FREE First Chapter of Masquerade!

A long-buried secret. An unexpected encounter. A quest for answers. 

Celeste Tatem, a special-education teacher, couldn't be more in love with her husband, Joe. But a haunting memory threatens their relationship. When Joe dies in a factory explosion, she sinks into depression. It will take the arrival of a new student, Lily, and her delightful honesty and joy at life's little things to awaken Celeste to hope. When Don, an old flame from college, reenters Celeste's world, the flickers of love stir once again, and startling questions arise. Questions that threaten to rip the veneer off of her carefully guarded secret. Then the most unexpected thing of all happens . . . . 

A story of love and forgiveness in the most unexpected places.

Schreiber, Indiana

September, 1983

CHAPTER ONE

Regret barged into the bedroom and refused to leave. Like one of the boxes Celeste had carried from their trailer to their new house, a dark secret weighed heavy on her heart, especially in the last year.

She surveyed the pile of cartons beside the bed and located the one marked “Framed Pictures.” Tearing away the tissue paper, she smoothed her hand over the cool glass surface lodged inside the pewter frame, corners adorned with inlaid sapphires. A bride and groom smiled back at her. Mr. and Mrs. Joe Tatem.

In spite of her dismal mood, she was determined to enjoy her anniversary.

The heady aroma of English Leather entered the bedroom as she studied the portrait. She spun around and faced her husband. A silly grin ruffled his lips. She smiled and melted into Joe’s arms. She reached up and pressed her index finger into the dimple in his chin.

“Okay,  you  can  come  out  now.”  His voice teased her. “But first, put this on.” He gently turned her around and tied a bandanna over her eyes.

“What are you up to, you big sneak?”

With one hand around her waist and the other on her arm, Joe carefully guided her. Clutching the frame against her chest, she felt the floor beneath her bare feet change from carpet to hardwood, then back to carpet again.

Joe’s warm breath came near. His lips met hers in a lingering kiss. Then he released the blindfold from her eyes. “Happy Anniversary, Tater Tot!” His nickname for her ever since their dating days at Purdue University.

Her mouth flew open at the display before her. Several pots of burgundy, yellow, and white mums wrapped in shiny gold foil marked off a circle on the shag carpet. The wedding ring quilt gifted by her grandmother on their wedding day rested on the floor inside the circle. The room glowed with candles of varying sizes, too many to count, some atop boxes, others on the floor. “Close to You” played softly on the stereo.

Joe eased the frame out of Celeste’s hands and set it among the flowers, then swept his rough hands over her forehead and cheeks, finally coming to rest on her shoulders. “Surprised?” His arms slipped around her waist, and he pulled her close.

“Uh . . . very. When in the world did you have time to buy all this and set it up?” With working extra hours at Schreiber Metal Works, he’d barely had time to breathe, let alone plan a celebration.

“Ah,  have  you  forgotten?  I’m a  man of many talents.” He waggled his dark eyebrows in a Groucho Marx expression.

She frowned, fighting back tears. 

His hands slid down her arms. “What’s wrong?” Lightly squeezing her palms, he stepped back, head tilted, and studied her.

Heat filled her face. Their fifth year wedding anniversary required something better than pizza, but with the move and the beginning of a new school year, she’d been swamped with work. “I didn’t have much time or energy to come up with something all that special.”

“What? No filet-mignon? How could you?” Mock horror swept over his face.

Determined not to be outdone, she playfully slapped him on the arm and started for the kitchen. “Wait right here”—hands splayed in front of her husband—“I’ll be right back.”

            “No problem. I’ll just slip into something more comfortable.” His eyes sparked, and excitement rippled through her body.

When she returned carrying a heart-shaped pizza, he sat in the circle, one hand anchored on his right knee, the other resting on his left thigh. At the sight of him, she almost dropped the tray. Wearing silky boxer shorts, could he look any yummier?

“Come here, you.” His mouth curled into a playful grin.

Kneeling, she set the silver-plated tray between them. He gripped the back of her head and smothered her lips with a kiss.  A delightful tingle traveled from her head to her toes.

Joe released her and sat back. “What’s this?” He stared at the pizza. “Creative. I Love You spelled out with my favorite topping, black olives.” Using the pizza wheel, he cut two slices, handed one to Celeste, and bit into the other. A cheese string trailed from his lips. When Celeste leaned over and swept the gooey mozzarella from his chin, he caught her hand and kissed it. Lips hungry for more, his mouth traveled down the side of her face. He blew a raspberry into her neck. The stubble tickled her skin. Giggling, she scrunched her head and shoulder.

