Yesterday's Tomorrows (3 page)

"This is where I'll be staying?"

I scowled at the confusion in her tone. Who the hell did she think she was? "What? It doesn't live up to your expectations?"

Her eyes widened before turning into dark slits. "No, actually, it doesn't! If you'd taken me to a homeless shelter, it wouldn't have surprised me." She crossed her arms. "This is far nicer than anything I expected. I'm sure you think that someone like me doesn't warrant this second chance, but I didn't seek this out, buddy." She poked her finger at my chest. "For whatever reason, Mr. McCloskey feels differently, and whatever else I am, I'm a hard worker, and I won't let Mr. M regret giving me this chance."

"Humph. I guess we'll see." I opened my door and got out, irritated at how she had a knack for turning me into a bad guy. Relieved she was only my problem for a few more minutes, I opened the back door to my truck and grabbed an envelope that I'd been instructed to bring along, leaving her to climb out on her own. My mother would have been appalled. I guess I was zero for two on my manners today.

She crossed her arms as I came around the truck. "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Andrews, especially as I'm certain you had better and more important things to do this morning than spend it with someone like me. Oh, I also appreciate you defending me to Mrs. Regis." Without waiting for a response, she turned and cut across the grass toward the front door. I could have sworn I heard her mumble something about my ass and my elbow, which didn’t make any sense to me, but I couldn’t help but grin. Her sass amused me, and I hadn’t had anything to smile about in a long time.

I started to call after her, but my ‘ass’ that she referenced decided to lean back against my truck instead. Ignoring the light drizzle, I crossed my arms and watched and waited. Despite the baggy, unattractive cheap jeans she was wearing, I could still see the gentle sway of her hips. I had a feeling that if she wore clothes that fit, she'd have a figure worth showing off.

Within minutes, she came back out the front door. I had to bite back laughter as I watched her chest heave before she squared her shoulders and marched with a determined expression in my direction.

"Forget something?" I asked with all the innocence of a choir boy caught in the girls’ bathroom.

She cleared her throat. "It seems that I was a little too eager to explore my new home, and if you would be kind enough to tell me where I need to go or who I need to see, I would be grateful."

I was about to make a sarcastic comment about not being kind at all, but I noted the dark circles beneath her eyes and put aside any further desire to needle her. Besides, a small part of me grudgingly admired her ability to find a way to maintain her dignity while not quite swallowing her pride. "Very diplomatic, Ms. Stone. You'd make a good lawyer."

I gestured for her to lead the way back into the building. I nodded toward the elevator which immediately opened when she pressed the 'up' button. Hitting the button for the fourth floor, I pulled the key ring with two silver keys out of my pocket. We stepped into a plain white hallway with brown carpet, the only splash of color coming from a couple of wreaths on her neighbors' doors.

"You'll be in 403. Looks like it's this way." I turned left and sure enough, quickly found myself in front of a gray steel door with tarnished gold-colored numbers that matched the key ring. Figuring it was only fair for her to be the first to open the door to her new home I held the keys in the palm of my hand. She stared at them for several seconds before reaching for them and unlocking the door with a shaky hand.

T
he door swung
open with a slight creak, and I looked into my new home for the first time. A few white tiles led to a carpeted living room, already furnished with a blue plaid couch and a solid blue wing-back chair. A maple-colored table held a television across from the couch. A couple of end tables with lamps completed the room.

Feeling a little self-conscious in front of the solemn man I'd left standing at the door, I wandered into the small kitchen that was a tiled extension of the living room. I gingerly ran my fingertips across the laminate countertops colored in various shades of browns and tans to look like granite. I almost couldn't wait to try to cook once again in this kitchen, which was newer than any kitchen I'd been in.

My grandmother's kitchen was the place where I'd learned to mix away my troubles. Hers had been bigger, but the wood counters were scratched and chipped, the stove had a burner that only heated the center coils, and the dial on her ancient oven had to be set about twenty-five degrees higher than recipes called for. But that hadn't held her back from making the most amazing dishes I'd ever sampled. And as her mother had taught her as a little girl, she passed her knowledge down to me. She taught me about measuring cups and spoons, but we rarely used them.
Pshaw
, she'd say,
a good eye and the palm of your hand are all you need
. I wasn't that good, and she'd laugh and call me a cheater when I pulled out the small, slightly dented metal nesting spoons or cups. Giggling, I'd hug her and remind her that she was one of a kind, and I'd never 'measure up' to her.

