The Reckless Oath We Made - Bryn Greenwood Page 0,149
Inmate No. 1489736, housed at the Ouachita River Unit at Malvern, Arkansas. In the middle of the form was a section for me to fill out. Name, address, phone, driver’s license, and a bunch of security questions. I knew how it worked. I would fill out the form, send it back, and the Arkansas DOC would run a background check on me. Assuming they decided I was okay, I would be added to Gentry’s visitors list.
I came home every day for a week and looked at the form on the kitchen counter but didn’t mail it, because according to the instructions, I was supposed to mail it back to Gentry. Could I stick it in an envelope and send it by itself? Or did I have to send a letter with it? I couldn’t think of anything to write. Hey, sorry I totally fucked up your life. XO, Zee.
When I was a kid, Mom made us write letters to my dad every week. Just tell him about what you’re doing, she always said, but it felt awful to send him a letter full of things he couldn’t be there for. This was worse than that, because at least it wasn’t my fault my father had gone to prison.
Maybe I never would have mailed it, but I kept thinking about Gentry’s sword, about his mother throwing it out. Because I knew she loved him, and I knew she didn’t want to hurt him, but she’d taken something he cared about and thrown it away. Every day for a week, I looked at that visitation form, and I thought, I’m not much, but I’m not nothing. I could do at least as good a job of caring about him as anybody else. If I could pay his mortgage and taxes, I could go visit him.
CHAPTER 59
Marcus
Aunt Zee got a dog. She said he was Sir Gentry’s dog, but he could be my dog, too. Leon lived at her house and slept in her bed, but when I threw his ball out in the backyard, he brought it back to me. I had my own room at Aunt Zee’s house, but if I got up in the middle of the night, I could crawl into Aunt Zee’s bed, and sleep with her and Leon.
I wished I could live with Aunt Zee all the time. She didn’t get mad if I made a mess or if I was noisy, and we had fun. But I only got to visit her every other weekend. Sometimes we went to a movie or skating or to the playground, but sometimes we stayed in our pajamas on Saturday and played Go Fish and ate donuts and petted Leon.
Then one Saturday we drove a long way, at least two hours. I kept asking Aunt Zee where we were going, but she wouldn’t say.
“It’s a surprise,” she said, but it wasn’t a good surprise.
“I don’t want to go to prison.” I didn’t want to cry like a baby, either, but I did. Why did she want to take me there?
“You’re not going to prison. We’re here to see your mom.”
“I don’t want to,” I said.
“Why not? Don’t you miss her?”
“Yes, but she’s bad!”
“She’s not bad. Who told you she was bad?”
“Grandy and Grammy. Grandy says Mommy is bad bad bad. Daddy said a bad word I’m not allowed to say, but Grandy says that Mommy killed people.”
“Oh, bullshit!” Aunt Zee yelled so loud it scared me, and hit the steering wheel with her hand. “What does Grandy say about your dad? Did Grandy tell you that your dad killed somebody?”
“No, he didn’t! He made a bad decision. That’s what Grammy said.”
“Your mom made a bad decision, too. Your dad’s bad decision got somebody killed. And your mom . . .”
“What about Mommy?” I said.
“Well, your mom’s bad decision got people killed, too. She was trying to help someone, only that person was a liar and killed some people. Which is a bad thing, but she didn’t know that would happen. She isn’t any worse than your dad. They both did bad things.”
“You take it back,” I said, because it made me sad. If Mommy and Daddy were that bad, maybe they would never get to come home. Grandpa Leroy never got to come home.
“I’m sorry, buddy. It’s a really hard, complicated grown-up thing. Come on, blow your nose.”
Aunt Zee got a tissue out of her purse and put it up to my nose, so I hit her arm.