Heights of Desire (23 page)

Chapter 29

T
he following morning, after arranging for Stephani to pick Ada up from AM kindergarten, I check the visitor’s schedule which runs alphabetically by the inmate’s last name and see that today, Friday, is open visiting for all inmates. I then check the MTA website and learn that a public bus, the Q100 runs to Riker’s Island.

I try to dress conservatively selecting a pair of dark blue colored Tory Burch flats and a cream colored jacket with tailored capris from Alexander McQueen. I have a light beige Birkin bag that goes perfectly with the ensemble and I comb through it carefully to make sure nothing in there could be misconstrued as contraband. I bring only the essentials, lipstick, chapstick, sunglasses, a bottle of water, a package of soda crackers and the little pee stick that says ‘pregnant’ tucked away in a ziplock bag.

I take the train to Queensboro Plaza and board the Q100 bus right underneath the elevated platform. The bus is crowded and I squeeze past other standing passengers toward the middle and grasp a metal pole. The crowd is primarily composed of women and children and the few men onboard appear to be corrections officers or other prison employees. The corrections officers are a rough looking bunch and I’d be hard pressed to distinguish them from convicts if not for their navy blue uniforms.

From the snippets of conversations around me it seems like most are mothers or grandmothers bringing their young ones to visit their fathers. This must be exactly the scenario that a young Jaylee and even-younger Janinie went through coming to see their dad. I relate deeply to Janet’s struggle, especially now that I’m carrying Jaylee’s child, and it rips me apart to think about her grief.

It doesn’t take long for me to realize that in my need to look conservative, I’ve grossly overdressed and am no doubt calling unwanted attention to myself. I am, sadly and not too surprisingly, the only Caucasian person on the entire bus. We finally stop at a checkpoint before the bridge to Riker’s and it confirms that everyone aboard is indeed headed to the same destination I am.

After disembarking, I’m ushered to the left by a corrections officer along with other jail employees. I explain to him that I’m here to see an inmate and he mumbles something about thinking I was an attorney. I follow the throng of visitors to the right toward a building with a large overhang that already shelters a long line of visitors waiting to go through security.

The line is daunting, much worse than the courthouse and even worse than JFK. I’m afraid I’ll be standing here all day. I’ve only got a half bottle of water left and I’m praying my jittery stomach holds on to the crackers and tea I ate for breakfast, at least until I can get to a bathroom. I shoved a New Yorker in my bag on the way out the door and now I’m so thankful for my momentary forethought, especially since I no longer own a smartphone. I both look and feel entirely out of place. It’s obvious from the lingering stares and both the hushed and not so hushed whispers of those in line around me. The only thing I can relate it to is being in a foreign country. I’m sure the curiosity will only intensify once we reach the visiting room. I wish I’d worn jeans and a t-shirt.

The initial line takes two hours to conquer before I can even see the lockers meant for checking personal items. There are benches under the overhang and I’m dying to sit but so are all of the grandmothers as well as new mothers and small children, so I choose to tough it out on my feet. By the time we reach the door, I’m feeling faint and sick with nerves. Of course I don’t have any change in my bag so I have to ask around before I find a woman willing to exchange fifty cents for a five-dollar bill so that I can access the coin operated lockers. Another woman tells me I’ll need more change at the second checkpoint and she agrees to trade me a handful of quarters for another five-dollar bill.

There are signs all around declaring what is considered contraband and it appears to be almost everything so I leave my entire purse in the locker taking only the pregnancy test and my driver’s license, slipping them into my pants pocket. We register to visit one by one at a small, enclosed security booth where your picture is taken. I hand them my ID and give them Jaylee’s booking number. A few seconds later, they hand me back a temporary ID with my picture and Jaylee’s information on it. Jaylee is being held in the GMDC building and I wait in another small line to board a repurposed school bus, painted white and bearing the NYC Corrections logo in blue on the side. The ride is uneventful and I’m soon waiting in another security line, hand now stamped, to be checked yet again. Signs on the wall, along with an automated voice announcement, declare that we must leave everything except for one layer of clothing behind in the smaller lockers before walking through the metal detectors. I leave my bracelets and the necklace Robert gave me in the pocket of my blazer. I’m down to capri pants and simple silk shell. I keep the pregnancy test in my pocket although I’m guessing they won’t let me take it in.