God, how I missed her - the one person who loved me unconditionally. I blinked back the tears that her memory invoked and hurried down a short hallway toward the one bedroom, feeling those dark eyes following me.

Inside the room, which was slightly larger than I expected, was a full-size bed outfitted simply with a plum-colored comforter with an ivory band embroidered in flowers across the center. It looked so soft I couldn't stop myself from sinking onto it. I closed my eyes as I ran my hand across the bedding that was so much better than the two-inch thick, narrow mattress I was accustomed to. I was sure it was as close as I'd ever be to curling up on a cloud. I grinned and fell backward on the bed with my arms flung wide, not missing the steel rails and cinderblock walls that I usually encountered if I stretched too far.

"I take it meets with your approval?"

I looked up to see Mr. Andrews leaning against the doorframe, his hands shoved in his pockets and his ankles crossed. I couldn't tell from the glint in his eyes if he was amused or being sarcastic, but I suddenly felt such a sense of jubilation, not even Mr. Tall, Dark, and Moody was going to ruin this day for me. I moved my arms up and down as if making a snow angel. "It's wonderful! Like a slice of heaven on Earth!"

"Well, if you're done flopping around like a fish, I need to return to my office," he scowled.

I sat up but didn't move off the bed. I cocked my head in curiosity. "Are you always so grumpy or do I just bring out the worst in you?"

He frowned. "Maybe a bit of both." He turned and walked back toward the living room. "I have something for you from McCloskey," he called.

I scurried off the bed and followed him. A large, brown envelope was pushed in my hands. "If you don't need anything else, I'll leave you to settle in."

A little flurry of nerves shot through my stomach. When was the last time I'd had time to myself? Suddenly, even his company felt better than being alone. I swallowed hard and stuck out my hand. "Thank you for meeting me and, well, for everything."

He looked at me through thoughtful eyes that softened as if he could read my mind. "You'll be fine. Good luck to you, Ms. Stone." He squeezed my hand, then turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

I leaned my back against the door and closed my eyes, overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotions of being on my own for the first time in...well, ever. I'd been left alone a lot during my life, but I'd never lived on my own. Having lived the last fourth of my life constantly dictated to, I wasn't sure what to do next. I didn't have anyone to report to, I wasn't restricted from going anywhere, and I didn't have to worry about who might be lurking around the next corner. Yet, I still felt frozen with indecision. Was it possible to feel imprisoned by too much freedom?

Curious about the envelope Mr. Andrews had given me, I slid my finger under the flap and pulled out several papers stapled together. They looked like the lease for the apartment. The law firm had generously supplied the first month's rent, but I would be responsible after that. A handwritten note written in bold, block letters was paper-clipped to the top.

The letters on the paper grew blurry as the tears I’d held back earlier refused to go away. I would never be able to repay John and Emma McCloskey, either for their generosity or their staunch belief in me. I didn't know for sure how my former third-grade teacher had found out about my circumstances, but once she had, she'd immediately sent her husband to me, and he set to work right away filing and arguing for my early release.

It hadn't taken long for me to recognize that my new lawyer not only excelled at his job arguing a case in a courtroom, but also in expelling knowledge from his newest client. Somehow, he'd gotten me to share things about myself that I'd never told anyone. If I were a criminal, I'd hate to be on a witness stand being cross-examined by him.

After Mr. M's initial visit to meet me to learn more about my case, he continued to make visits while he pursued the necessary paperwork. During those times, he asked questions about what it was I wanted to do before I was incarcerated. Slowly he pulled out the painful details of my broken family life and how I wanted to go to college and become a teacher. Eventually, he moved on to my plans once I was released. One day, he informed me of a new program his firm was developing to partner with released criminals to assist them back into the civilian world. I was suspicious of the timing and my deservedness, but he never faltered in his determination to convince me to apply for the opportunity.
‘It's a chance to start over. Where else are you going to go? Why not you?’

I looked back at the paper in my hands. His words touched me. I knew he had carefully chosen them, especially his closing
. Respectfully
. He understood that I felt I'd lost all chance of being respected by anyone, including myself. In one word, he was trying to tell me I was worthy.

