Eighteen Months Later
8:00 a.m.
Alto, Georgia
DaShawn squinted as she walked through the front door of Arrendale State Prison. The sun seemed brighter, the air tasted cleaner on this side of the razor wire-topped fence than they did in the prison yard.
“See you soon,” the guard said as he began to pull the reinforced steel door shut.
“Not if I can help it.”
The guard snorted laughter. “That’s what they all say.”
DaShawn flinched when the door closed with a heavy metallic clang. She had been dreaming about this day for well over a year. Now that it had arrived, she didn’t know what to do first.
To her left, another now former inmate was running toward the husband and child she’d been separated from for five years. To her right, another ex-con was passing around a forty of malt liquor with a group of friends. The woman hadn’t been outside for more than five minutes and she was already getting the party started. At this rate, she’d be making a return appearance in no time flat. DaShawn didn’t intend to follow her example.
She wondered which direction she should go, left or right? What did it matter? No one was waiting for her no matter which way she turned.
She tossed her duffel bag over her shoulder. The bag weighed next to nothing. It didn’t contain much more than a change of clothes, a dog-eared copy of this year’s Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, and a stack of letters stamped Return to Sender.
She had written Rashida once a week for the eighteen months she had been inside. Every week, without fail, she had tried to make Rashida see her side of things. She had apologized for all the things she had done wrong and told Rashida how much she loved her. She had told her she was a changed woman and begged her for the chance to prove it. But each week, the letters had come back unopened. Even the one that contained the business plan she had spent nearly a month trying to draft. The plan for the hair salon she hoped to own and operate as soon as she got her feet under her on the outside.
Alto, a tiny town in north Georgia, had a population of less than a thousand permanent residents. The inmates in Arrendale often exceeded that number. DaShawn couldn’t wait for the city and the prison to become nothing more than blips in a rearview mirror. She couldn’t wait to get back to Savannah. She couldn’t wait to get back to Rashida.
She needed to see Rashida face to face. It was the only way she’d ever get her to listen.
The closest bus station was in Gainesville, nearly twenty miles away. The fare for a ticket would put a substantial dent in her meager stash. The cash she had amassed in Savannah was probably locked in an evidence locker if some crooked cop hadn’t pocketed it for himself. She’d left some money behind in Florida, but the IRS had probably seized it while she was behind bars. Until she got a look at her accounts, the only green she could count on was what was in her pockets. She’d made enough money working various jobs around the prison to afford a ticket on the first thing smoking. She just needed to figure out how to get there. The prison van was headed that way, but she’d rather walk than spend another second surrounded by armed guards.
She strode across the parking lot, ready to begin the long trek to Gainesville. She had barely made it to the road when a dented Mustang pulled up beside her. The Mustang needed some TLC, but it still looked like a sweet ride. She bent to see who was inside. She didn’t recognize the driver, but the grinning passenger was one of her former cell mates.
“Going my way?” Patty Stewart asked. She had the face of an angel but the mouth of a sailor. Her quick temper and willingness to use her fists when she lost it were the reasons she’d ended up in Arrendale.
“I’m headed to the bus station. Do you think I could get a ride?”
“Hop in.”
After Patty opened the door, DaShawn tossed her duffel bag in the backseat and climbed in the car. She nodded at the stone butch behind the wheel, giving her the respect she deserved.
“Where are you headed?” Patty lowered the volume on the Carrie Underwood song blaring on the radio. “Are you going to try to win back the woman you told me about, the banker you fell for?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks. I think I might need it.”
*
The Next Day
8:46 a.m.
Savannah, Georgia
DaShawn heard the gasps after she pushed the door open and stepped into the lobby of Low Country Savings Bank. Winter, Seaton, and the tellers openly gaped at her. They were probably wondering how she had the balls to show her face here again. She was wondering the same thing. The security guard—she couldn’t help but think of him as her replacement—eyed her warily as she walked toward Winter’s desk.
Winter blanched and looked around as if being seen with her would sully her reputation.
“Relax. I won’t stay long,” DaShawn whispered to keep from being overheard. “I need to talk to Rashida. Just tell me where she’s working today, and I’ll get out of your hair.”
“I—I can’t—”
Winter’s eyes looked as panicked as they had the day the elevator almost caught fire. The day three people nearly succumbed to the fumes. Seaton rode to her rescue. “Is there something I can help you with?”