The air quality is clammy and cold and the cinder block walls feel like they’re closing in on me. The nausea is also creeping back and I’m terrified of vomiting, thinking that if I do, they will likely send me home. I can’t imagine coming here regularly. It’s hard to imagine ever coming here again.

I’m called by a female security guard, along with five or so other women in line around me, to step behind a partition. She and another officer ask us to pull out the waistband of our pants as well as our bras to ensure nothing is concealed under our clothing. They make us take off our shoes, open our mouths and take out hair elastics and to run our fingers through our hair to make sure nothing is hidden there. We leave all elastics, barrettes, hairpins, and clips in a bin. They also ask us to turn out our pockets and I hold the pregnancy test out to them in the little plastic bag. One guard snatches it up and asks grumpily,

“What’s this?”

“It’s a pregnancy test.”

“That’s prime shank material, can easily be sharpened. Get somebody killed,” she barks at me with disdain. “Put it in the amnesty box,” she says as she ushers me forward.

Outside the partition there is a white box that actually says ‘Amnesty Box’ where visitors may place contraband at any point in the screening process with no questions asked. I drop the test in and now have nothing but my visitor’s card and myself. I hope it’s enough. I could use a sedative.

With trembling hands, I go through a third metal detector and a corrections officer tells me to place my visitors ID in a basket and have a seat in a chair along the wall. He tells me to listen for the inmate’s name to be called, and at that point, I’ll be asked to sign in and I’ll be given an hour of visiting time. I glance at the clock on the wall and see that it’s been almost four hours since I arrived on the island. Four hours of escalating nerves and apprehension. Rules are clearly printed on signs and in leaflets on the table. No exchanging objects. Hands on top of the table at all times. Visitor must remain seated until inmate is escorted out of the room.

I fall apart when they call his name. I stand on weak legs and steady myself with a hand against the tiled wall. As soon as I enter the room, he enters through a door across from me. He’s dressed in a gray jumpsuit. His eyes alight when he sees me, and he smiles. The smile releases the tension in my body, the deep ache in my heart. I smile back at him. I want to run to him, but he’s handcuffed and escorted by a corrections officer. He looks so young, so virile, so utterly gorgeous. My stomach flips not with nausea but with butterflies and excitement; adrenaline rushes through me. The guard ushers him to a table in the middle of the room and I meet him there, our eyes locked and hungry, our heart rates accelerated in tandem.

“Kate,” he breathes as the guard uncuffs him.

I can feel the eyes on us. Who’s to say whether it’s our age difference, race, class, or even our chemistry that makes them stare? None of it matters. The intensity of his gaze, the absolute honesty of his adoration swallows me whole.

“I’m pregnant.”

It’s the first thing that escapes my lips. I had planned on working up to it, easing him gently into it. I thought I’d build a lackadaisical air around the matter, present it to him not as another life altering catastrophe in our relationship but a casual speed bump – something I was completely in control of. Instead I confess it compulsively. I’m the opposite of completely in control. These days, I’m a perpetual walking disaster.

Jaylee’s eyes focus even more intently on mine. His face reveals not a hint of surprise or of disappointment. His brow furrows ever so slightly.

“Mine?” he asks.

I nod solemnly.

He closes his eyes slowly and then opens them again. His penetrating gaze reaches right through me, it feeds me.

“Mío?”

“Yes!” I say, reassuring him.

“Segura?” he asks.

“It’s not Robert’s,” I say softly.

He grabs both of my hands in his. He leans forward and kisses me.

“Is that allowed?” I say through the kiss.

“Fuckin’ straight I’ll kiss the mother of my son,” he says into my mouth. His kiss deepens. He opens me up. It’s too passionate. It’s too sexual and loving and beautiful to be happening in here – in front of all these strangers - scrutinized by corrections officers – captured on security cameras.

I’m his in a matter of seconds. No matter how much I try to negate this, it’s so real. I can obey orders and I can follow the status quo. I’m good at being who I’m supposed to be. But with Jaylee I’m stripped bare. I don’t think I can go on without him.