Thoughts of Holten Andrews drifted into my mind. It was obvious by his demeanor that he didn't think I deserved this opportunity. I wondered what he'd think of me if he'd met me under normal circumstances, out in town or at work, or if I didn’t have a criminal background.

Oh, who was I fooling? I wasn't good enough for members of my own family. How could I be good enough for anyone else?

You need to love yourself first.

The words from the counselor we'd been forced to listen to as we were coached about re-entering the 'real world' played in my head. I wasn't stupid; I knew there was something to the sentiment. But she made it sound so easy. She spoke as if there was some magical formula to make everything better. I'd always been an excellent math student, and the laws of math dictated that adding zero to anything else still yielded the same. I felt like adding me to any situation was equivalent to adding nothing.

And yet Mr. M thinks you're worth taking a chance on
, I reminded myself. According to him, I was more than a zero. For now, I would have to trust that his math was better than mine.

I
bit
my thumb knuckle and paced back and forth in front of the couch, unable to focus on the television show I'd turned on. I didn't know what it was called or what it was about; I just needed something to fill the silence.

If you'd asked me a day ago what was one of the things I was looking forward to the most about getting out of prison, at the top of my list would have been peace and quiet. In prison, it seemed there was always noise: loud shrieks, sharp cracks of laughter, eerie moans, crying, electronic buzzing of locks, and almost constant talking. Even during mandatory quiet hours, I could still hear footsteps, snoring, and mumbles of the guards. Now I found the silence almost unnerving. Glancing at the clock on the stove and seeing it was almost lunchtime, I felt my body tense in anticipation of being called to line up for lunch, but the signal never came.

I tried to occupy myself by exploring the cabinets and drawers in the small kitchen. I had been generously supplied with basic needs, almost all in sets of four: white dishes and mugs, glasses, silverware, and dish towels. There was a set of pots and pans and a small coffee pot. There were even a couple of homemade frozen casseroles in my freezer, complete with directions on how to heat them. According to another note, they'd been graciously supplied by Mrs. McCloskey.

I smiled when I peeked into the linen closet in the hallway. In addition to a couple of sets of dark purple towels, there was a pack of toilet paper. While most people would take that for granted, I saw it as another reminder of finally being free. No longer would I have to endure scuffles over a few sheets of the precious commodity!

I wandered back down the hallway and stood in the middle of the living room. I had managed to kill seventeen minutes according to the digital clock. I'd only been in my new pad for over an hour, and already I didn't know what to do with myself. I thought about taking a nap in that amazing bed, but my adrenaline was still pumping. I wished I could go for a walk and spend some of my extra energy.

That's when it hit me. Why couldn't I? There were no locks holding me inside; nobody monitoring where I went.

I didn't bother glancing out the window to see if it was still raining. It didn't matter. In fact, I'd welcome the chance to feel the sting of the drops since we weren’t allowed outside on rainy days at the correctional center. I swept my keys off the coffee table and darted out of the apartment.

By the time I came back in, I was cold and shivering, but my face hurt from smiling so big. If anybody was home and had bothered to look out their window, they might have wondered what kind of nutcase had moved into the building. But for once I didn't care what anyone thought of me.

At first, I'd been tentative as I walked all around the building and took in my new surroundings, almost waiting for someone to question what I was doing or where I was going. But it didn't take long before I was running toward anything that drew my attention: a bus stop where I paused long enough to notice a schedule; a small flowerbed in front of the building where I dug my fingers into the cold, wet soil to pull a couple of weeds and allow a worm to wriggle in my palm; puddles that I actually jumped in; and my favorite - a small playground where I sat on a swing and pumped my feet until I was soaring high, ignoring the creaks and groans of the old metal structure. I was happier than a pig in mud exploring things I hadn't been able to in years.

I didn't even regret that I was now standing in my bedroom as a soggy, dirty mess. I hadn't considered my laundry issue before now, but I decided I could always wash out the clothes in the sink and wrap up in a towel while they dried overnight. I stripped down and wrapped up in one of my new towels and rinsed out the pants. The shirt was only wet, so I went to the bedroom to see if there might be any hangers in the closet so I could hang it up to dry. To my delight, I found not only hangers but a couple pairs of jeans and long sleeved shirts. In a drawer, there was a new pack of underwear. None of it was fancy, but it was clean and dry and nicer than anything I’d worn in a long time. It had to be Mrs. M again. I loved her maternal instinct to take care of others.

