Commitments (25 page)

,L, where I am.' "--'In the meantime, I'll be thinking of you. I'll be of you often.' She held the pen in midair ind contemplated the next wording. Sincerely? Too formal. The same for "",."-Yours Truly and Best Wishes. All My Best wasn't too "'bad, but it still wasn't right. There was only one thing that was right, and it seemed pointless not to use it. Lowering the pen, she wrote, ', Sabrina.' Derek read and reread Sabrina's letter. Sitting on the floor of his cell with his back to the cinder-block wall, he closed his eyes, thought about it, then opened his 253 eyes and read it again. Would he rather she not write?

Would he rather not breathe? Sure, he'd told David she shouldn't write, but that was because when he'd spoken to David it had been just after dawn and he'd been furious. He'd been shoved awake in the middle of the night and, without a word of explanation, smuggled out of Parkersville in a windowless van, driven the three-plus hours to Boston and shuttled by police boat to Pine Island. Only then had he been told about the threat to his life. It wasn't a new threat. Derek knew who'd made it, knew that it had resulted from a petty argument he'd had with one of the other inmates months before and that the only reason it had reached the Page 91

Barbara Delinsky - Commitments

warden's ear was a need on the part of a third inmate to earn brownie points. The threat had no substance, but David Cottrell's threats had apparently reached the warden's ear as well, and the warden had been more intimidated by those. He wasn't taking a chance on dirtying his record. Far easier to wash his hands of Derek. David, who had pushed for the transfer as a tactical measure and had even chosen the spot, hadn't been Derek's favorite person at that moment shortly after dawn. Only later, when Derek had calmed down, had he understood that the condition of secrecy hadn't been David's to impose. It had been imposed by the commissioner, who, frankly - he told David - wanted Derek the hell out of his system as soon as possible. But the law was the law, and Pine Island would be as safe a place as any, so said the commissioner, and David had agreed. Pine Island stood in the waters outlying Boston Harbor. The island's only structure was a large stone fort that had once served as a military station. It had 254 ively renovated two years before, when, the Intens of prisons had reached such a critical that the choice had been between preparing a

"Jacility or releasing inmates from

old ones. Now idurbished fort housed three hundred men. himself up from the floor, Derek slipped @@the desk chair. He read Sabrina's letter again, then it on the desk and mopped his face with the that hungairound his neck. hated writin& hated it with a passion. But he'd if only to make sure Sabrina would write back. a yellow legal pad from one side of the he picked up his pen and scrawled, ' Sabrina, you very much for the letter. I enjoyed tore o the sheet of paper, compacted it in one and lobbed it into the wastebasket. Too stiff and Sabrina would think he had a textbook in his lap. Drawing the pad closer, he tried again. '

Sabrina, Thanks for the letter. I'm glad to hear someone's doing exciting things - He tore off the sheet of paper, crushed it, dunked it. Sabrina didn't deserve sarcasm. He hated writing letters. Hated it. Taking a deep breath, he gave it another shot. ' '"Sabrina, Guess where I am?' Brimant, Mcgifl. just ,,Iziffiant. He crumpled the paper in disgust. -s and pictured Sabrina sitting Then he closed his eye @by his side holding his hand. He imagined the softness 1,* ' her eyes and the non-judgmental wayshe looked at him, the sweet curve of her mouth as it gave him encouragement, and her ever-present, ever-pleasant jasmine scent. Opening his eyes, he wrote as he might have talke d. 255\ '

Sabrina, I hate writing. I've already told you that, I know, but I do hate it. When I was a kid it was the discipline that killed me.. Now, it's not so much. the discipline as the solitariness of the activity. I'm writing because I can't see you, and that hurts. I miss you.' He looked at those three words, considered underlining them or writing them a second time for emphasis, then decided that he didn't want to sound like a sissy. Perish the day. ' Mcgill is alive and well and living in - they won't let me tell you where, but it's not so far away that I can't look at the stars and imagine your looking at the same ones at the same time.' This time when he looked at the words he'd written, he was a bit astonished. Had he actually written something poetic? On occasion he'd thought things poetic or said things poetic, but he'd never written them. Was it that he'd never had the time to do it? Or the patience?

