On the long bus trip, Val had a lot of time to think about what she would say to Kevin. She didn’t even know if he had read her letters or just torn them up. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe she should have written to the chaplain, telling him she had decided to come, then he could have prepared Kev for her visit Maybe she should phone his office at one of the rest stops? Maybe, maybe, so many things. But maybe none of it mattered? She was on her way now. There was no turning back.
Her stomach was in knots most of the way. The hours of travel seemed endless, the bus crowded and the trip a jolting one, up twisting mountain roads, long stretches of highway bordered with brooding wooded hills as they got closer to the isolated site of the state prison.
At last, early in the evening, they reached the town above which the penitentiary was located. It was dreary beyond description. Fog swirled eerily as Val made her way down the dingy main street to a small hotel the bus driver told her was about the only decent place in town to stay. She thought he had looked at her with something like sympathy mixed with curiosity. When she asked him directions, she felt her face grow warm. Did he know why she was here in this town at this time of night? And what difference did that make? It was just her own sense of shame. He probably brought busloads of relatives of prison inmates here all the time. It was nothing new to him. Her private agony meant nothing to him.
Worn out from the long bus ride and nerves, Val fell into an exhausted sleep. She woke up long before it was time to catch the local bus up to the prison. Val knew about that from the brochure on visiting procedures she’d received when she wrote for information. As she dressed, her heart was beating so fast she could hardly breathe. She brushed her hair, put on lipstick with a shaky hand. In the bathroom mirror, under the glaring light over the sink, she looked deathly pale. She dusted on blusher. Okay? She kept trying to see herself through Kevin’s eyes. Then she shivered. That was the best she could do.
Outside, she walked across the street to the bus station and bought coffee at the snack counter. It was weak and tasted terrible in the paper cup, so she only took a few sips. Was it time yet? She glanced down at the dainty diamond-chip wristwatch Kevin had given her when he got his first promotion at the bank. It was too ornate to wear at work, but Val had worn it today thinking Kevin might like to see it on her.
She looked around at the other people in the station. There were several women of various ages. A few sat together, talking in low voices. A few sat apart, faces set in misery. Were they all going up to the prison, too? Most were poorly dressed, wornlooking. Val turned away. She shouldn’t be staring. She was embarrassed for them. A core of bitterness she rarely admitted stirred inside her. Resentment that Kevin had put her in this position. Humiliation seared her. Why should she feel superior to these women? She was in exactly the same situation they were.
The door to the loading platform opened and a driver announced, “Bus now boarding.” There was a general movement as the passengers in the waiting room, mostly women, gathered up bundles and packages, then started toward the door. For a minute, Val hesitated. She didn’t want to file out there with the others, admit she was going to the prison to visit an inmate. Then quickly she felt ashamed. Whatever she was feeling, what Kevin must be feeling all these months was worse. She straightened her shoulders and walked out to the bus.
From the bus window, the outline of the huge gray prison loomed ahead like a medieval fortress as the bus wound its way up the narrow road. The facility had been built on a cliff overlooking the ocean to provide maximum security for prisoners who might think of escaping. When it had been built, the word was put out, and since then the legend had grown that no one ever escaped from this penal institution. That bleak view was what Kevin had to look out at every day. That is, if there was a window in his cell.
The bus stopped at the prison gates, and everyone filed down the aisles and out. Val realized she had been right; all the passengers were on the same mission. Visitors. She wondered if the wives of prisoners had some kind of distinguishing mark? Something that identified them as indelibly as the numbers stamped on inmates’ clothes. Or maybe they were only recognizable to a fellow sufferer.
Even though the day was warming, Val kept shivering, had to press her lips together to keep her teeth from chattering.
At a wire-windowed enclosure at the gate, they had to present identification to a uniformed guard. From there go through a metal detector before passing through the gates into an inner courtyard. Here they went single file through a door marked Visitors into a large empty room with wooden benches along one side. A half-glass partition divided the room. On the visitors’ side were shelves, a telephone and a straight chair. The guard indicated they were to sit down until the name lists were checked, inmates who were to receive visitors notified.