I enjoyed a steaming hot, untimed shower, another first. Even before I went to prison, I had to be careful not to use too much hot water, or I'd drain the small hot water tank. I would, however, need to do some shopping for some personal items. I had no idea where to go, though.

So whatcha gonna to do about it, girlie?

My grandmother's voice seemed to whisper in my head. That had always been her challenge to me when I wanted something that wasn’t readily available. I felt the familiar ache in my chest whenever I thought about her. God, I missed her something awful. I’d only been ten when Charly and I went to live with her. She was my father’s mother, but they had severed ties long ago. I never knew why. But whatever feelings she had for her son, she loved and took care of us to the best of her ability. She knew I had big dreams to go to go away and go to college.

She lived in an old farmhouse situated on the edge of town, close enough to walk the near half-mile to the Piggly Wiggly for groceries, but not be bothered by the traffic of the main crossroads in town. I liked to watch the cars and eighteen wheelers loaded down with lumber from our mills as they passed in front of the house and wonder about their destination. It certainly wasn't here. My town was just a convenient stop to fuel up and grab some soda or coffee before hitting the interstate about thirty miles down the road. License plates from states near and far, mostly from those along the I-95 corridor, passed through, perhaps avoiding the traffic along the interstate or possibly enjoying a more scenic rural route.

I moved to my living room and sank down on the couch and remembered some of her old-fashioned but valuable wisdom.

"Where d’ya think they’re travelin' today?" Gammy asked in her Tidewater accent, playing along with my game of imagining where all those people were going. When I was little, I guess I had combined the words 'grandmother' and 'mommy' in my head, and Gammy was the result. It stuck.

"That minivan," I pointed, "is gonna hit 95 and take it all the way south to Florida. The three kids in the back are gonna get to go to Disney. I bet their parents are wishing they had ear plugs the way those kids were carrying on in the back. Wherever they're going, they're lucky." I shrugged as if it was no big deal, but she looked sharply at me.

"How do you know that?"

"Cause they're not stuck here."

"Every dog has a few fleas, child. You don’t like it here, that’s fine, but whatcha gonna do about it? Don't go wastin' your time wishin' on somethin' and then do nothin’ ‘bout it. Make use of what you do have or find a way to change it." Her sigh matched the weariness in her blue-grey eyes. "Lawd knows life ain't been easy for you, sweet child. But you got your mama's smarts. Keep on workin' hard at school, and maybe you'll be in one of those cars some day."

I rolled my eyes at her. "I know, I know. When life throws you lemons, make lemonade."

"Naw, child. You need to think bigger! When life throws you lemons, plant the seeds an' grow an orchard."

I wrapped my arms around my knees smiled sadly as I remembered her simple philosophy. I tried, Gammy. I really did, but I messed up and stepped in some deep shit.

Trees take time, child. They don't grow overnight. And sometimes a little manure helps them grow.

Her voice was so loud in my head I looked around as if she was there in the room with me. I shook my head to clear it and glanced again at the television. It was a commercial, oddly enough advertising a lemon juice, so fresh it was as if it was plucked straight from the lemon trees themselves.

I shivered. A sign? Divine intervention? Whatever, it was a good reminder that it was up to me what happened from now on. I was in charge of planning what happened in my life. And I knew I could only count on me. Trusting others was setting myself up for a let-down.

I reread Mr. M's letter and thumbed through the stack of ten dollar bills the firm had generously advanced me to help me get started until I earned my first paycheck. Two hundred dollars; a paltry amount to some, but a windfall to me. I'd never seen that much money at one time, much less been in charge of it. However, I was realistic enough to know I needed to be careful about how I spent it.

Included in my packet were a bus schedule and a fare card. Mr. M had been very thorough in thinking through my needs. However, unlike my earlier adventure outside, the idea of being in crowds of people left a pit in my stomach. Too many things could hide in crowds: bullies, weapons...judgments. But, this wasn't my hometown or prison. This was a new city with people who didn't know me, so it was time to embrace my new opportunity.

Self pep-talk over, I scooped up a few of the bills, the bus pass, my keys, and a fresh outlook and headed out.

I hit the jackpot when I discovered a thrift store at the second bus stop, and I was now the proud owner of a few more pants and blouses I thought would be suitable for work, as well as two more pairs of jeans and a couple of pairs of flats that I could wear to work and look nice but be comfortable. I'd even found an umbrella and a nice coat that I knew I'd need as the fall days grew colder.