She pushed on his chest. “Calm down, lover boy. Let’s enjoy dinner first.”

He took another bite, his gaze fastened on her. “What’s that perfume you’re wearing? Smells like the beach.”

“It’s not perfume; it’s lotion with cocoa butter.”

Reaching for her arm, he gently buried his nose in her skin and breathed deeply. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips. He plowed through another pizza slice, then smeared his hands on his shorts.

The record now over, he rose to reset the needle for a second round of the Carpenters. He retrieved two wine glasses and an ice bucket hidden behind the grouping of mums and lowered to the floor across from Celeste. He spun the goblets and set them between them.

Warmth filled her heart. She brushed the crushed ice away from the bottle. “Ooh, Barbaresco. I’m impressed.” She lifted the bottle from its cradle, gripping the  base  with  one  hand  and  the  neck  with  the  other. Seemingly out of nowhere, a haunting scene flashed before her eyes.

Her mother pulled the covers down, urged her into bed. Here, drink this. Her severe face grew large like a character in a horror movie. It’ll help the pain go away . . . pain go away . . . pain go away . . . away . . . away . . . Her voice echoed in Celeste’s mind.

Joe reached for the bottle, bumping her back to the present. “You’re sweating.” He peered at her face.

Celeste swiped her upper lip.

“Brings back memories, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, don’t you remember? Our honeymoon. The resort staff put a bottle of Barbaresco on our bed along with two chocolate kisses.”

She blinked and ran a hand through her shoulder length hair. “Of course.” She managed a wobbly smile, torment cramping her abdominal muscles. In her mind, she shoved the skeleton in her closet into an empty box and tossed it in the trash. 

After using a corkscrew to open the top, Joe poured a small amount into a glass. Swirling the red liquid under his nose, he inhaled deeply. “Hmm . . . cherries, hickory, slightly hot at first”— he flashed his eyes at her—“then spicy, not so different from you, my love.”

“Let me taste that.” She grabbed at the glass.

He stuck his hand out. “Not so fast. These things take time.”

“What  things?” Her  husband  sure  was dragging this out.

He poured a second glass and handed it to her. Leaning forward, he crossed arms with her and took a sip. “You know, just like at our wedding reception.”

“Yes, yes, I get it.” She conjured up another smile and took a quick sip, then unhooked her arm and set her glass down.

He puckered his brow. “You seem fidgety.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Nothing. Maybe a little anxious to—”

“You sly dog.” He shot her a silly sideways glance.

She reached for her glass. No timid sip this time. A swig filled her mouth and wormed its way down her esophagus, settling into her stomach. Pain go away . . . go away . . . go away. Jumping up, she ran from the room.

“Hey, where ya going?”

“I’ll be right back.” Rounding the corner of the living room into the kitchen, she nearly slipped on the shiny hardwood. Once in the bedroom, she maneuvered around several boxes and yanked open her vanity drawer. She sorted through socks and underwear until she unearthed their wedding album. The black nightie Joe had bought her on their first anniversary lay folded beside a velvet box filled with costume jewelry.

She shrugged out of her baby doll blouse and slacks. Anything to distract her mind. Pushing the pain of past memories aside, she envisioned the look on Joe’s face when she stepped into the living room wearing the lacy lingerie.  The sight of her would certainly make up for any momentary angst he might have detected earlier.

One final glance in the vanity mirror, a quick swipe of soft plum lipstick to accentuate her porcelain skin and jet-black hair, and she was set. Grabbing the album off the bed, she slinked back to the living room.

“Whoa.” Joe’s mouth flew open.

Sidling over to him, she dropped to her knees and placed the album in front of them. He drew her close and kissed her neck.

“Pictures first, remember, like at our wedding.”

“No fair.”

“Look who’s talking. You’ve been dragging out this entire evening way beyond frustration. Well, two can play this game.”

“Okay, okay.” He huffed and sat back, hands limp in his lap.

“Look at this.” Celeste pointed to a photo of the two of them standing under an archway in a late summer garden. Eyes shining, she held a bouquet of white lilies. Pink and white roses snaked around white latticework. “And the powder pink roses accented the hot pink gowns my attendants wore—”

“Yeah, yeah.” He drew his finger down her back as she leaned over the album.

“You’re not even looking,” she huffed.

He snapped to attention. “I’m looking already. I’m looking.”

“That’s more like it.” Smirking, she turned the page. Four faces leapt off the page, her mother’s one of them.  Dread  flooded  her  abdomen,  spiraling  her into a

dark hole.

Closing the album, she laid it aside.

“What?”

“You’re not interested anyway.”