Standing half-apart from himself, he picked up the pen and wondered curiously what he'd write next. ' from the fact that we can't visit, this place is an improvement over Parkersville. I'm in a wing reserved for special guests' - h4@ smirked at that - ' though my cell is no bigger than the one I had before, it has a sink, the bed and desk are newer, the toilet flushes without spattering' - he couldn't believe he'd written that, but he couldn't erase the ink - ' the holes in the wall are natural, rather than man-made. ' best thing, though, is that there is a special contingent of guards in this wing and one of them Page 92

Barbara Delinsky - Commitments

runs. The higher-ups have agreed to let me go with him. I used to run at Parkersville, but only around the prison yard and then listening to the jeering of the 256 toughs. The path here is longer and more ated.' He wanted to tell her that it circled the and that the pulse of the tide swallowed up the unds of the prison, but that would be giving hints

'@,@It he'd be better not giving. So he went on to write, e exercise feels good. It always does. Being outside ts push-ups in my cell any day.' Dropping the pen, he tore off the sheet, then flexed fingers and scanned the page. His sixth-grade , had been right. He wrote like a doctor. At the time he'd been flattered, only later realizing what a it had been. Sabrina would be lucky to decipher words. Determined to write more clearly, he picked up the pen and started at the top of the second sheet. ' loft V, In New York sounds perfect. I think you were right in taking it, and I wouldn't worry about the time factor. If you'd waited, you might have lost your buyer. When will you be moving? ' also like the idea of a place in Vermont - but part of that's' because I'm a country boy from way back. I grew up in the city and I still have a place in the city, but the country is the first place I run when I need soothing. it sounds pretty good right about now.' He stopped writing to think about Sabrina and the country. He could see it; the image fit. it brought back the vision he'd had of her so long ago when they'd first met, when he'd thought of her as a flower child. Remembering it, he felt more peaceful than he had moments before. Then he sighed and resumed his letter. ' onto the notes you've taken regarding that other matter. You're right; I don't want them here. There are no safedeposit boxes in the manager's office. I have no guarantee that someday when I'm out MY things won't be 257 rifled. That's happened

- not here, but in Parkersville. The'sense of violation is infuriating. I tell you this so that you'll guard what you write. Sending things through David offers privacy, but only to a point.' He paused, jiggled his jaw to relax it. ' taking notes, though. I know you won't have much time, with moving and all, but anything you can do would be a help. I have only preliminary information on the matter. It will be wonderful to have something more to use as a stepping-off point when I get out.

"How's Nicky? I think of him often. I think of you often. You have me bewitched, y'know. Please write again.1 He picked up Sabrina's letter, read it again to make sure that he'd answered every question she'd asked, then focused on the closing. ', Sabrina.' A common closing.

"Love, Sabrina.' Could be just a figure ofspeech. But he'd seen her eyes and felt her touch and he'd known. So it wasn't just him. He had nothing to lose by being honest. Picking up his pen, he wrote, ' love you, too. Derek.' ' Derek/ Sabrina wrote back on the very same day she received his letter. ' have no idea how much it meant to me to hear from you. I've been worried. David had assured me you were fine, but I wasn't quite sure until I got your letter. You're probably thinking that

"fine" is relative, and I know it is, but. I'm thinking that "fine" means healthy, and I'm relieved that you are. I had visions of black eyes and broken ribs and broken arms and legs. If they can keep you safe there, I'm glad. She paused, pen poised above her monogrammed stationery. Her heart was beating faster than normal. 258 Id been smiling since she'd read his letter. Hearing . him had meant more to her than simply the ter of his health. There was the fact that held ided to write at all, and of course, there were those special words. Shaking her head a little, she forced herself back to letter. ' the two weeks since I wrote last, lots has ened. I found the most wonderful place in Page 93

Barbara Delinsky - Commitments

Verv-she went back to underline-wonderful because e felt it was warranted - ' tum-of-the-century that is in such a state of disrepair that you'd Probably choose your cell over it - except, and I repeat,