When he finally pulls back he looks so satisfied. It’s as if there weren’t possible decades of incarceration between us, an ugly divorce, a million mitigating factors working against us. Realization pours over me in the form of a physical heat spreading slowly throughout my entire body. I’m once again humbled by my own stupidity. He wants this baby. He wants this baby badly.

A shadow of doubt crosses my face.
Robert wants this baby gone
. We’ve arrived at the real day of reckoning. Maybe this is the final moment of truth.

“Kate?” he says his eyes darkening, his face instantaneously hardening. “Don’t you even think about it!” His tone is stern, accusatory.

“I didn’t think you’d – Robert . . .” I can’t even articulate where my head has been in the last twenty four hours.

“What, you didn’t think I’d want my own son? Fuck, Robert! He’s got nothing to do with this.” Jaylee’s raising his voice. Even though the visiting room is loud, heads are turning, the guards are watching him. I squeeze his hand, we lock eyes. I try to use nonverbal communication to tell him to calm down, to remind him where we are.

My own ignorance is astounding. I’ve been viewing the pregnancy through the lens of my own experience without ever for a moment taking into consideration Jaylee’s own perspective. I thought any twenty-three year old man would jump at the chance to undo and cover an unwanted pregnancy. I thought that twenty-three was too young, that incarceration would deter him, that the pregnancy was a mistake I had to atone for. For all I know, Jaylee doesn’t even believe in abortion, he is Roman Catholic for God’s sake. I couldn’t feel whiter or more upper class or more culturally insensitive than I do right now.

This baby would be his legacy, his link to the outside if he stays on the inside. A baby would mean his own family, his pride, a tangible piece of accomplishment.

“You want to keep the baby,” I whisper, the weight of the statement hitting me low in the gut. This makes everything even more complicated. This means I will have to choose between families. There’s not a chance in hell Robert would allow me to raise this child in his house.

“Our baby,” Jaylee corrects me, and leans in to kiss me again.

His kiss is tender and reassuring. I want to wrap my arms around him and crawl into his lap. I so desperately long to have him with me and free. I’d give anything to have him leave here with me today. I want to grab his hand and stand and just walk away. The reality of his imprisonment becomes a panic in my chest. I can’t hold him. He can’t place his hands on my belly – may never be able to. We can’t speak freely, I can’t cry into his chest. I wonder if it’s my fault or Robert’s fault that he’s here. He’s so young. I love him so much. It’s too painful. I can’t take it.

“I’m going to be sick,” I say and shove my chair back to stand. Jaylee stands as well and immediately guards surround us. I run to the garbage can by the vending machines and empty into it the meager contents of my stomach. Everyone stares, a few people comment and complain.

“You have to leave if you’re sick,” a guard says with zero kindness.

“I’m not sick, I’m pregnant,” I say. There’s vomit in my hair since they confiscated my damn hair elastic.

“Doesn’t matter. Can’t be sick in here.”

I nod and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. A nearby mother with small children hands me a baby wipe. My eyes travel back to Jaylee and he’s standing but they’ve now recuffed him. I move quickly because I know they don’t care at all and they’ll happily steal my goodbye just like they stole my visit.

Jaylee walks backward as the corrections officer removes him holding the crook of his arm.

“Janinie’ll go to appointments with you. Take care of mi tiguerito, Negra. I love him as much as I love you.”

He holds my eyes until the door closes. Then all eyes appear to be focused on me. I’m defenseless. I’m absolutely crushed with despair.

Chapter 30

O
ver the next two days, Robert treats me as if I were precious and frail. It’s the same kind of treatment he bestowed upon me during my pregnancies with Ada and Pearl. I can’t get myself out of bed. I can’t face either option. I can’t destroy Jaylee’s child and I won’t trade my daughters for a new family. I’m stuck in the worst kind of purgatory. It’s a slow torture that plagues me; it burns and it sickens. It assails me with graphic and horrible images. I can’t ignore it because the clock keeps moving despite my stillness. Every second the child grows inside me and alongside it grows the unease, the dread. I’m confronting horror for the first time in my life and it makes me want to give up. At this point, I’d rather waste away than live the rest of my life with the wrong decision. Robert talks me in one direction.