“Those are just pictures, Celeste . . . uh, beautiful pictures, that’s for sure. But hey, I’ve got the real thing right here. Let’s make some new memories, how ‘bout that?” He pulled her into a warm embrace, then released her. Standing, he urged her to her feet, wrapped his arms around her, and began to sway to the music. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

She couldn’t speak through her tears. Wasn’t that the same question he’d asked over and over again that weekend? The weekend that changed her life forever?

###

Her hand on the banister, Sonya Miller paused on the bottom step in the foyer and sucked in a sharp breath. This was one of those days when she wondered if she’d survive to the end of the homeschool year, and it was only September. Six kids, ages ten and under, kept her mopping floors, grading papers, reading stories, and wiping noses.

She lowered to the step and scratched Snarls, the family’s retriever, behind the ears. He panted and pawed at her skirt. His shiny brown eyes tented by raised brows mirrored her worry.

“Are you as weary to the bone as I am?” She offered a weak smile, rubbed his nose. “It’s okay, boy, we’ll manage somehow.”

She gazed out the window. The last golden rays of the sun gracefully bowed to the entrance of the full moon, and still no Sam. How she wished her husband could give up the gas attendant job, so he could spend more time at home. But they needed the extra income to make ends meet. On top of that, the promised payroll increase at Harvester Foods never materialized. Hopes raised, then mashed like a pile of boiled potatoes. 

Snarls nudged her hand, and she smiled into his furry face. “I hate to complain,” she confided to her faithful friend. “It’s uncomely, I know, especially for a woman. Besides, Sam keeps food on the table and a roof over our heads.” She stroked Snarls’ back. “Without his financial support, the family would be sunk. In all fairness, he does pitch in around the house on occasion. A load of laundry here. A math lesson there.”

Feet pounded the floor overhead. Harsh words erupted between her two eldest sons, then a door slammed.

She stood, her ear cocked toward the upstairs racket. “Boys, I want you in bed by the time I get up there,” she yelled, and Snarls barked in response.

“Yeah, you tell’em, boy.” She sighed, pressed the small of her back, and trudged up the steps, Snarls skittering past her. Her foot landed on a ball, and she grabbed the railing for support. A sharp pain shot up her calf. Grimacing, she stooped and rubbed her ankle. How many times had she told those kids not to leave toys on the stairs? Definitely time to incorporate another safety lesson  into  health  class,  since  many household injuries, even deaths, stemmed from falls.

Better yet, apply a penalty for this “ball” infraction. First, she’d have to root out the careless little culprit. But not tonight. In the morning. Things always looked better in daylight.

She lifted her face to the high ceiling of the old farmhouse stairwell. “Lord, bring Sam home . . . please,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

Sam was a good husband, so why the growing feelings of resentment? She forced her mind to wrap up in the thought of his strong arms, her head pressed to his chest, ear absorbing the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. A heartbeat they both shared.

More scuffling overhead, then a loud thump. Another argument to arbitrate without Sam. If bodies didn’t litter the floor by now, they would by the time she reached the boys’ room. She’d make sure of that.

She reeled in her temper and plodded up the remaining steps. Calm down, Sonya. Deep breath. Counting to ten now.    

   

At the top of the stairs, all was quiet except for Tommy’s nasally breathing which sounded from his crib. She frowned. Must be allergies again. She’d set up the vaporizer. Slipping a strand of hair behind her ear, she peeked in the bedroom shared by two children. Lily knelt on a mat and looked for something under her bed. When the floor creaked, she turned her head toward Sonya. Eyes wide, she blinked slowly. “Pooh?” she said in a loud whisper.

Sonya  opened  the  closet  and pulled out a stuffed Winnie-the-Pooh from under a pile of toys. She helped Lily slide under the covers, then sat on the bed and tucked the yellow bear with red shirt under the little girl’s arm. “How ‘bout you keep Pooh on your bed instead of tossing him in the closet?” Sonya pulled the covers up as Lily plunged under holding her favorite toy.

“I not mix him in the closet.” Seven-year-old Lily spoke with the mental acuity of a three-year-old.

“Mix him?”

Lily unplugged her thumb from her mouth. “Like salad.”

Sonya snorted a soft laugh. “Right.” She wove her fingers through the child’s curls. “You go to sleep now.”

Lily smiled around her thumb and clamped her eyes shut. She was a dear little girl, but perhaps they’d jumped too quickly when they signed on to be foster parents to a special needs child. Certainly they had their hands full caring for their biological children. Yet they’d always felt compassion for unwanted kids. Neither she nor Sam could ignore that heart tug.

Lily’s eyelids flew open. “We forgot to pray.”

