Page 14 of Rio's Release

Roswell Corrections Facility

Shelby—

Jenny reads the dress code while I study the clothes I’ve laid out on the bed.

“Skirts or dresses with a slit higher than mid-thigh are not acceptable. Skirts or dresses that are more than three inches above the knee are not acceptable. Shorts, cut-offs, and beach-type shorts are not acceptable. Skintight clothing or spandex is not permitted. Undergarments must be worn, including brassieres, but must not be visible through outer clothing. Tank tops, spaghetti straps, tube tops, halter tops, or spandex pants are not acceptable, nor are any type of see-through clothing. Clothing must not expose cleavage, the midriff, shoulders, or any part of the breast or upper thigh.” She pauses to take a breath and looks at me. “They’re really serious about these rules, huh?”

“Yes, and if I get caught doing any of those things, they won’t let me in, and they could even take me off his visitor list. So, help me pick something.” I jam my hands on my hips and stare at the clothing spread across the bed. So many of my summer dresses expose either my shoulders or my cleavage or are too short. What I’m left with is a lot of day dresses I’ve worn to the bank.

She drops the paper and stands beside me, surveying my selections. She points. “That one. Definitely.”

“Are you sure?” My eyes travel over the dress. It’s a rather simple black dress with a modest V-neck, cap sleeves, a three-inch waistband, and a skirt that flares out with three tiers.

“Positive. You look amazing in it and not in an overtly sexual way.”

“Will he like it?”

“He’ll love it, and it fits all the rules. It’s not too short or too tight, and the neckline doesn’t go too low.”

“I don’t know…”

“Try it on.”

I pull off my shorts and t-shirt and slip it over my head, then move to the full-length mirror leaned against the wall. Jenny stands behind me.

“See. Look at how tiny it makes your waist seem, and it’s very feminine.”

The dress falls to mid-calf, and I have to admit, she’s right about the waistline. Plus, it’s an elastic band, so it won’t be too uncomfortable to travel in.

“Your only other option is that sheath dress, and that will be a wrinkled mess by the time we get there.”

She’s right about that, too.

“Can you wear heels?” She picks up the rules and scans them. “It just says no flip-flops, slippers, or steel-toed boots are allowed. Open-toed shoes are allowed for women. Sounds like you can. You should paint your toes and wear some pretty high-heeled sandals.”

My eyes light up. “I know just the pair.” I dash to my closet and find a pair of strappy black heels. Sitting on the bed, I slip them on and return to the mirror.

“Perfect,” Jenny says.

I meet her eyes in the mirror. “You’ll go with me, won’t you? I mean, at least drive me there?”

“Of course. You didn’t think I’d let you make that drive all alone, did you?”

Saturday—

Jenny brakes at the intersection out in the middle of nowhere, and we both stare at the sign that points to the right down a long dusty road.

Roswell Corrections Facilitywith an arrow.

She flips on her blinker, and we make a right.

“It sure is desolate out here, isn’t it?” I ask.

“I’m sure that’s by design. All this flat desert land makes it easier to catch any escapees. They’ve got nowhere to hide.”

“Thanks for doing this with me. You’re a good friend, Jenny Palmer.”

She holds her palm up. I give her a high-five and try to hide my nerves. I absolutely hate going into things not knowing where I’m going or what I’m doing, and in this situation, I’m a total newbie. It’s like the first day of high school, only this place is so much worse. My anxiety flares, and I bite my lip, wondering why I’m doing this. The flight instinct tries to take over, but I fight it.

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