The Four Stages of Loving Dutch Owen - Debra Kayn Page 0,40
she was going crazy and losing her mind. "I wish—"
"Hey, listen to me, Marla Marie." He paused. "You can start the bike every day for me and use up the gas in the tank. I don't want it sitting there getting stale."
She sat up. "I don't know how."
"I'll tell you."
She scrambled off the bed, grabbing the pen she'd put away and a piece of paper. Adrenaline filled her as she wrote down the directions exactly as he gave them to her.
"Okay, I got it. And, if I can't figure it out on my own, I'll ask Skull to show me." She put the pen down.
"Do me a favor, okay?"
"I'll do anything for you."
"I know you would." His voice softened. "Think of me when you're sitting in the seat. Don't forget me."
"Never, Dutch." She straightened her shoulders. "I'll make sure I do it as soon as I get home from work."
"Keep the garage door open when it's running."
She smiled at his worry. "I know."
"Fuck, I miss you."
Her stomach ached. She folded her legs and sat on the floor, hunching her shoulders. He hated it when she cried and held the phone's mouthpiece up higher so he couldn't hear the sobs that wanted to burst out.
Not often would he admit it was hard for him to be away from her or that he missed riding for WAKOM. She understood how difficult it was for him to be locked up, away from everyone.
"I'll see you this Sunday," she said.
"Nah...stay home. Finish the school year."
"But that's six weeks away."
"I ain't going anywhere, Marla Marie."
"I know that, but I want to see you."
"This summer." He cleared his throat, trying to cover the rowdy noise in prison—but she heard it. "Hell, you're almost a senior. You should concentrate on getting that car you've got your eye on."
"That can wait."
"No. I want you to work, Marla Marie. Once summer comes, see if you can earn money full time. You'll need insurance and gas money." His voice came louder into her ear. "I need to end the call. Remember, do what I said. Tell Skull, I told you to start my bike every day."
"Okay. Okay." Her fingers ached as she gripped the phone. "But, you'll call, right?"
"I promise."
"You won't stop?"
"Never."
Her exhale wheezed out of her chest, and a sob escaped. She wanted him to stay on the phone. Once he was gone, she wouldn't know how he was doing.
"I need to go, Marla Marie. Take care of yourself."
"You, too," she whispered.
He hung up. The bond they shared stretched thin over the distance they were forced to live. She wasn't sure how to convince him that it was important that she go to the weekly family visits at the prison for both of them.
That the only reason she tried not to get into trouble was that she wanted to be able to go see him.
She carried the phone back into the hallway and put it on the charger.
Rachel stuck her head out of the laundry room. "Do you want everything thrown in the dryer?"
She nodded and dragged her feet back to her room. Shutting the door, she climbed up on the bed and hugged the pillow. It seemed like a lifetime until Dutch would get released from prison.
By the time he gained his freedom, she was going to be twenty-one years old. She squeezed her eyes closed at the pain, crippling her.
As soon as she bought her car, nobody could keep her away from visiting Dutch.
Chapter 18
MARLA TURNED AWAY FROM the hands groping the inside of her thighs. "Don't touch me like that."
"Miss, if you refuse the search, you'll be escorted off the premises." The female correction officer at the door raised her brows. "Should we proceed?"
Pursing her lips, Marla nodded. The officer permitted the male guard to continue with his inspection.
Marla looked up at the ceiling, gritting her teeth. She hated the ritual of getting in to see Dutch. After coming to the prison almost every month for the last four years, she never once broke the rules. Everyone at the prison should know she never wore jewelry, carried a weapon, smuggled drugs, or brought outside materials into visitations.
She'd never risk doing something foolish that would keep her from seeing him. The people working in the prison were just assholes.
The guard squeezed her ass out of view of the officer. She curled her fingers into a fist at her side, wanting to punch him in the face.
The guard stood, brushing against her back. "She's clean."