“Yes, I guess we did.” Sonya had been too tired to follow through with the family’s nightly ritual, which typically took place right after supper.

“Let’s sing our prayer.” Lily maneuvered to her knees, her eyes shining.

Sonya glanced over her shoulder at the crib. Tommy, now awake, fingered his blanket and peered through the slats. “Okay.” She scratched her head, sifting through her memory files for a song.

“’When I am Afraid, I Will Trust in God.’ Let’s sing that.” Still on her knees, Lily bounced up and down on the mattress.

Sonya nodded. She couldn’t count how many times Lily had reminded her to turn to God in the midst of fear. And she was doing it again.

As Lily sang, Tommy clapped his chubby hands. When she finished, she reached under her pillow and drew out a sheet of white paper. Crooked letters formed with various crayon colors spelled Lily. She beamed and handed it to Sonya.

“Good job writing your name. I’ll post this on the refrigerator.”

Lily flew into Sonya’s arms. For a few seconds, the twosome rocked and hugged. Sonya breathed in the shampoo-sweetness of the child’s hair. At last, they released one another, and Lily slithered under the covers. “Night, Sonny.”

“Good night, Lily.” She smoothed the child’s damp ringlets from her forehead. Passing the crib, she touched Tommy’s plump cheek and covered him with his blanket. His chest rose and fell on a sigh.

A scrubbing sound propelled Sonya to the bathroom where six-year-old Mia and four-year-old Hannah stood on stools brushing their teeth. Thankfully, they’d obeyed when she shooed them away from the supper table and told them to get ready for bed. “About done, girls?”

Mouths foaming with toothpaste, the girls nodded, spit into the sink, and stumbled over  each other to  get to the towel. With a tap on their bottoms, Sonya sent them giggling out of the bathroom and into their bedroom.

In the hallway, a light from Matthew’s and Anthony’s room drew her attention. She uttered a silent prayer for grace. Both boys lounged on their twin beds, one reading and the other fiddling with a model airplane. Snarls lay in a ball at Matthew’s feet. Whatever argument had previously taken place was either resolved or kept under tight wraps in mom’s presence. Relieved, she tapped the doorjamb. “Lights out, boys.”

“Ah, can’t we stay up until daddy gets home?” Anthony flung his hands onto the chenille bedspread. Ever the dramatic one, her second son clung to Sam like a koala to a tree.

“Not tonight, honey. We’ve got another school day tomorrow, and I want you rested.” She moved into the bedroom. “Now, get under those covers and get to sleep.” She made a scooting motion with her hands.

The boys groaned, but obeyed. Sure, they scuffled at times, but didn’t all boys? They were good kids, really. Not much to complain about on that score. But sometimes she felt like a single parent, and single moms with six kids to teach and care for were sure to burn out sooner or later. Nerves on edge, tears so close to the surface. She shouldn’t be feeling this way so early in the school season, especially after the summer break. Even though they couldn’t afford to take a vacation, they’d made up for it with trips to the park and the lake, with enough snow cones sloshing around in their bellies to carry them through to next summer.

She backed out of the bedroom, flicking the light off as she exited. After checking to make sure Mia and Hannah were in bed, she started down the stairs. She collapsed into the living room rocker and stared out the window. How long she sat there she didn’t know. At last, the front door pushed open and in walked Sam, apology stamped all over his face.

Something in her bristled, and she fought against a rising tide of anger. Yes, she could fuss at him for not being there to read a Bible story to the children, sing, and pray, but what sense would that make? He couldn’t help it if he had to work late. If only she could contribute somehow to the household income. Maybe that would ease her husband’s workload and give him more time with the family.

But buying Sam more time with the kids might cost Sonya her sanity. And the way she felt lately, it might not take much to push her over the edge.  

~~

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 Available in ebook and paperback. 

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First Chapters & Giveaway with Rebecca Carey Lyles, author of Winds of Hope