@@,except that it comes with ten of the most beautiful you've ever seen. There are woods and meadows and streams. The house itself is located on a rise and looks down over grass and trees to the Quandaboosic River, which flows into the Connecticut, which means that it's nowhere near Bennington. It's on the other side of the state, about thirty miles north of Brattleboro. ''ve hired a contractor to start work on the farmhouse - new roof, new electrical and plumbing systems, extra insulation, that sort of thing - but I'm thinking of doing some of the inside work myself. I've never painted walls or stripped wood moldings. I'm hoping the work will be for me a little like what your running is for you. I need the outlet. I hadn't realized how hard it would be to learn to relax. I suppose I'm not making things easier for myself - I'll be moving out of the apartment and into the loft within two weeks - but once I've done that I'll be able to concentrate on the farmhouse.' She thought for a minute, then couldn't resist putting the thought to paper. interesting how we find things to divert our minds - moving from one place to 259 the other, renovating a third. I want to get back to writing, but no sooner do I clear my mind for that purpose when it is filled with thoughts either of you or of Nicky, and the emotions are too strong to concentrate on much else. I suppose time will solve that problem, too. ' tell me at the Greenhouse that I'll come to accept Nicky's living there. I hope they're right. It's still hard. As of a week ago Sunday, Nicky was fine, which, in his case, means the same. He recognizes me when I come - gurgles a little and smiles - and I end up laughing and cryin& holding him and not wanting to let go.' The pen wavered. She hesitated, frowned, wrote on. ' I do let go. One part of me is really glad to let go. I feel guilty about that, but it's the truth. I love seeing ., and the mother part of me dies a little each time I have to leave, but when I think about taking care of him again, I get a knot in my stomach and I start to shake. I'm not knoc" the staff at the Greenhouse, but they can afford to be wonderful; they only work eight-hour shifts, five days a week at most, and when they leave, they can go back to their nice, quiet, normal lives. The emotional involvement is different. A mother takes personally what her child does or doesn't do. She can't turn off those feelings after an eight-hour shift. She can't just hand over her baby to someone else when he starts to fuss. A grandparent can, I suppose, but I'll never be one, will W Putting down her pen, Sabrina turned away. She hadn't had that thought before, and she found that it was as sad as any. Having children, then grandchildren, had always been part of the dream. Now what? She didn't have an answer. Her life was still too much in a state of flux. Perhaps when things quieted 260 I. n, perhaps when she got back to writing, perhaps Vwith the simple passage of time she'd see the future more clearly. Turning back to her letter, she wrote, ''m sorry, Derek. I didn't mean to go off on a tangent like that, I 4, think you've spoiled me. I've never talked to anyone @he way I talk to you. I miss you, miss the questions you ask and your support. I'd gladly go back to Parkersville - or to any other prison - if it meant I could see YOU.

"Three months, maybe less. Have you heard anything more about that?

Will the transfer make a difference either way?' More than once, she'd allowed herself to imagine that Derek would get an early release, that she'd open her front door and find him there. She wasn't optimistic; from what he'd said, he wasn't getting any favors. The law was the law, she supposed, and if the law said that he had to serve at least Page 94

Barbara Delinsky - Commitments

two-thirds of his sentence, an early release was a pipe dream. Three months, maybe less depending on when the parole board heard his case. But three months at the outside. That was all. it was too long. Feeling down, she picked up the pen and closed the letter by writing, '

know that I think of you often. My love, Sabrina.' At the end of August, Derek wrote back to say that the farmhouse in Vermont sounded perfect. He meant it. Woods, meadows, streams - and a river. He was familiar with the Quandahoosic. It was narrow at spots,.where-rocks taxed even the most experienced of paddlers, but at other spots it opened into a breathtaking corridor of fresh water lined with willows. 261 He wasn't surprised that Sabrina had bought into the fixing-up of a broken-down farmhouse. She had time for the work, and she had the energy. He agreed that it would be a good outlet. And not once did he doubt that she'd do the work herself. She wasn't a snob. She wasn't one to sit back and watch others work. Ironically, if she'd been that way, she'd have had an easier time with Nicky. She'd simply have hired more help. Repairing the farmhouse would appeal to her nurturing instinct. She would steam tired old paper from the walls and replace it with new with the same care that she'd shown when he'd been beaten up that time and she'd stroked him to sleep. He only wished he were there to help. At the beginning of September, Sabrina wrote that she had finished decorating the loft and was in the process of moving the rest of her things to Vermont. Work on the farmhouse was progressing faster than she'd dared to hope. The new roof was on, ag were new windows and doors, loose fieldstone had been repacked and broken clapboards replaced - which meant that she could live there without fear of the elements. At first she'd planned to stay in New York until the electrical and plumbing work was done, but her need to be out of the city, closer to Nicky and involved in the renovation on a daily basis overrode any qualms she had. She could rough it for a while. Her last few days in the city were busy with the arrangements for the move north, yet she managed to squeeze in a fair amount of time at the library. More than ever, she wanted to talk with Derek. She wanted to know why he was interested in Lloyd Ballantine, who, as far as she could see, was one of the least notable of the Supreme Court justices to occupy the 262 in years. She learned that he haa by and large, ted with the majority, and that the opinions he'd w tten were thought to be competent, though far from n -A pired. Off the bench he was just as bland. Derek had written that her notes would be a steppingoff point for him when he got out - but a stepping-off @.point for what? Since Sabrina couldn't put the question to him, she .,sirnply gathered what new details she could find on @@Ballantine, then filed them with the rest of her notes for transfer to Vermont. She intended to install a ,',computer once the farmhouse was functional, and a '