They waited for what seemed at least half an hour. No one spoke. Even the women who had been murmuring together at the bus station were now wrapped in a tense silence. No one more than Val. She glanced around. Probably most of these other women were expected. Their husbands, boyfriends, brothers were looking forward to seeing them. Her case was different. Her hands clenched compulsively. Suddenly, an electric bell shrilled, causing her to jump. Through the glass, she saw a door on the other side open and a line of men in drab prison garb filed into the room.
Val held her breath, searching for a glimpse of Kevin among them. Then saw him and suppressed a cry. She half rose, waving her hand. The guard barked out the names and motioned the women forward as prisoners moved into places on the other side.
Kev was scowling. Val was sure he had not been able to figure out who his visitor was. Maybe he thought it might be Brad Hensley, his lawyer. When he saw her, his eyes widened, he flushed a deep red, then his mouth settled into a straight line. But he walked to the seat as she hurried to the window opposite.
Nothing could have prepared Val for what prison life had done to her husband. It was the physical changes in his appearance that were the most shocking. He looked much older. His eyes were dull, the eyelids puffy. The tan he cultivated so diligently had faded, replaced by a grayness that almost matched the rough denim shirt. Kev had always been a “fitness freak,” maintaining his body with rigid discipline. Now there was a slackness about him; he looked soft, pudgy. He slumped into the chair. Somewhere, Val had read modern prisons had exercise rooms where prisoners, could work out, pump iron, keep in shape. Was this another of the options offered to inmates that Kevin had refused to take advantage of?
Val tried to conceal her dismay at the way he’d deteriorated. She took her place opposite him, picked up the phone and said huskily, “Hi, darling.” Kevin did not pick up the receiver on his side. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest, his expression like stone. He avoided making eye contact Val tried again. “Please, Kev. We must talk.”
Reluctantly, he lifted the phone. Between clenched teeth, he said, “I told you not to come.”
“I know, Kev. But I had to come. Darling, don’t you see what you’re doing is wrong? Wrong for Megan, wrong for me, wrong for you. Please, try to understand, I can’t let you blot us out of your life like this.”
“I thought I made it clear I didn’t want you to come. You should have done what I told you,” he said harshly. “It was stupid of you to think I’d change my mind.” His expression hardened. “Brad—my lawyer—” he almost spit out the word, so Val guessed he must have met with some recent coldness from his onetime friend “—tells me you haven’t returned the divorce papers. I want you to sign them.”
“I can’t sign them. I don’t want to end our marriage. Listen, Kevin, it’s going to be all right, I promise you. I did what you asked. I moved out of town to Seawood. Remember Seawood? Anyway, I’m using my maiden name so Megan is protected and I’ve got a job and a place to live. We’re doing okay. Of course, we miss you terribly, and when you’re free—”
“I’ll never be free of the stink of prison. It will cling to me for the rest of my life. Don’t you realize it’s over for us? For you and me? Things will never be the same. Don’t you get it? Or are you too stupid?” he shouted. Val saw the man on the other side of Kevin glance at him. The guard walking back and forth along the line of prisoners halted, watching him.
Val winced. She knew that when Kevin was angry or upset he said things, terrible things sometimes, things he didn’t mean, things he was sorry for afterward. Half the presents he gave her were offered in apology for some tirade or other. She’d learned to expect both. The explosion, then the remorse.
If she just remained composed, kept Kevin talking, maybe she could calm him down, make him see how important her coming was for all of them, their future. But she didn’t have a chance. Kevin leaned forward, his face very close to the glass partition, the phone next to his mouth.
“Now listen, Val, I want you to do exactly what I say. Don’t delay any longer on the divorce. I don’t want you to come here again. Ever, understand? You’re young and smart and you’ll make it. I want you to be free. You’ll meet someone and get married again—”
“No, no, you’re wrong, Kev. I won’t. I don’t want to. I—”
“Shut up!” Kev yelled. Stunned, Val drew back, almost dropping the phone. Kev’s voice was so loud everyone could hear it in spite of the partition. “Didn’t I tell you not to come here? Don’t you ever come back or try to see me again. You hear me? And you sign those papers, you hear?”
With that, Kevin slammed down the phone, then stood, pushing back and knocking over the chair. It crashed onto the concrete floor. Without a backward glance, Kevin flung himself away and stalked to the door leading back to the main part of the prison.