A beautiful ex-felon who’s had her fill of men, a crotchety old ranch hand, and a busy rancher facing a difficult summer collide in this fast-paced novel set on a picturesque Wyoming guest ranch.

~~~

Readers, Rebecca is hosting a giveaway of Winds of Hope! Leave a comment for a chance to win!

First Chapter

THE PRISON GATE CLANGED SHUT behind Kate Neilson, the sound as loud and harsh in her ears as coupling train cars. She’d heard that clatter of metal against metal hundreds of times during her five years of incarceration. Yet, with each slam her stomach lurched and her shoulders jerked. Try as she might to steel herself against the jarring crash, she couldn’t help but react like a startled bird.

For the first time, Kate stood on the visitor side of the barred gate that separated the reception area from the wide fluorescent-lit hallway leading to the cellblocks. She still had to walk out the front door of the building and through a gate in the fence that surrounded Patterson State Penitentiary. But she’d crossed the final interior barrier.

The female correctional officer who escorted her, Officer Arledge, paused and spoke into the radio clipped to her gray shirt, notifying the control desk of their location. Kate clutched the plastic sack that held the meager possessions she’d accumulated during her time at Patterson and took a steadying breath. The room smelled vaguely familiar.

Floor wax. That’s what it was. The smooth surface at her feet was so highly polished it reflected the ceiling lights. On the other side of the bars, the gray concrete floors were mopped by inmates but never waxed.

She could have turned for one last glimpse through the gate. After all, the building housed the culture that had transformed her from a lost-and-lonely Pittsburgh street tramp into a college graduate with a marketing degree. Instead, she focused on the double glass doors at the other end of the room, doors that led to freedom and to her future.

Unlike the muted light that filtered from the glass blocks embedded in her cell wall, sunshine streamed through the doors, illuminating columns of dust motes. But as much as she itched to dart across the room and charge outside, she had one more hurdle to clear. Between her and liberty stood a reception desk staffed by two male COs seated before computer monitors.

She had a side view of the men. Like the female officer, they wore light gray shirts, dark gray pants and black duty belts. Loops and pouches attached to the belts held flashlights, pepper spray, eye protection, handcuffs, handcuff keys and more—but no guns. Kate couldn’t see their feet, but she’d never seen COs wear anything but black work boots identical to what the officer beside her had on her feet.

Arledge motioned her toward the desk. “The last phase of your checkout is here.”

Earlier that morning, just before she left her unit, Kate had been strip-searched. She’d endured the humiliating contraband hunt on more occasions than she cared to remember, and she hoped to never again hear, “Strip, Neilson.” But right now, she would comply with everything the COs asked of her—whatever it took to walk out those doors today.

At the desk, Arledge stated Kate’s last name and inmate number. One of the men said, “I already have your file pulled up, Ms. Neilson.”

Kate smiled for the first time since she’d started the nerve-racking trek from the far side of the massive compound. Whether intentional or not, he’d called her Ms. Neilson, not just Neilson or her number.

The printer behind the man whirred to life and spit out two sheets of paper, one after the other. He pulled them from the tray. “We have two final forms for you to sign.” Sliding one of the papers onto the counter, he said, “This one says we returned all the items you had with you when you were admitted.”

Kate pressed her lips together. Admitted suggested she’d been checked into a hospital for short-term care, not into a prison for five mind-numbing years of incarceration. She kept her thoughts to herself and placed the bag she’d carried across the complex on the counter.

The other officer produced a sealed plastic pouch from beneath the desk. The clear pocket on the front had also been sealed. Inside was the card Kate filled out when she first entered the facility. He pulled scissors from a drawer, cut the bag and the pocket open, and shook out the contents.

A lacy red thong landed on top of the pile. The corner of his mouth twitched and he glanced at the other male officer before giving her instructions. “Check the contents against the card. If everything is there, sign the form.” He handed her a pen.

Kate ignored his smirk and pushed aside the underwear, along with the skimpy tank top and threadbare cutoff shorts she’d been wearing when she was arrested. The clothing still held a hint of the perfume she favored back then. She checked off the items. No bra was listed because she hadn’t worn one that night—she never wore one when she worked the streets.

The collection was small. She was glad to see her watch, a birthday gift from her Great-Aunt Mary, but the screen was blank. Probably needed a new battery. She picked up her driver’s license, saw that it had expired, and made a mental note to stop by the DMV to pick up a manual.

She would have to take the driver’s test again to get a valid license so she could drive to Wyoming. Her stomach jumped again, but this was a happy jolt because she’d been accepted for a marketing internship at a guest ranch. Her girlhood dream of visiting a Wyoming ranch was about to come true.