Next to the thrift store was a dollar store where I purchased some toiletries, a paperback novel and a few other odds and ends. I even splurged on a couple of chocolate candy bars to celebrate my release. It wasn't the way most people celebrated, but I didn't drink, and candy was cheaper than alcohol anyway. I was proud of my purchases, and my frugalness had only put a small dent into the allowance I'd been provided.

Earlier I'd studied the maps and bus routes and decided to familiarize myself with the offices of McCloskey, Barnes, and Wilson. I had even convinced myself to enter the impressive granite building that housed the law firm, but as the bus pulled along the curb, I noticed a familiar face exit through the glass doors. Holten Andrews had his arm around the back of a dark-haired woman.

I stayed put in my seat as I watched him pop up an umbrella to shield her from the drizzle that had begun to fall again. She smiled up at him. She was gorgeous; even through the thick bus window, I could see her perfectly applied makeup. Her dark brown hair fell in soft waves around her face and over a colorful scarf wrapped fashionably around her neck. Her clothes were hidden beneath a smart-looking red coat, but I'm sure they were as classy as the rest of her appearance. Suddenly, my purchases I'd been so excited over moments ago seemed frumpy and bland.

His returned smile lit up his face as he said something before guiding her down the street, his arm still around her back. If I'd thought him handsome before, he was devastatingly gorgeous when he smiled. Not that fake smile he gave me, but one that lit up his face as he gazed down upon his beautiful companion. I slumped down in my seat as my fingers reached up and twirled a lock of my hair, trying to smooth its frizziness.

I was irritated at the pangs of envy I felt. Even as I reminded myself that I didn't need someone else to be happy, I wondered what it would be like to see such devotion gazing back at me. But that was probably no longer in my future. Who would want someone with my past? Besides, men like Holten Andrews never gave a second look at girls like me. I sighed and waited for the bus to pull away and complete its route. I had to focus on finding what I was going to do with my life.

Back at home, I took out one of the pads of paper I’d just bought and began a list.

1. Look at classifieds for nighttime job

2. Get catalog for classes from community college

3. Open a bank account

4. Make a budget

B
efore I could question
my motivation, I quickly scribbled another note.

5. Get a haircut, buy some makeup

As I chewed on the eraser end of my pencil, there was a knock on the door. I couldn't imagine who would visit me. I swallowed hard and hesitated. Not knowing who was on the other side of that door, or what they wanted, made me nervous.

Relax. No one here knows your past. No one you don't want to see knows where you live.

I briefly thought it might be Mr. Andrews coming back to check on me, but he was probably still out with his gorgeous companion. Besides, he seemed anxious to get away from me earlier. Maybe it was one of my new neighbors.

Not giving myself any more time to think more about it, I crossed the short distance and peered through the peephole. I saw two heads of graying hair and quickly unlocked the door and flung it open.

"Oh, Madelyn, sweetheart! I'm so glad to see you." I was engulfed in the arms of a pint-sized woman with a gallon-sized heart.

"Now, Emma, don't squeeze her to death before she's had a chance to really breathe for the first time in ages," a deep male voice teased.

The arms released, and I was able to look into one of the kindest sets of blue eyes I'd known in my life. Mrs. McCloskey made me believe I was more than just a poor girl. She was the one who opened up my small world through the eyes of Henry Ford, Teddy Roosevelt, Eleanor Roosevelt, and Rosa Parks; all people who'd been told 'no' or 'you can't' and ignored it. Between her and my grandmother, I believed I could conquer the world, or at least, claim a small piece of it for myself.

Mrs. M , who’d been Mrs. Kissinger when I had her as my third-grade teacher, had been widowed young and had dedicated her life to her students. She'd become such a permanent fixture at Fairchild Elementary School it came as a shock when she announced that she was getting married again and moving away to Richmond, about three hours away. I had cried myself to sleep that night. Why did everyone I care about leave me?

"How are you, sweetheart?" Mrs. M held my face between her hands and ran her eyes over me as if performing a diagnostic scan.

"I'm fine," I assured her, "and doing better than expected thanks to you and your husband." I grinned and tipped my head in the direction of the handsome man who stared at the pair of us with tenderness, much like I thought a doting grandfather might.