breath. Husband prospects are slim, at the moment. Besides, you’re too young to be a grandmother.”
“There’s still hope, and a lot of time for even someone as ugly and incompetent as you to find the right man,” Celeste teased. “And, there’s always that nose. You could get it fixed.”
They laughed momentarily, but finished their tea in silence. After Celeste paid the restaurant bill, they walked arm in arm to the Mercedes.
S UNDAY MORNING P ILAR PILED her purchases into the car’s trunk. One of the first things she would do back in Marquette was to trade in the car. She closed the trunk lid.
Celeste handed Pilar a plastic bag filled with homemade scones. “Thanks. Did you bake these?”
Celeste nodded. “It’s a newly acquired skill to fill my free time — what little I have these days with my counseling work.”
Pilar hugged Celeste. “Maybe you should visit me the next time. A change of scenery would do you good.”
Celeste pecked Pilar on the cheek. “Yes, perhaps.” She took a quick breath. “Yes, I’d like that. I have this odd feeling …
“What? What kind of feeling?” Pilar asked as she remembered so many similar moments when her mother had had a premonition. Usually her insights turned out to come true, which made Pilar uneasy.
“Oh, it’s just a silly, motherly thought. It’s foolish, really. I feel like I’m going to lose you.”
“How could that be?” Pilar smiled and shook her head. “No matter where I live I’m still your daughter. And, we can always visit.”
“Yes. Well, I said it was foolish.” Celeste started to stand away from the car door, but stopped and asked, “Whatever happened to your yellow slicker?”
“I never had one. Mine was red, remember?
“Umm. That’s odd,” Celeste said, more to herself than Pilar.
“Odd? How?” Pilar’s voice became tense.
“I seem to recall a yellow slicker, that’s all.” Celeste leaned away from the car. “Oh, well. Its’ just one of those silly, aging memory things.” She bent forward and kissed Pilar’s cheek. Have a safe trip, dear.” Celeste turned and walked to the house.
As Pilar drove away, she watched Celeste who remained at the front door. Celeste waved once and then rested the tips of her fingers on her lips.
P ILAR PULLED THE CAR into her designated spot, thankful to have any place to park. The prison lot was crowded even that early on a Monday morning. The line of visitors, mostly women and a few children, wound its way through the waiting area and out the front door of the administration building. As Pilar passed the lobby desk, the officer announced over the telephone to central control, “There are five separate women here already to visit Chad Wilbanks and it’s only eight. How’d ya wanna handle it?”
Pilar analyzed the line of women. Which of them would visit a man like Wilbanks? She experienced an odd twinge, almost like the time her best friend stole the boy she had a crush on. She sighed and went to the front of the line, a privilege held for employees.
A new officer searched her. He was young, a recent hire like Pilar. The fish officer was a lot less thorough than Leonard.
“What’s up with all the visitors?” Pilar asked, trying not to sound too nosy.
“It’s like this once a week, on Mondays. Chad Wilbanks’ visiting day.” The officer shook his head. “It sure baffles me.”
“How’s that?” He had piqued Pilar’s curiosity. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed the large group on other Mondays. She probably got to work on those days before the visitors had arrived.
The officer contemplated the crowd in the lobby. “Those women don’t even know Chad Wilbanks. They’ve only read about him in the news, or got information on him from the Internet. Some of them travel more than two hundred miles to visit.”
“The Internet?” She was so astounded, her voice squeaked.
“Yes, ma’am. There are web sites that post pictures and information about prisoners
“There’s still hope, and a lot of time for even someone as ugly and incompetent as you to find the right man,” Celeste teased. “And, there’s always that nose. You could get it fixed.”
They laughed momentarily, but finished their tea in silence. After Celeste paid the restaurant bill, they walked arm in arm to the Mercedes.
S UNDAY MORNING P ILAR PILED her purchases into the car’s trunk. One of the first things she would do back in Marquette was to trade in the car. She closed the trunk lid.
Celeste handed Pilar a plastic bag filled with homemade scones. “Thanks. Did you bake these?”
Celeste nodded. “It’s a newly acquired skill to fill my free time — what little I have these days with my counseling work.”
Pilar hugged Celeste. “Maybe you should visit me the next time. A change of scenery would do you good.”
Celeste pecked Pilar on the cheek. “Yes, perhaps.” She took a quick breath. “Yes, I’d like that. I have this odd feeling …
“What? What kind of feeling?” Pilar asked as she remembered so many similar moments when her mother had had a premonition. Usually her insights turned out to come true, which made Pilar uneasy.
“Oh, it’s just a silly, motherly thought. It’s foolish, really. I feel like I’m going to lose you.”
“How could that be?” Pilar smiled and shook her head. “No matter where I live I’m still your daughter. And, we can always visit.”
“Yes. Well, I said it was foolish.” Celeste started to stand away from the car door, but stopped and asked, “Whatever happened to your yellow slicker?”
“I never had one. Mine was red, remember?
“Umm. That’s odd,” Celeste said, more to herself than Pilar.
“Odd? How?” Pilar’s voice became tense.
“I seem to recall a yellow slicker, that’s all.” Celeste leaned away from the car. “Oh, well. Its’ just one of those silly, aging memory things.” She bent forward and kissed Pilar’s cheek. Have a safe trip, dear.” Celeste turned and walked to the house.
As Pilar drove away, she watched Celeste who remained at the front door. Celeste waved once and then rested the tips of her fingers on her lips.
P ILAR PULLED THE CAR into her designated spot, thankful to have any place to park. The prison lot was crowded even that early on a Monday morning. The line of visitors, mostly women and a few children, wound its way through the waiting area and out the front door of the administration building. As Pilar passed the lobby desk, the officer announced over the telephone to central control, “There are five separate women here already to visit Chad Wilbanks and it’s only eight. How’d ya wanna handle it?”
Pilar analyzed the line of women. Which of them would visit a man like Wilbanks? She experienced an odd twinge, almost like the time her best friend stole the boy she had a crush on. She sighed and went to the front of the line, a privilege held for employees.
A new officer searched her. He was young, a recent hire like Pilar. The fish officer was a lot less thorough than Leonard.
“What’s up with all the visitors?” Pilar asked, trying not to sound too nosy.
“It’s like this once a week, on Mondays. Chad Wilbanks’ visiting day.” The officer shook his head. “It sure baffles me.”
“How’s that?” He had piqued Pilar’s curiosity. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed the large group on other Mondays. She probably got to work on those days before the visitors had arrived.
The officer contemplated the crowd in the lobby. “Those women don’t even know Chad Wilbanks. They’ve only read about him in the news, or got information on him from the Internet. Some of them travel more than two hundred miles to visit.”
“The Internet?” She was so astounded, her voice squeaked.
“Yes, ma’am. There are web sites that post pictures and information about prisoners
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