Worn black sandals, a comb, lip gloss, two condoms and a mascara tube were the only other items on the counter. The money she’d had in her pocket had been deposited into her commissary account. Kate checked the final box. “Everything’s here.” She took a moment to read the form before she signed it.

“Place your possessions in the bag,” Arledge said, “and take it to the restroom over there. After you change into street clothes, return the bag, shoes, socks and uniform here. You may keep the underwear.”

Kate started to go, but Arledge stopped her. “Leave your ID.”

Kate pulled the lanyard over her head and around her long hair. The ID tag dangling from the end weighed no more than a credit card, yet she felt as though a boulder lifted from her shoulders. To rid herself of prison ID meant she really was on her way out of Patterson.

The restroom looked nothing like the other bathrooms in the prison and smelled a whole lot better. Kate was about to enter a stall, when she glimpsed herself in the bright, clean mirror. Caught off-guard, she stopped and stared. She hadn’t seen a clear reflection in years. The scuffed stainless-steel rectangles that served as mirrors in the inmate bathrooms blurred every image.

She squinted. So that’s what prison food does to a person. She appeared older and heavier, her dark hair and dark eyes had dulled, and her face was… She grimaced. Pasty, puffy, haggard…guarded.

Sighing, she turned away. Time to make some changes. She’d walked the track around the yard almost every day of her incarceration. But apparently fifteen minutes twice a day wasn’t enough exercise or sunshine.

Kate tossed the thong into the trash receptacle, slipped off the shoes, socks and elastic-waist orange pants, and pulled the orange shirt over her head. She folded the clothes and set them aside. Never, never again would she wear orange. She pulled on the tank top and then the shorts, which she managed to zip and button only after she sucked in her stomach.

Stepping into the sandals, she thanked God she hadn’t been released in winter. Her clothes barely covered her. She was also grateful she didn’t have to walk out of prison braless and embarrass Aunt Mary. Even so, she would dump the prison undergarments the moment she unboxed her clothes, which were stored in her aunt’s attic, last she knew. And she’d drop the extra weight. In the meantime, she hoped she’d fit into at least a few things.

Kate fastened the watch onto her wrist and stuffed the other items into her skintight pockets before she returned to the reception desk. After years of wearing loose prison uniforms, she felt like a sausage in the close-fitting clothes. Averting her gaze from the male officers’ appreciative glances, she laid the bag and prison garb on the counter. “Anything else?”

The CO with the paperwork handed her a check for her commissary balance and had her sign a form stating that the prison returned the correct amount to her.

Kate thanked him, folded the check and shoved it into a back pocket. The digital clock on the wall behind the reception desk flashed eight-eleven in large red numerals. One of Aunt Mary’s friends from church, Gertie Mae Spaulding, was driving her to the prison. They’d been advised to arrive by eight-thirty.

“I’ll accompany you to the entrance,” Arledge said. She turned to the men. “Please let the front gate know we’re coming.”

The two gave each other side glances, as if they didn’t care to take orders from a woman. Kate had seen similar standoffs between other female COs and the male COs who outnumbered them two to one. She glanced at the clock and then back at Arledge.

The woman eyed the men until one of them reached for the phone. Apparently satisfied he’d do what she asked, she strode toward the glass doors, her sturdy body outlined by sunshine. She opened one and motioned Kate through.

The dazzling sunlight blinded Kate. She sneezed and nearly ran into Officer Strunk, an obnoxious man the women in her unit had nicknamed “Skunk” his first day on the job.

Strunk inspected her from head to toe and up again. “So, they’re letting you out, Neilson.” With an arrogant rise of his eyebrows, he added, “Going back to your old occupation?”

She didn’t respond.

“I’ll give you a month.” He sneered. “By then you’ll be working the streets again, ‘cause we all know you can’t make it in the real world. Hill District, right?”

Kate, who was well-practiced at maintaining a deadpan demeanor, hoped he couldn’t see her inward cringe.

Arledge glared at him. “One of these days…” Her voice was tinged with disgust. “That mouth of yours will get you fired, Strunk.”

He pushed past them into the lobby.

Arledge motioned with her chin. “This way.”

Together, they walked toward the wide front gate. As far as Kate knew, it was one of six gates in the sixteen-foot-high chain-link barrier that surrounded the compound. Miles of razor wire topped the fence all the way around the complex.

She shivered, partly from the cool air and partly from knowing the metal fence was wired with an electric current powerful enough to kill a person with one zap. She hugged her bag against her ribs. The spring morning was warm but not warm enough for the way she was dressed.

“This should be one of the best days of your life,” Arledge said. “Forget Strunk. He’s a jerk destined for self-destruction.” She flipped a backhanded wave at the building.

