same for him.”
After she left, I thought about what she’d said, still tracing circles in the dirt. Was she right? Was I making things harder on Ryan? I thought of how tough the last year and a half had been, not seeing him, how much harder it got when I’d finally been able to see him in court, where we still couldn’t be natural. Now we could only write. It was painful, being reminded of how much I loved and missed him, but I wasn’t going to stop. I needed him to talk about our future, how things would be when we were found innocent, when Nicole’s real killer was finally punished and she got some justice. I needed him to fill me with enough hope to carry me through the endless days. It was the only thing that kept me going. Our appeal date was only a month away. Thirty days. I could make it through another thirty days. I’d already made it through sixty.
I stared down at the unbroken circles in the dirt. That’s me and Ryan, unbroken.
* * *
A few days later, my parents made it over again. I hadn’t seen them in a month. I knew they’d already used up a lot of their savings on legal fees and couldn’t afford to come every weekend—the ferry was expensive and it was an all-day trip, an hour-and-a-half drive from Campbell River to the ferry in Nanaimo, the hour-and-a-half crossing time, then Vancouver traffic all the way out to the prison. My mom seemed even tenser this visit, her hands tearing at her fingernails every time I mentioned the appeal or lawyer.
Finally she said, “If it doesn’t go through, we can’t take it to the Supreme Court. We can’t keep paying for the lawyer.”
My dad grabbed her hand, pulled it away and held it tight, so she couldn’t pick at her nails. “Toni doesn’t need to hear that right now.”
“I think Toni does need to hear this.” Mom’s tone was bitter. “We’re nearly broke. We’ve lost just about everything.” The words hung in the air, tears forming in her eyes. She wasn’t talking about money anymore.
I felt tears building behind my own eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
She stared down at my dad’s hand holding hers and slumped back in her chair like all the energy had left her body. Dad stroked her hand with one thumb. I thought about how long it had been since I’d felt a soothing touch and shook off a stab of jealousy, ashamed.
“Don’t worry, Toni,” Dad said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
Mom’s head snapped in his direction so fast her ponytail swung. I remembered when we were growing up how much she hated it when he’d say, “It’s fine, don’t worry,” or “Everything’s going to be fine.” She’d say, “You can’t know that, Chris.” And now I knew exactly what she was thinking.
Nothing will ever be fine again .
She stood up, her voice breaking as she said, “I can’t do this.” She hesitated, looking down at me like she wanted to say something else, but then she turned and rushed toward the exit, her hand over her mouth like she was holding back the words. Dad’s face was red as he watched her leave, and he was breathing fast, his forehead shiny with sweat. I worried about his health. Mom wore her stress on the outside, but what had all of this been doing to my father?
He met my eyes. “Your mother … I should make sure she’s okay. I’m sorry, honey. She’s still struggling.”
But she wasn’t. She was done, and we both knew it.
As he got up and walked away, I heard a noise to my left and glanced at the other table. Mouse was sitting with her family, her mother beside her. They were talking and laughing. She looked at the exit, where you could still see my father leaving, my mother long gone, and Mouse gave me a slow, mean smile.
* * *
After that terrible visit, my father still sent letters each week but with no mention of a visit—just news about work, the house, friends, and only brief mentions of my mother, what she’d planted in the yard, how she was repainting the fence
After she left, I thought about what she’d said, still tracing circles in the dirt. Was she right? Was I making things harder on Ryan? I thought of how tough the last year and a half had been, not seeing him, how much harder it got when I’d finally been able to see him in court, where we still couldn’t be natural. Now we could only write. It was painful, being reminded of how much I loved and missed him, but I wasn’t going to stop. I needed him to talk about our future, how things would be when we were found innocent, when Nicole’s real killer was finally punished and she got some justice. I needed him to fill me with enough hope to carry me through the endless days. It was the only thing that kept me going. Our appeal date was only a month away. Thirty days. I could make it through another thirty days. I’d already made it through sixty.
I stared down at the unbroken circles in the dirt. That’s me and Ryan, unbroken.
* * *
A few days later, my parents made it over again. I hadn’t seen them in a month. I knew they’d already used up a lot of their savings on legal fees and couldn’t afford to come every weekend—the ferry was expensive and it was an all-day trip, an hour-and-a-half drive from Campbell River to the ferry in Nanaimo, the hour-and-a-half crossing time, then Vancouver traffic all the way out to the prison. My mom seemed even tenser this visit, her hands tearing at her fingernails every time I mentioned the appeal or lawyer.
Finally she said, “If it doesn’t go through, we can’t take it to the Supreme Court. We can’t keep paying for the lawyer.”
My dad grabbed her hand, pulled it away and held it tight, so she couldn’t pick at her nails. “Toni doesn’t need to hear that right now.”
“I think Toni does need to hear this.” Mom’s tone was bitter. “We’re nearly broke. We’ve lost just about everything.” The words hung in the air, tears forming in her eyes. She wasn’t talking about money anymore.
I felt tears building behind my own eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
She stared down at my dad’s hand holding hers and slumped back in her chair like all the energy had left her body. Dad stroked her hand with one thumb. I thought about how long it had been since I’d felt a soothing touch and shook off a stab of jealousy, ashamed.
“Don’t worry, Toni,” Dad said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
Mom’s head snapped in his direction so fast her ponytail swung. I remembered when we were growing up how much she hated it when he’d say, “It’s fine, don’t worry,” or “Everything’s going to be fine.” She’d say, “You can’t know that, Chris.” And now I knew exactly what she was thinking.
Nothing will ever be fine again .
She stood up, her voice breaking as she said, “I can’t do this.” She hesitated, looking down at me like she wanted to say something else, but then she turned and rushed toward the exit, her hand over her mouth like she was holding back the words. Dad’s face was red as he watched her leave, and he was breathing fast, his forehead shiny with sweat. I worried about his health. Mom wore her stress on the outside, but what had all of this been doing to my father?
He met my eyes. “Your mother … I should make sure she’s okay. I’m sorry, honey. She’s still struggling.”
But she wasn’t. She was done, and we both knew it.
As he got up and walked away, I heard a noise to my left and glanced at the other table. Mouse was sitting with her family, her mother beside her. They were talking and laughing. She looked at the exit, where you could still see my father leaving, my mother long gone, and Mouse gave me a slow, mean smile.
* * *
After that terrible visit, my father still sent letters each week but with no mention of a visit—just news about work, the house, friends, and only brief mentions of my mother, what she’d planted in the yard, how she was repainting the fence
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