Page 61 of Auctioned to the Prisoners

She hands me a small bag, which I open. Inside is a change of clothes, some basic supplies, a cell phone, and a bundle of cash. Everything I need to get me where I need to go. “Is she okay?” I ask.

“Better than okay.” She smiles, and it’s so much like Lory that my heart skips a beat.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks to my sister. She told me what she did. She told me you were good to her. I never would have wanted her to do something like that.”

“That’s Lory, though. She’s selfless like that.”

“She is.”

“She did a good thing of her own free will. You shouldn’t feel bad about that.”

“She’s happy,” she says. “She’ll be happier when she sees you.”

I nod, knowing it’s the truth.

In her last letter, she told me she was waiting to have my hands on her again. Waiting to kiss me. Waiting to get on her knees for me. Her words gave me power and the will to get through the last week of my incarceration.

“Will you visit?”

“Yes,” she says.

“Then we’ll have a chance to get to know each other.”

She nods. “I’d like that. I’ll give you a ride into town.”

“Thanks.”

I’m free, but I’ve got a long way to go to fully let go of the shackles.

***

I’ve never traveled outside of the US before, so experiencing a different culture, listening to a different language, and eatingdifferent food is all new. I’m a fish out of water, kind of the same way I felt when I was first sent to Blackstone, except this is exciting, and I’m not overwhelmed by a tsunami wave of doom like I was back then.

As much as I wanted to get to the little town that Kinkaid, Lory, and Hyde have been living in for months, I was released on a Sunday, and there was no way I was going to make the journey in two days, so I’ve taken some time to soak up what it is to be free and in Mexico. I’ve stayed in tiny hotels and eaten in restaurants surrounded by only local people. I’ve tried strange foods and different beers, and I’ve slept restlessly, as eager for the end of my journey as I’m enjoying the steps to get there.

On the second Tuesday of my freedom, I’m at the Monument by 1 p.m., so eager to find my brothers and my girl, I can’t wait another second. I brought a book about Mexico, picked up along my travels, and read in the shade, wiping sweat from my brow and guzzling the water I packed in my bag. But by 2:50, the words swim on the page, and I close the book and stretch out in the sun, scanning the area for a familiar face. A part of me keeps wondering if no one will show up, despite knowing I’m being stupid—they went to the trouble of sending Kennedy with a package for me. But when you want something this much, it’s hard to believe it’ll happen.

“Rock,” a lilting voice calls from behind. I whip around and there she is—Lory, clutching a coffee in one hand and a straw bag in the other.

All the noise and movement around us fades into the background as I stare, barely able to believe she’s real. She’s picked up some color from the sun, and her hair’s a little lighter around her face. Her dark eyes trail over me, taking in my black cargo shorts and gray t-shirt, like she’s sizing up how I look out here, dressed like a regular guy. But I’m not the same. And when I finally tear my eyes away from her face, I notice the small bumprounding her belly under her light green dress. Her hand moves to it, almost self-conscious, like she’s afraid I’ll react badly.

“Lory,” is all I can manage.

Careful not to disturb her coffee, I wrap my arms around her petite frame, just breathe her in. The days we spent together in that dingy wing of Blackstone are a distant memory, but with one touch and one breath, I’m back there again with Lory in my arms. I gaze down into her soulful eyes that are welling with tears. Bending to kiss her sweet lips, I cradle her face in my too-big hands.

“You’re really here,” she says, touching my shoulders, my neck and my face. “You’re all really here.”

“And you,” I smile. “You’re pregnant.”

She gazes down at her belly and shrugs. “Guess I left that Blackstone Penitentiary with a little more than I bargained for.”

I straighten, surprised. I’d imagined the baby was Kinkaid’s, but if she conceived at Blackstone, it could be any of ours.

“When are you due?”

“Four weeks,” she says.

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