Sins of Mine - Mary E. Twomey
Paxton
It still feels strange to hold actual silverware in my hands. The weight is all off. Well, there’s weight, so that’s something to get used to. I’d been eating every meal in prison with plastic sporks, so silverware is just another thing to adjust to, now that I’m living life on the outside.
The outside. That’s what we all call it. There’s Prigham’s Penitentiary, and then there’s the outside. We’ve been breathing the free air for two weeks now, but we’re still looking over our shoulders, checking to make sure no one’s going to drag us back to prison.
That might take a while to groom out of us.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Charlotte sings as she flits into the kitchen.
Charlotte has gone from mousy to dancing at the drop of a hat. Apparently, incarceration was muting the more extroverted elements of her personality. She’s wearing the same green flowing sundress and sweater she wore yesterday, though that’s because we’ve all been given two changes of clothes apiece. The forest color suits her ebony skin, and the purple of her sweater adds to the sweetness of her smile.
I bloody love the look of happiness on her.
“Good morning, Charlotte.”
How much better my life would have been, had I a sister like Charlotte to keep me company and bring joy and direction to my life. The wisdom comes from her being the most spot-on, centered clairvoyant I’ve ever come across.
The joy is entirely her.
She catches me up in a waltz, pulling me up from my seat at the table. We float around the kitchen, light as air on our feet because we know how lucky we are to be free. Her ebony hand in my lightly tan grip looks right, like we should always have been living under the same roof.
Charlotte bows out of our short dance and pours herself a glass of water. She examines with mild interest the ornate goblets Arlanna selected years ago. I’m sure Arlanna wasn’t picturing her house being a haven for fugitives at the time, yet here we are.
Everything screams refinement mixed with ease, but that’s my girlfriend all over. The kitchen has light blue walls and beige granite countertops with gilded flecks in the mix. The gold curtains add a brightness that make a cup of coffee unnecessary. Everything is elegant yet welcoming, just like Arlanna.
I love it here.
Charlotte drains her water goblet. “I’m ready to start up the team that’s building the gardens today. Does that sound like something you want to help with?”
“I wish. Sloan wants to meet up this morning. I’m guessing whatever he has in mind is going to take up the bulk of my day.”
She feigns a pout as she washes her cup. It’s so strange to see her in normal clothes. I’m used to the blinding orange everywhere I looked.
The jumpsuits were fodder for our first bonfire at the commune. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen so many tears in one night, accompanied by so much hope. Arlanna had everyone write down details of the life they were leaving behind, and those burdens were also burned.
The image of my father’s name in my tidy calligraphy still haunts me, though I’m sure it was supposed to have the opposite effect. I’m meant to have left him and all he stands for behind, but his foul rule haunts me daily.
As if she can sense when melancholy is about to strike, Charlotte gathers me in a hug I pray I’ll never find myself without. “This life is ours, not theirs,” she reminds me quietly as I sit at the table.
It’s a thing Gray and Arlanna always say, and it caught on throughout the camp.
Camp is a far better word than commune, but that doesn’t mean that isn’t what we are. Five hundred inmates, and only forty have left the Commune of Sinners (that’s what the press calls us, and we cheerfully adopted the label) to return to their families. From what I’ve heard, those forty were married, and went back to people who didn’t desert them and hadn’t had a hand in sending them to Prigham’s.
Everyone else remains at the camp—a ten-acre plot of land with a truckleberry orchard running through it. They’ve all been a good sport about living in tents in groups of four, but I’m guessing that won’t last forever, what with the weather holding back none of its autumnal chill.
Arlanna and Sloan have been working tirelessly to secure something more permanent, but no landlord wants to go against the king, who has made