken off-guard by his question. “When I have time.”

“What kind of books?” Chad sat tall and appeared hungry for the exchange.

“If I’m not reading a professional journal, I guess I like true adventures like
Into Thin Air
and biographies or memoirs.
Angela’s Ashes
, that kind of book.” Pilar thoughtfully gave into his appeal.

“Me, too,” Chad said. “But, since I lost my librarian job, I can’t seem to get the stuff I like. Our library is really short on good books.”

“Get me a list of books you might want and I’ll ask the program director for his help,” Pilar offered, before she realized she was in a conversation with an inmate that should be reserved for a friend or colleague. She had been warned in training not to get involved in such a personal chat. Embarrassed by how easily Chad lured her into thatdialogue, Pilar started for the door.

“Thanks. Do what you can, but the program director will take forever.” Chad’s tone became sad.

“Well, maybe I can bring some of my books in, as a loan.” After all, Pilar was willing to help anyone eager to better themselves. How could fudging the rules for a good cause do any harm?

“Why are you here?” Chad asked in an amiable tone, as if he sensed Pilar’s ease of conversation.

“What?” She faced him.

“You’re pretty, and intelligent, and you care about us. Why would someone like you work in corrections, especially in the UP?” His voice could soothe anyone into a dreamy state.

“No choice about where I’m assigned. As for corrections, it’s like my father says. I’m just a do-gooder hunting for a man.” Immediately, she regretted the words. How could she confide in a prisoner?

Chad smiled.

Pilar pressed the button that alerted the officer to take Chad back to his cell. He followed her every move. “I’ll be back real soon.” Chad hesitated. “With that list of books.”

Pilar, unable to move, watched Chad’s cocky retreat. What on earth are you doing? Pilar slammed the door shut, condemning her immature reaction.

A
FTER SHE PACED HER
living room floor for an hour, Pilarfinally gave in to her overwhelming curiosity. She slumped into the chair at her computer and searched for the prisoner pen pal web site. Shock overcame her when she discovered there were several. She surfed through each until she found Chad’s name on
prisonpenpals.com
.

An unsmiling Chad was pictured in full color. His expression offered the viewer a childlike plea which made him appear shy. At first, Pilar was suspicious and angry. The ad seemed so manipulative.

“Hello, ladies,” it read. “My name is Chad Wilbanks. I’m twenty-eight years old and a college graduate. Though I have been accused of first degree murder, I’m pursuing legal alternatives to the life sentence I’m serving. I have a good sense of humor and I’m sensitive, intelligent, a good listener, a little shy, and I love reading and all kinds of music. Because I have been incarcerated for more than two years, my friends have abandoned me. I’ve learned what it’s like to be lonely.”

That last phrase pulled Pilar into Chad’s eyes. Did she see hurt in them? She shook her head. How could she, an intelligent doctor, be caught by his self-serving advertisement?

Once freed from his eyes’ magnetism, she read on: “Though I’ve made a mistake that put me behind bars, I’m not a bad person. So, please don’t judge me by my crime. Give me a chance to tell you my side of the story. I’m not interested in money or what anyone can do for me. I would just love to hear from you. I hope to find a woman whois easy-going, kind, caring, and emotionally and financially stable who also wants to develop a friendship, or perhaps more? So, please write. Let’s meet and build a friendship.”

P
ILAR READ THE TEXT
through twice, and finally felt the real loneliness behind the man’s words. She could almost hear that endearing lisp.

Judging by the number of women who visited Chad, his plea for friendship seemed to be working. If those women wanted to go against his claim not to want money, was that his fault? So what if he appeared too eager for a relationship? The guy was lonely and being forthright about it. Why not use the Internet?

She searched next for Tommy Johnson’s name. He wasn’t listed on any site Pilar found. He wasn’t lonely, though, like Chad. He had Jane in his corner.

E
ACH MORNING
P
ILAR SEARCHED
the appointment list for Chad’s name. When she didn’t find it, she was both relieved and hurt. “What is going on with me?” Pilar threw the clipboard against the wall. “Why do I care if he comes here or not? He’s probably too busy with all his women visitors anyway.” Pilar leaned against the wall. “No money in my office for him.”