The Deepest Red (35 page)

Lonnie tightens his grip around her waist and trails his fingers down the jawline of her face.

“I’m sorry, Evie. I love you so much the thought drives me crazy.”

“Well, you need to get over it. Besides, he’s head over heels for Millie.”

She leans her head into Lonnie’s touch.

“I don’t know if I would call that love,” he says, questioningly.

“It is. The way he looks at her when she isn’t paying attention is like the way I look at you when no one is around.” Evie pauses, her face growing weary. “Lonnie I’m tired of keeping us a secret.”

“Me too,” he sighs. “Please give me some time.”

His hand slowly lowers to the side of her neck.

“My mother will get over her lunatic notion of me being with Millie.”

Evie rolls her eyes at his certainty.

“We’re friends,” he insures her. “I’ll never feel for her like I do for you.”

He leans down taking her lips with his.

The kiss is lingering; packed full of longing and desire. When he breaks away it’s only for a moment and then he’s flushed against her. The wall is the only thing keeping them up right. His hands begin to explore her body and I force my eyes to break away when a moan escapes her mouth.

Thoughts of Connor and the last month rush through my mind. Listening to the heavy breathing from below triggers the memory of our kiss inside Tom’s old home. Suddenly, I’m in the abandoned house reliving each touch again and again. The ache in my heart deepens with the image in my mind of him leaving. Evie was wrong about Connor and I, but I could never tell her so without admitting I’d been spying on them. As I listen to their stolen moments, I wonder if my dad ever laid in wait for my mother. Did they scurry the halls trying to grasp moments with each other. It was a shame how little I knew about them and how much I thought of her. No matter how many days I trained to prepare for the red zone, in the end I’m still a coward for not questioning my father. I gently lay the ceiling tile back into place and remain motionless until the hallway is silent again.

When I’m positive no one is around I leave my hiding spot in confusion. I need to speak with my father. I need to know what he’s hiding from me; what no one will confide in me. With apprehension weighing heavy on me, I set out to find him. When I enter the library, I notice he’s sitting at one of the tables reading. His head is bent down almost touching the aged pages.

My dad is so immersed in the story he doesn’t realize I’m there until I plop down in the chair beside him.

“Dad we need to talk.”

His eyes lift startled from behind the book cover and register my nervousness.

“What about Millie?” he asks, uneasily.

“We need to talk about my mother,” I say, wanting to gather my nerves.

“No.”

His one word reply catches me off guard. I always thought he would talk to me if I only asked.

“What do you mean, No.” My temper flares.

“I mean no, Millie.”

“I don’t understand.”

He places his book down on the table.

“It isn’t difficult,” he says, pushing away from the table.

“I need to know about my mother. People around here talk as if there is some big secret surrounding me and I don’t like being the only one that doesn’t know.”

My father raises from his chair.

“There isn’t a secret surrounding you Millie,” he says as he walks away.

“Where are you going?” I ask baffled at his whole demeanor.

He turns swiftly.

“I’ve got work to do and so do you. Why aren't you sorting those boxes in the furnace room?”

I baulk at his statement.

“You reading doesn’t seem like work to me,” I argue.

“I was on a break.”

“So was I.”

I stand tipping over the wooden chair I was sitting in.

“Calm down,” he says, irritated. I clench my fist.

“I’ll calm down when I get some answers.”

I brush past him attempting to contain my fury.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as I slam the library door.

I scream in frustration when I reach the darkness of the furnace room. I turn on the solar lantern and stare at the completed boxes of papers through a blurred vision. In anger, I grab the remaining files labeled “Psychiatric” and sling the thick folders across the room. I glare at the thin papers as they settle on the floor. My breath rushes in and out of my chest as I stare at the mess.
Why wouldn’t my father tell me anything about my mother?
Regret fills me as I think of all the times I could’ve spoken with Tom- all the lost opportunities. Maybe he would have answered my questions.

I sit on top of one of my completed boxes and breathe in a calming breath. I was almost finished sorting and organizing the files before I slung them across the room. I shake my head at my temper- disappointed in myself. “You catch more bees with honey.” Connor’s voice scolds me in my mind.

With a heavy heart, I begin to recover the loose pages. As my fingers touch a single sheet my attention is caught by a picture of an older woman. She is partially covered by another inmate’s record. Her hair is an unnatural shade of red. Giving her picture a closer look, I see our facial features are similar. The arrest record states her name as Millie Katlin Croft, age 44 years old. The facts continue to state her date of birth, eye color and social security number. The information starts to click in my head. This woman must be my great grandmother. I continue to read her record. Her crimes include assault, extortion, fraud, theft. The list went on and on. At the bottom, a handwritten sentence stands out. “Prisoner 1829304593 is to be transferred to the Atlanta Psychiatric Institution for observation on September 16th. The only person to be added to the visitor list will be daughter Ana Rebecca Croft.”

As I struggle to process what I’m reading the name Ana keeps drawing my eyes.
Why does this name seem so familiar to me?
After long minutes, the answer snaps in my head like a rubber band. Tom’s teacher in school. He had told me the night before he died that the one who had caught him with his father’s knife was Ms. Ana. She was my grandmother.
What happened to her and why were Tom and Elizabeth the only children taken in from the local school?
More troubling questions crowd over the ones already existing in my thoughts.

