Page 28 of Christmas With the Convict

“No, I don’t.”

Her features submit to some hidden sadness in her heart. For a moment, I think she’s going to cry. But she sighs and shakes her head, laughing like she’s foolish for feeling anything at all.

“Your father never looked at me the way that boy looks at you,” she says. “These days, he barely looks at me at all.”

“Mom…”

“No.” She holds up a hand. “I don’t deserve your pity, nor do I need it. I locked myself in my own prison, Wendy. Your father… he provides.” She gestures to everything lurking above us. “But that’s all.”

My mother hasneverspoken to me like this. It’s like she’s punctured her heart and is letting it spill all over the floor for me to see.

“That boy,Chase,” she says dreamily with a smile. “He hasn’t got two dollars to rub together. He’s as wayward as they come… But he loves you. And you…”

I nod, tears streaming down my face.

My mother smiles. “I thought so.”

She gives my shoulder a squeeze before reaching into her pocket. My keys jingle softly as she plops them into my hand.

I don’t even know what to say, and she doesn’t give me the chance. She scurries off up the stairs, heading to the kitchen to pour herself a drink. To escape.

Chase’s journal radiates like fire.

By the light of my plastic candles, I start to read.

It’s Christmas and the roads are empty.

Occasionally, a pair of headlights will fly by like stars in the night.

Chase’s words, the messy scratches in his journal, run continuously through my mind.

I’ve never written before. I don’t know how. I don’t know if I should write to myself or this stupid notebook. But since you’re the reason I’m writing, I think I’ll write to you. Wendy Bettencourt. The only real light I’ve seen in years. I get time in the yard. Sure. But I forgot what warmth was until I saw you that day in the hall…

He wrote it all for me.

There are no more tears for me to cry. No more rage to spew.

It was midnight when I finally crept out of the house. I packed a single bag with clothes, money, a few books, and Chase’s journal inside. I started my car and drove knowing that I’d never come back.

I won’t end up like my mother, surrendered to a comfortable life without love.

I won’t bend to my father’s will, the man who must have everything his way.

I’ll miss my cousin, my sister, Uncle Rick… But I’m not ready to forgive them for the part they played. For the actions they refused to take. My poor nephews… I hope Lillian learns what I know now. My father has no business being around those children.

I was a wild kid. School was boring, and no one really cared if I went anyway. My dad drank. He hit me sometimes. But he taught me how to fix an engine. He taught me how to work with what I had, how to keep old, broken things running long after they should have died. I wonder what your childhood was like. When I look at you, I picture you growing up in a castle somewhere. I don’t remember my mom…

The hours drag.

It feels like I might drive forever down these dark highways.

I would if it meant that someday, even a million years from now, I could see him again.

At night, I think of you. Only you. You with your bright smile. You with your skirts and pretty heels. Your laugh. At night, I can’t help the thoughts I have of you. Wendy, I chant your name in my head. I cry because I’ll never have you. I stroke myself to the thought of everything I’d do to you if I did…

My father is a fool.

He thought Chase’s crime would scare me away. Itreinforcedmy love for him. This man,myman, found a way to be gentle and tender. He dug himself out of the pits of pain and blunted his razor edges enough to hold me close without hurting me. To make love to me so perfectly that it feels impossible that those hands have ever taken a life.

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