“
Men that don’t protect their partner from disease and unwanted pregnancy are passive misogynists. It was abusive and cruel of him to leave you so vulnerable. How incredibly irresponsible to put a mother at risk without thinking of her children
.”

Part of me knows that he’s right but I also accept my own responsibility. Neither Jaylee or I thought of anything besides the incredible chemistry that drove us to be together. I made those irresponsible choices right alongside him. I crawl out of bed and force myself to call Sarah. I know that if anyone can, she can make me feel better. I trust her to help me decide what to do. I feel like a dog with its tail between its legs. I’m ashamed of where I’ve taken this, of how far I’ve taken it. My life will never be the life it was before I met Jaylee. No matter what I do this mark on the timeline of my life is monumental and each possible decision writes a drastically different story for my future.

Joshua answers the phone. Sarah is in the backyard playing baseball with her two youngest boys. She comes to the phone winded and breathing hard.

“Great?”

“It’s the cigarettes, Sarah. Those things’ll kill you,” I say.

“I know, I’m down to two a night. Well, four last night, but definitely a median of two. If I don’t have any beer.”

“Sar, I’ve got worse problems. Are you ready for this? I’ve really taken it to the limit this time. I’m really, really wretched, by all accounts.”

“Breaking the law again, Great? You deviant.”

“I wish. No, Sarah. I’m pregnant.”

She whistles.

“Raising the stakes, huh? I’m gonna go out on a limb here and assume it’s a Shark and not a Jet?”

“What? Oh, I get it. Yeah. A baby shark.”

“How do you even get pregnant at forty-three? You must have some serious hormones or the kid’s got some Michael Phelps in his nutsack.”

“I’m too old to have a baby,” I say already starting to get chocked up.

“No you’re not, Great. You’re too old when menopause tells you that you are. Bobby know yet?”

“Yes.”

“How’s he handling it?”

“He wants me to get rid of it and then act like nothing ever happened.”

“And Jail-ey?”

“He wants to keep it. He’s glad I’m pregnant.”

“What do
you
want?”

“I want Robert to allow me to leave with at least partial custody of the girls. I’d have the baby, Sarah. Not just for Jaylee but for myself too.”

“Then that’s what you do. Robert can’t threaten you with the custody thing. You’re a fantastic mom, Kate. That’s not how responsible adults act if they really care about their children. He’s just sore because
you
cheated. He wouldn’t be barking up the custody tree if it were the other way around. You deserve to be their mom, all three of them if that’s what you want.”

“You don’t think it’s crazy to keep the baby?”

“Great, I see crazier shit every day. Just remember that it means you’ll be connected to Jaylee forever now and you’re going to have to deal with the jail stuff. He’s not gonna be able to support you or his baby – probably ever.”

“I’ll be fine financially. I can teach too.”

“I’m not talking about money, Great.”

Speaking with Sarah gives me some much-needed direction. It’s so liberating to feel like I have a choice. Both Robert and Jaylee regard my pregnancy as a forgone conclusion albeit from different sides. As if the baby weren’t even mine.

Sure enough, the next morning Robert tells me he’s made an appointment for me to terminate the pregnancy. I didn’t even agree to it, he just does it on his own. I get the feeling that he thinks that by undoing this he’s undoing everything. With Jaylee tucked away in jail there’s no longer a barrier to our reconciliation. It’s a terrible plan that will never work. Even with the unborn child out of my body there’s no way it will get Jaylee out of my heart.

Robert draws me a bath. He stays in the bathroom with me and sits on the rim gently sponging me with soap.

“I want to name my baby and bury him – give him a place to rest,” I say without warning. I don’t even know where my own words are coming from. I don’t know who I am anymore.

“That would only make the process more difficult. I think you need to let go of the idea that this is a baby.”

“If it’s not a baby, Robert, than what is it?”

“Don’t give me that, Kate. I know how pro-choice you are. Let’s not play these games right now. It’s only going to upset you.”

I’m beyond upset right now, Robert. I may never be able to come back from where I’ve gone.