“But you?” She looked at Kate. “You followed the rules, you completed the twelve-step recovery program, you attended chapel services and you were in the computer room almost every day doing classwork. Plus, you helped the other girls with their studies.” She smiled. “I could tell you were trying to better yourself, and I wish you the best.”

Kate studied the CO’s eyes, seeing her in a new light. She’d had no idea the woman was observing her as well as guarding her. “I appreciate how you always treated us with respect,” Kate said, “like we’re human.”

The officer tilted her head. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“It’s none of my business, but I’m curious to know where you’re going from here.”

Kate shrugged. Her plans were no secret. “I just completed a marketing degree online, but I still need to do a three-month internship, which will be at a Wyoming guest ranch called the Whispering Pines. I’ll stay in Pittsburgh with my aunt for a few weeks and then drive west for the ranch’s summer guest season.”

Arledge’s face brightened. “Congratulations, but…” Her brow furrowed. “Considering your circumstances, how was that approved?”

“Chaplain Sam says it was a God thing. The application form didn’t have a section for arrest history and my advisor must not have mentioned my background. Or maybe she did, and the rancher hired me anyway.”

“I bet it’s pretty there.”

Kate smiled. She couldn’t help herself. “If it’s anything like the pictures in their brochure, it’s a beautiful ranch.” She’d stared at the tiny pictures for hours, trying to imagine what it would be like to live in the mountains and wake up to such gorgeous scenery every morning.

They stopped at the brown guardhouse that sat just inside the fence. The red flowerbox beneath the austere building’s window ledge looked to Kate like an afterthought meant to provide visitors with a positive first-impression of the prison. Purple and yellow pansies, their colorful faces lifted to the sun, were surrounded by a mix of white and lavender sweet alyssum. Some of the tiny blossoms draped over the side of the box.

Arledge turned to her. “The best of luck to you. Just remember, focus on your future, not your past.”

“Thank you.” Kate thought of Chaplain Sam’s final words to her. Live in the light, Kate. Bury the past and live in the light.

The CO inside the guard house opened the window. “Good morning.”

Arledge handed him Kate’s ID tag. He made a notation on a chart before scanning the tag’s information into a computer and depositing it in a drawer.

Kate assumed the scanner read her number as well as the awful picture that reflected how frightened and forlorn she’d felt the day it was taken. But that was old news. This was a new day and a new life.

Praying no last-minute glitches would prevent her release, she lowered the sack and held it with both hands. The bag was heavy. In addition to her toiletries, it contained her Bible plus several inspirational books Aunt Mary had sent through prison channels.

A breeze fluttered the flowers and goose-bumped Kate’s arms. She breathed in the fragrant aroma. Pansies’ happy faces always made her smile and she loved the smell of alyssum. But these flowers seemed out of place in the prison. In fact, they were the first flowers she’d seen at Patterson. The administration probably thought the inmates would smoke the leaves or stick them up their noses if they were accessible in the exercise yard.

Even so, she’d had flowers in her life. Kate smiled. Along with other minimum-security inmates, she had escaped Patterson’s confines twice a week during the growing season to work at a community garden in the heart of Pittsburgh. Running soil through her fingers, planting seeds and pulling weeds calmed her spirit and reminded her that life went on outside prison walls.

The experience wasn’t all sunshine and roses. Her orange-suited crew was routinely ridiculed by passersby, who called them names and spit at them. Some people even threw rocks. The abuse traumatized several of the inmates, who requested different work assignments.

But Kate had endured the same and worse when she worked the streets. For her, the few hours of normalcy, along with the joy of tending plants and working alongside volunteers who appreciated their help made it worth chancing an assault, verbal or otherwise.

The guard turned from the computer. “You’re good to go.” A buzzer sounded, and the pedestrian gate adjacent to the driveway gate slowly swung open.

“This is where Patterson State Penitentiary releases you back to the world,” Arledge said. “Like I said, move forward with your life, not backward.”

Kate responded with a solemn nod. “I will remember your words.”

The officer pivoted and Kate hurried through the open gate. Another buzz, and it closed quietly behind her, unlike the noisy gates inside the facility. She glanced at the guard tower above her head. Although she couldn’t see into the darkened windows, she knew at least one CO scrutinized her every move. Soon, she’d no longer be under twenty-four-seven surveillance.

A small car entered the large, crowded parking lot and slowly drove her direction. Was it Aunt Mary and Gertie Mae? Kate clasped her bag of books and toiletries close again. What was this jitter in her stomach? Excitement to finally be released? Anticipation to see her sweet aunt again? Or, was it fear of the future? She’d blown it so many times. Would she continue to mess up?

She thought again of Chaplain Sam, whose steady, wise counsel she would miss. “Once you belong to Christ,” he’d said more than once in chapel, “it’s not about what you can or can’t do. It’s what he can do in you and through you.”