For some reason I never thought one of my ancestors could be an inmate of this prison, much less insane. I always just assumed my family were from a nearby town and were taken within the prison fences after the chaos that followed the collapse of America. I take my great grandmother’s prison record and read over the bold letters one more time memorizing every detail. Folding the delicate paper, I place it securely in my back pocket and collect the rest of the files, stacking them in the last remaining box. This will just have to do. With all the inmate’s records alphabetized and prison memos sorted, I was glad that I wouldn’t be back in this room for a long time to come.

A couple of days pass and my nightmares become worse. Instead of seeing my mother she is replaced by the older woman from the photo. I want to mention the inmate file to my father but I haven’t spoken with him since his refusal to talk about mom. Before dinner is served, I step outside hoping the fresh air will help clear my foggy head. As I walk I replay the conversation from the night before Tom’s death. He never said how he got from the school’s gym to the prison, only that he never saw his family again. When I was at his childhood home nothing was out of place. It was like they woke up and never came back.

“Millie!” Tessa shouts out from across the field.

I wave and cautiously approach both her and Clover. The sisters stand on top of a small hill among the prison yard. Behind them the garden stretches out in rows blanketed by quilt covers. I imagine the broccoli, cabbage and spinach underneath and the work it will take to harvest the winter vegetables. When I draw nearer, I see something in Clover’s hands.
Binoculars.

“Where did you get those?” I ask as she glances out of the object toward the wood line not allowing the rims to touch her skin.

“She stole them from the scout’s supply room,” Tessa says, tipping her chin up as if full of pride.

“What?” I ask, my voice laced with horror and surprise.

“Not a big deal,” Clover replies, taking another glance through the binoculars. “I just snuck in when no one was looking and lifted them, besides if they wanted to keep them they shouldn’t have sent Connor out alone.”

“They didn’t send him out alone. He has four other scouts with him.”

I grab the binoculars from her hands.

“You should take these back before you get into trouble!” I exclaim.

“Do me a favor and keep holding them for a sec,” Clover says lightly.

Tessa giggles a conspiratory sound and begins petting Chevy, who paces around her feet. Clover peers beyond me as another person approaches.

“Jay, are you getting fond of my dog?” Clover asks.

I glance behind and find him walking curiously up the hill. He considers her.

“No. He stole a piece of my bread the other day.”

Clover turns and ignores Jay who now stands beside me.

“What are y'all doing here? It’s about time to eat,” he says, studying Clover.

“Nice to see you too,” I mumble.

Tessa answers him, “We thought we saw something in the woods.”

Clover covers her eyes, shielding them from the sun and stares at the surrounding trees.

“You need the binoculars?” I ask.

She leans forward, transfixed on something I can’t find among the brush.

“I think so. There looks to be something at the edge of the fence. Maybe I should go down and check it out,” she comments.

Jay squints his eyes.

“Let me see them Millie.”

He snatches the binoculars before Clover can take them from my hand and searches the surrounding area.

“I don’t see anything,” he says.

Clover straightens.

“Yeah, you’re right. False alarm. Come on Tessa let’s go eat.”

She quickly grabs Tessa’s hand and winks at me. They race around the garden and vanish into the main building. I watch them curiously as they go.

“Why is she in such a hurry?” Jay asks.

When I turn around to answer, I burst out laughing.

“What is it?”

Jay’s face is covered in dread. I continue to laugh, not able to hide a smile with my hand.

“What?” His voice rises in pitch- concern showing on his face. 

Still laughing, I take the binoculars from him and rub my finger tip around the eye piece. A chalk-like black substance stains my finger.

“Oh no,” he says, looking at me with two perfectly round rings encircling his eyes. “I’m going to kill her,” Jay states matter of factly.

He rubs at his eyes smearing the black substance. I bite back my laughter.

“I think it’s a sign of affection- these pranks.”

Jay scowls at me.

“It’s a sign of wanting to die young.”

My smile widens.

“I think I’ll return them back to the supply room,” I say as Jay’s eyes darken.

“and she stole them?”

I nod as he turns menacingly.

“That’s it. This is war.”

He stumps angrily down the hill after the escaped duo.

Instead of following the tidal wave that is Jay into the cafeteria, I decide to make good on my statement and return the binoculars. Breathing in the fresh air, I walk the pathway around the gardens to the gym, letting the binoculars swing back and forth from my hand. There is an outside entrance to the supply room that if I’m lucky will be unlocked. If not, I’ll secretly place the stolen item on Mrs. Emerson’s desk and be done with it. When I turn the corner of the far side of the gym I stop short. Sitting in one of the pathway benches is Elizabeth Shackleford.

Her eyes peer longingly into the trees as her white hair lifts in the calming breeze. A long scarf circles her frail neck and tucks tightly into her thin jacket. I slowly approach and sit on the other side of her bench. Usually if I try to speak to her, she ignores me. Only Lonnie can cause her to break from her stupor. Today her lack of interest in me doesn’t matter. She had a relationship with my grandmother, knew my mother. Even if she doesn’t speak to me now, she will. I feel confident in my new self appointed mission and sit patiently, content with our silence.

In the peaceful quiet, I catch myself gazing into the thick trees and imagining Connor stepping out from under their cover. My heart soars at the thought and then aches at the fact that I’m pretending. He has been gone for a little over three weeks now and I miss him. I bow my head at the realization he might never come back.

“Now child, why do you look so sad?”

I jump at the unexpected question and then flinch at what she is asking.

“Why do you peer into the trees like you do?” I retort, wishing to avoid answering.