Sisters - By Patricia MacDonald Page 0,15

she had taken so far, Alex had told herself that she didn’t need to go any further. There was still time to drop the whole thing. It wasn’t as if Dory could come and visit her. The next step would be different though. The next step would bring her face to face with this . . . sister. Maybe you should stop now, she thought. Maybe you should forget about this and not pursue it.

But there was no stopping at this point. Tomorrow, she thought, and wondered how long it would take to drive to MCI Framingham.

Alex parked in the visitors’ lot, got out of her car and obeyed the order, printed on signs every few feet, to lock the car. She straightened her jacket and the sweater underneath it. She had carefully adhered to the visitors’ dress code demanded on the MCI Framingham website. No denim, no sweats, no camouflage or suggestive clothing. And she had worn underwear, as the regulations required. She wondered wryly if anyone would check, and then realized, with a shudder, that it was quite possible that they would.

The prison sat at the edge of town but was clearly isolated, a world unto itself. Approaching the red-brick building with its peaked dormers and a flag on a tall flagpole, lifting and falling in the breeze, was almost like approaching a courthouse or a college classroom building. A closer look revealed tall chain-link fences and loops of barbed wire surrounding the open areas. Alex took a breath, opened the front door and went inside. At that point, any façade of normalcy vanished. She followed the signs for the visitors’ entrance and approached a small office walled off with Plexiglass. A uniformed guard sat inside, talking to another guard who was standing in an inner doorway.

‘Excuse me,’ said Alex. The man ignored her and continued to talk. A heavyset black woman sitting on an orange molded plastic chair in the hallway reading a paperback romance novel shifted in her seat.

‘Excuse me,’ Alex repeated as a few more moments went by and the guard did not acknowledge her presence. She lifted up a fist and went to tap on the Plexiglass.

The woman in the chair did not look up from her book, but murmured, ‘Don’t do that.’

Alex glanced over at her. The woman did not meet her glance but her mouth was set in a firm line. ‘You best be patient,’ she said.

Alex withdrew her fist and stood, uncertainly, looking at her. Finally the guard finished his conversation and turned his cold, silvery gaze on Alex. He did not ask what she wanted.

‘Um, I’m here to see Dory Colson,’ she said.

‘Here’s your number and a key,’ he said, sliding a piece of paper out to her. ‘Put all your things in one of those lockers.’ He gestured toward the numbered cubicles against the front wall.

‘Everything? I brought some photos. Can I bring them in . . .?’ she asked. The guard had already turned away without replying.

Alex, frustrated by the guard’s abruptness, put the key in the lock and jimmied it angrily, to no avail.

‘Turn the key upside down,’ said the other woman calmly, turning a page, her gaze still trained on her book.

Alex removed the key and tried again. The locker door opened. ‘Thank you,’ she said, jamming her purse inside.

‘Can’t bring nothing in. Put it all away,’ said the older woman. ‘Empty your pockets too. Just keep enough cash to buy a card for the vending machines,’ she said, inclining her head toward a machine beside the lockers.

Alex looked at her, puzzled.

‘They gonna want you to buy ’em something to eat. The machines got hot food. Hamburgers and the like. But you can’t take cash inside.’

‘Oh. OK,’ said Alex. She walked over to the machine and read the instructions, depositing a ten-dollar bill. The machine clanked and spat out a card.

‘You just hang onto that,’ said the woman.

Alex did as she was told. She sat down across from her. The woman looked over her half-glasses at Alex.

‘First time?’ she said.

Alex nodded.

‘You’ll get used to it,’ the woman said grimly.

‘I guess you’ve done this before.’

‘My daughter’s here. Six years. Selling drugs.’

Alex grimaced. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Who you here for?’

Alex somehow found the words possible to say. ‘My sister.’ Then she hesitated, trying to think how much to explain about the nature of Dory’s crime.

‘Number four hundred and twelve,’ the guard barked.

The woman put her book down on her chair seat and got to her feet. ‘That’s me,’ she said