He helps pat me dry and hands me a t-shirt and sweatpants. I can see the profile of my naked body in the bathroom mirror and I can just make out the tiniest gentle swell of my belly. I rest my hand there to comfort him. I try to internally apologize.

Robert packs a small bag with toiletries and extra clothing; he leads me downstairs by the hand. I sit on the couch and hate myself for being so spineless. Robert has me trapped because he’s created a mental picture for me of the baby positioned counter to Ada and Pearl. As if the three of them are an impossibility, as if one cannot coexist with the other. I repeat Sarah’s words to myself.
You deserve to be their mom, all three of them if that’s what you want.
And deep down I know that I can, even if Robert and my family cut me off entirely. Being a mom is what I’m good at. I would love to be this baby’s mother. I would love to love him.

The abortion is a weapon for Robert. It’s an easy way for him to hurt Jaylee, one where he bears no fault or blame. He would never push me in this direction if the baby were his.

He calls a car from the front hallway, standing just a few feet away from me, the bag of my things at his feet.

“I’m keeping the child, Robert. I won’t go through with it. I’d never forgive myself.”

Robert kills the phone call, looks at me and exhales.

“I thought we’ve been over this already, Katie. I’m not raising his baby.”

“And I’m not asking you to. Claribel has a small apartment downstairs from her and Santiago. I can move in there. I need to be able to see the girls though, Robert. It’s cruel to them too to keep us apart.”

“I don’t want you living in some basement, Katie. I don’t want you alone when you’re pregnant. The child deserves to have a father.”

The front door opens abruptly and Janinie steps right into our decisive conversation. I guess no one in the family knocks. She’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt because finally it’s warm enough and today the sun is shining. She’s so beautiful with her raven-black hair and her brown skin in contrast to her light brown eyes. I’m happy to see her. She eyes Robert up and down with disdain and runs to me. She crushes me in a hug and then kneels down placing her hands gently on my stomach.

“Mi sobrinito!” she says. “I’m so excited! Jaylee told me to come figure out the appointments with you. I’m out of school in two weeks.”

“Robert has already made me an appointment,” I say emotionlessly.

Janinie misses the suggestion in my statement as to what kind of appointment I’m referring to. She scowls at Robert and pouts her lip.

“But I’m supposed to go with her!” she grumps.

“Janinie, you have absolutely no right to walk into my house unannounced like you just did. I’d appreciate a little respect for me and
my wife.
Frankly, this isn’t any of your business,” Robert responds.

Finally her eyes register the overnight bag at Robert’s feet. She looks to Robert and then to me. She takes in my sweats, my sunken demeanor. She looks dumbfounded by her revelation.

“It’s okay, Janinie,” I say to her. “The baby’s safe. Robert and I were just discussing new living arrangements when you walked in.”

She doesn’t buy it. She narrows her eyes suspiciously at Robert and takes a protective stance in front of me. From the looks of it, Robert is fuming. He doesn’t know how to lose. He can’t tolerate the unexpected turn of events on his perfectly fashioned plan. He won’t accept anything other than a full sweep.

“It’s over Robert. It breaks my heart, but I think it’s really time to just let go.”

“I’ll take the case,” Robert says mechanically.

“What?”

His retort is completely unexpected. At first I think he’s referring to my case. Then it slowly hits me and I swallow hard. “I thought you said it was an open and shut case, a sure fire conviction. I thought you said he didn’t have a chance.”

“He doesn’t – with a court appointed attorney. I can get him acquitted. It’s what I do.”

“If I get rid of the baby?”

He doesn’t answer.

“I’ve acquitted exceedingly more infamous criminals, Kate. As high profile as they come. I get them exonerated. There’s plenty of reasonable doubt. I have access to the best ballistics experts in the county.”

“And I stay with you and pretend none of this ever happened.”

Again he sidelines my question.

“I’ll get him time served, a slap on the wrist misdemeanor. He’ll walk away from the trial a free man. I can even get the record sealed.”

Janinie searches my face, her eyes wild in fear. She shakes her head at me and I put a hand on her shoulder.

“I want it all in writing.”

‘There will be
no
contact, Kate. Once it’s done, you’re done. I mean it, it’s over. I won’t take anymore.”