DaShawn repeated her request. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her. For one of the few times in her life, she shrank from the attention. “Please, Seaton. I just want to talk to her.”
He drew her aside. “It isn’t the bank’s policy to divulge personal employee information to customers or, in your case, a noncustomer. Your request seems to be of a personal nature. Even if Miss Ivey were still working for the bank, I couldn’t tell you in which location.”
“What do you mean if? She doesn’t work for Low Country Savings anymore?”
According to the headlines she had read during her imprisonment, Rashida had been named executive vice president, which meant she had been promoted not fired. How could she go from being one step away from the top to being shown the door? It didn’t add up.
Seaton stood firm. “I’ve said all I plan to say. Unless you intend to open an account or apply for a loan, please allow me to walk you out.”
For eighteen months, DaShawn had dreamed of being reunited with Rashida. She had gone to sleep each night dreaming of the day the prison’s doors would open and she would be free to return to Rashida’s side. She had thought the day had finally arrived. But her dream had quickly turned into a nightmare.
Numb, she trudged down the street not caring where she might end up. She stopped her mindless walking when she heard someone calling her name. She turned to find a familiar face bearing down on her.
“I don’t know whether to slap you or thank you,” Jackie Williams said.
“One I definitely deserve. The other I’m not so sure about.”
“If not for you, I might have lost my best friend. Thank you for looking out for her.”
“Even though I was the reason she needed looking after in the first place?”
Ignoring the question, Jackie rested her hands on her ample hips. “I hear you’re looking for her.”
“Does that surprise you?”
Jackie looked up at her, her eyes guarded. DaShawn could see why Rashida trusted Jackie with all her secrets. All except one. Rashida had told Jackie she and DaShawn had slept together, but she hadn’t told her anything about their relationship. Had Jackie forgiven either of them for the omission? Probably not. Jackie didn’t look like she was in a forgiving mood.
“What if Rashida doesn’t want to be found?”
DaShawn hadn’t considered the possibility. She wasn’t stupid. She knew Rashida didn’t want to talk to her, but did Rashida really intend to avoid her for the rest of their lives? Would she never give her a chance to explain?
“Didn’t she return all the letters you wrote?”
“Yes.” DaShawn remembered the sinking feeling she got in her gut each time one of the guards shouted her name during mail call and handed her an envelope emblazoned with the words that marked her failure to break through to Rashida. Return to Sender.
“I think it’s time you took the hint, don’t you?”
A few returned letters weren’t enough to make her accept defeat. “Thank you for being the protective best friend, but Rashida’s a grown woman. She can take care of herself.”
“That’s what she’s been doing for the past eighteen months. Now here you are trying to waltz back into her life and rip open the wounds she’s tried so hard to heal.”
“I don’t want to hurt her. I just—I want to—”
“You want to what? Kiss it and make it better? Say you’re sorry, tell her you’ve been successfully rehabilitated, and try to convince her to give you a second chance like she’s the head of a parole board holding the keys to your pardon? Or did you come here to rub it in? To twist the knife a little more?”
“I have been rehabilitated. I used my time inside to think about all the things I’ve done wrong in my life. I vowed I would never do them again.”
“I’m happy for you, but your revelation came much too late, as far as I’m concerned. Do you have any idea what you put Rashida through? What you put us through? Everyone who works for the bank was affected by what you and Harry did, but especially Rashida. I’m glad you realized the error of your ways before the situation got completely out of hand, but I really wish you’d seen the light a lot sooner than you did. Take my advice. The next time a woman tries to convince you to participate in a crazy scheme, just say no.”
Jackie turned and began to walk away. With three words, DaShawn stopped her in her tracks.
“I love her.”
Jackie slowly turned to face her. “You have a funny way of showing it.”
“She loves me, too.”
Jackie looked at her but didn’t respond. DaShawn felt the tide begin to turn in her favor.
“Rashida knows me,” she said. “She knows my heart. All I want is a chance to prove I’m the woman she thought I was all along.”
Jackie stiffened. “If you meant as much to each other as you claim, you shouldn’t need me to tell you where she is.”
Kicking herself for pushing Jackie further than she was willing to go, DaShawn watched her walk away. She would have to find Rashida on her own, but she didn’t know where to start.
She turned in a slow circle, taking in the sights and sounds of the historic city that surrounded her. Then she closed her eyes and blocked out every noise except the one she most wanted to hear. She listened for the sound of Rashida’s heart.