Sucking in a lungful of fresh air, she raised her face to the sun. Like the flowers that depended on God for sunshine and rain, she needed him now more than ever. Without him, she would wither into the addicted, delinquent person she was when she entered Patterson five years ago. “You know how weak I am, God,” she whispered, “and how many times I’ve stumbled and fallen. Only you can keep me on my feet and on the right path.”

A car horn honked.

Kate blinked and glanced around.

“Katy girl, over here, over here!”

She pivoted.

Her great-aunt was standing between cars in the middle of the lot, waving an arm high above her head.

No longer caring what the guards might think, Kate ran toward her aunt, her possessions tight against her chest. When she reached the car, she dropped the bag and hugged her aunt for the first time in years. Although Aunt Mary had been a frequent visitor, prison rules prohibited physical contact between inmates and visitors.

Kate held her fragile, precious aunt close. “I’m so happy to see you again, Aunt Mary.” As always, her elderly relative, her only relative, smelled of wintergreen breath mints. She had “freshened her breath” with the pink Canada kind as long as Kate could remember.

“Katy, my sweet Katy!” Aunt Mary’s sea-green eyes sparkled in the sunshine. She kissed Kate’s cheek. “I’m so happy I can take you home today, sweetie. I hated all those times I visited and had to leave you behind. But Jesus answered my prayers, and today you’re free for good.”

“That’s right.” Kate reached for her bag. “I did my full time. No more Patterson, no parole, no parole officers.” Only one caveat hung over her head. She was a two-time serious offender. Thanks to the “three strikes, you’re out” law, one more arrest could mean she’d spend the remainder of her life behind bars.

But that wasn’t going to happen, and it certainly wasn’t something to think about right now. She opened the back door to put her things inside. Leaning in, she greeted Gertie Mae. “Thank you for coming to pick me up, Gertie. I really appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.” Gertie grinned. “I’d say, ‘anytime,’ but I’d rather not come here again, if you know what I mean.”

Kate nodded and stepped around the door to help her aunt sit in the front seat and find her seatbelt. “I’m impressed you stood without your walker, Aunt Mary.” Her aunt had had multiple sclerosis for years and was becoming more and more dependent on her walker and sometimes a wheelchair.

“I was too anxious to see you to bother with the walker. Besides, I had the door to hang onto.” She looked Kate up and down.

Before her aunt could comment on the way she was dressed, Kate said, “I was super excited to see you, too.” She closed the door and climbed into the backseat, pushing her bag and the folded walker to the other side. “Any chance we can stop by the DMV, Gertie? I need to pick up a driver’s manual to study, so I can renew my driver’s license.”

Gertie backed out of the parking slot. “Sure, be glad to.”

“First…” Mary touched Gertie’s shoulder. “Let’s stop by a department store to get Kate some warmer clothing.”

“I have clothes at your house, Aunt Mary. I’ll change when we—”

“The shopping trip is my treat, Katy dear.” Mary peered around the headrest, waggling her finger. “I felt those goose bumps on your arms. We need to celebrate this wonderful occasion with a nice outfit you can wear to brunch. Gertie and I already picked the place. Right, Gert?”

Gertie glanced at Kate in the mirror. “You’ll love it. They make the best omelets in town.”

“No matter what they cook,” Kate said, “I guarantee it’ll be better than prison food.” She twisted for one last glimpse of the penitentiary, surprised by the mix of emotions that flooded her chest.

Leaving the institution that had been her home for the past five years was a more nostalgic experience than she could have ever imagined. Not only was she leaving three squares and a cot behind, she’d left a circle of friends and a rigid routine. The security of knowing what tomorrow held—and the next day and the next—was something she hadn’t had when she lived on the streets.

The car bumped out of the parking lot and onto the highway. She turned to face the front window. She would have Aunt Mary’s prayers and support, like always, but the fact was, she was on her own again. Could she handle life on the outside? Or was Strunk right?

Remember to leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of Winds of Hope!

~~~

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 

Rebecca Carey Lyles grew up in Wyoming, the setting for her Kate Neilson novels. She currently lives in Idaho, where she serves as an editor and as a mentor for aspiring authors. She’s also written two Colorado-based nonfiction books, “It’s a God Thing!” and “On a Wing and a Prayer,” and compiled a short-story collection with other Idaho authors titled “Passageways.” Her work-in-progress, a novel, features a heroine in the clutches of a controlling cult. Because she and her husband, Steve, both love stories, whether fact or fiction, the two of them host a podcast called “Let Me Tell You a Story.” (beckylyles.com/podcast)

You can visit Rebecca at the following locations.

http://www.beckylyles.com – Where you can sign up for Becky’s rare-and-random newsletter to receive a free ebook copy of Passageways, an eclectic collection of sixteen short stories.

Facebook author page: Rebecca Carey Lyles

Twitter: @BeckyLyles

Contact: beckylyles@beckylyles.com

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