Ilka slowed down when she drove past the funeral home and noticed the front door standing wide open. A ladder blocked the doorway, but her mother and Jette stood just inside, busy doing something. Ilka parked, and when she got out, the hearse rounded the corner. It startled her to see Leslie behind the wheel, with her father in the passenger seat. Leslie jumped out of the car and ran to the house, sobbing all the way. Ilka reached the hearse just as her father stepped out. He looked like he was about to cry too.
“What happened?” she asked.
He explained that they’d just visited Mary Ann at the jail. His lower lip was quivering as they walked to the back door. His steps were short and slow, as if he lacked the energy to move his feet.
“Wasn’t she happy to see you and Leslie?”
He nodded as they reached the door. He leaned up against the doorframe and finally looked her in the eye. “It’s horrible. They don’t have the resources to take care of a prisoner with her handicap.”
Ilka stepped over to help him with his coat, but he shook his head.
“I have to get back. They don’t have the right kind of ostomy bags. Mary Ann uses a single bag, it’s easier for her to change and takes up less space. The jail’s infirmary says all they have is two-piece bags, and now she has an infection around the opening. Mary Ann empties the bags herself, but she needs to be washed off—she needs proper care, and they can’t provide it.”
His voice broke. Ilka could tell that he blamed himself, that he was thinking that none of this would have happened had it not been for his disappearing act. Then Leslie would still be taking care of her mother. Ilka wanted to tell him he was wrong, that the real reason was the clash between Mary Ann and Fletcher, her father. A result of secrets resurrected after so many years of lies.
Instead she said, “Can’t we get hold of the right bags and have them delivered to her?”
Her father nodded. “I have a whole box of them, it’s in the trunk. Along with bandages and everything she uses to wash herself with. We always kept extra supplies in the car, in case something came up and she needed to change.”
He shook his head; all their routines had been wiped out. “Even changing to a different kind of bag, with a different adhesive, is enough to irritate the skin.”
Ilka nodded. She hadn’t even thought that Mary Ann might have had a colostomy after her accident. “Is there anything I can do?”
Her father stared into space for a moment. “If you don’t have any other plans, you could deliver the bags for us.” He added that it had been very difficult for Leslie to see her mother in jail. “She broke down after we left. But I think it was good for them to see each other, even though they didn’t talk much.”
He explained that prisoners were permitted only one weekly twenty-minute visit. Leslie and her mother had sat across from each other, separated by a glass wall, and spoke by telephone. Most of the time had been spent talking about the problem with the ostomy bags.
“Didn’t you talk to her?”
He shook his head and said that he’d waited outside, because an ID was required to get in, and he didn’t have one.
“Your mother and Leslie went with me to get an ID and license. But they won’t come for several days, even though the mistake was corrected in their database. And anyway, the important thing was for Leslie and Mary Ann to speak together.”
“But she knows you’re back?”
He smiled a bit wearily and nodded. “Amber called her and explained.”
“I’ll drive over and deliver the bags,” Ilka said. “If they’ll let me in!”
He looked at her, obviously grateful for the offer. “They said that family and friends can deliver medicine in the lobby of the jail, twenty-four hours a day. Prescription medicine has to be approved by the jail’s doctor, but that’s not necessary with the bags.”
“How do I find it?”
Her father wasn’t sure what she meant.
“The jail. Where is it, is it far away?”
He smiled. “It’s right downtown, across from the library. On the same side of the street as Oh Dennis! The Racine County Jail takes up half the block, you can’t miss it.”
Ilka was surprised. What a place, she thought. Jails and crematoria, right in the middle of town. Not something you’d see on the Kongens Nytorv, in the center of Copenhagen.
She heard her mother and Jette chattering out in the foyer. They were picking up and rearranging things, she saw when she stuck her head in the room. They’d pushed the large glass cases up against a wall. Ilka asked if they needed anything from town, or if they wanted to go along.
“We have a meeting with Gregg,” her mother said. “He’s stopping by for a cup of coffee.”
Ilka nodded and said she’d be back soon. The door to the arrangement room was closed. She thought about checking on Leslie, but she decided her half sister probably needed time alone after the trip to the jail. She pulled on her coat and followed her father to the car. He opened the trunk, grabbed a brown cardboard box, and handed it to her.
“It’s all in here,” he said. “Just go in and say it’s to be delivered to the prisoner Mary Ann Fletcher Jensen, so they get it registered in their database.”
Ilka stood out on the sidewalk holding the box as she looked over the enormous red-brick building. Should she just stroll on in, or was there a place to check in first? She walked over to a double door that slid open when she approached. Straight ahead sat two uniformed men behind the front desk. One of them tilted his head up and looked at her expectantly.
“Mary Ann Fletcher Jensen.” Her palms felt sweaty. “I’m here to deliver her ostomy bags, they’re waiting for them.”
The officer didn’t seem to be listening, but he leaned forward, his eyes glued to the screen in front of him, and apparently typed in her name.
“The prisoner was transferred this afternoon to health services.” His voice sounded mechanical over the speakers in front of her.
She explained about the ostomy bags and bandages that needed to be changed, which was why it was important to deliver the box to Mary Ann. She still wasn’t sure the officer was listening, but she stood at the front desk and waited. Nearly five minutes later a door to the left of the desk opened noisily, and an older man in a white coat stepped into the foyer.
Before he reached Ilka, he said, “Is your mother allergic to penicillin?”
“My mother?” Her mind raced; her father and Leslie had probably said they would be coming back with the supplies, and she ran the risk of being thrown out if she set them straight. “Sorry, I don’t know.”
The doctor turned and headed for the door. Ilka followed him, not sure if she was breaking the rules. Holding on to the box bolstered her confidence. But just inside the door, she was blocked by a counter and a long enclosed glass booth with more officers in uniform. Farther on she saw a brightly lit hallway that was mostly a row of white doors. All of them closed. Cells, obviously, she thought.
She was told to sign a form, stating she was the one who had delivered the box.
“And we’ll need an ID,” the officer said. He opened a small door to the right of the booth and motioned for her to place the box in the shallow chute.
Ilka fumbled around in her bag to find her billfold and her Danish driver’s license. She hoped they wouldn’t refuse to take the box when they discovered she wasn’t Leslie. The chute door closed, and the officer studied her license closely. She took a step back and waited; no doubt she was being checked up on, but there was precious little they would find on her.
The doctor had vanished, but one of the white doors opened and a nurse walked out. At once she closed the door behind her and checked to make sure it was locked. Ilka tried to imagine the lives being led behind those doors.
Another door farther down opened, a broader door, with indentations around it. At first, she didn’t recognize the person coming out, but—although the officer frowned at her—she stepped close to the glass wall when she noticed the wheelchair.
Mary Ann’s long blond hair hung down over her body. It was thin and parted in the middle. She wore an orange prison jumpsuit and sat crumpled in the chair, staring straight ahead as a uniformed woman pushed her down the hallway. Even at a distance it was obvious she was in pain. Her skin was pale, translucent even, and the elegance Ilka had once seen in her father’s wife had disappeared. Her eyes were empty, and when the woman behind spoke to her, she didn’t react.
“All right, thank you, ma’am!” The officer handed Ilka’s license back to her. The door behind her opened.
Mary Ann was wheeled into a room right behind the glass booth, and the woman shut the door. Ilka stared at it.
“Thank you, ma’am,” the officer repeated. Slowly, she turned and walked out.