you and you’ll be fine.
Karen: When they catch you, they’ll shoot you, no questions asked.
Grace didn’t touch her oatmeal at breakfast.
‘You need your strength,’ Cora Budds told her. ‘Eat somethin’.’
‘I can’t. I’ll throw up.’
The big black woman narrowed her eyes. ‘I ain’t asking you, Grace. I’m tellin’ you. You better get it together, girl. I’m putting my hide on the line for you today. We all are. Now eat.’
She’s right. I can do this. I have to do it.
Grace ate.
‘Are you sure you’re all right, Grace? Perhaps you should go and lie down.’
It was noon at the children’s center. The delegation of senior prison officials was due to arrive at twelve-thirty. The morning had been spent tidying up desks and toys, putting up fresh artwork, and generally ensuring that the facility looked its very best. If the delegation was impressed, they might raise the budget. Or at least not slash it. Grace had worked diligently as usual, but Sister Agnes was worried about her. Her complexion had been green when she arrived for work this morning. Now it had faded to sickly off-white. A moment ago, reaching up to a high shelf to rearrange some books, she’d become dizzy and almost fainted.
‘I’m fine, Sister.’
‘I don’t think you are fine. The infirmary ought to take a look at you.’
‘No!’ Grace felt her throat go dry with panic. You can’t send me to the infirmary. Not today. What if they keep me all afternoon? She remembered what Cora said to her at breakfast. She had to pull herself together. ‘I’m a little dehydrated, that’s all. Perhaps I could have a glass of water?’
Sister Agnes went to fetch the water. While she was gone Grace pinched her cheeks and took some deep, calming breaths. By the time the nun returned, she looked slightly better.
From the far corner of the room, Lisa Halliday watched the scene with suspicion. ‘What’s up with Lady Brookstein?’ she asked one of the mothers, a young black woman who hadn’t been at Bedford long. ‘She’s been acting weird as shit all morning, even by her standards.’
‘Wouldn’t you be if you was gonna bust out of here?’ said the girl. One look at Lisa’s face told her she’d screwed up big-time. But by then it was too late.
‘What’d you say?’
‘Nothing. I was just … I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s just some crazy rumors.’
Lisa Halliday put her face within an inch of the girl’s. ‘Tell me.’
‘Please. I … I shouldn’ta said nuthin’. Cora’ll kill me.’
‘Tell me everything or I’ll make sure the warden never lets you see your kid again.’
‘Please, Lisa.’
‘You think I can’t do it?’
The girl thought about her son, Tyrone. He was three years old, as cute and chubby as a puppy. He’d be here in a half hour, snuggling up to her, drawing pictures for her to keep in her cell.
She started to talk.
Hannah Denzel knitted her beetle brows into one long, angry caterpillar as she led the VIPs down the hall to the children’s center
‘This way, ladies and gentlemen.’
Denny did not like showing ‘delegations’ around Bedford Hills. Today’s self-important posse of politicians and police officers was as bad as all the others: the do-gooder prison visitors, the priests, the social workers, the therapists, the nuns, the whole goddamn army of meddlesome outsiders who infested her territory twice a year with their clipboards and recommendations. None of them seemed to realize that these women were vermin. That they were at Bedford Hills to be punished, not saved. It made Denny sick.
The group ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ over the children’s center, scattering among the pristine workstations and play areas. Warden McIntosh stood watching them like a proud father. Then his face changed. Grace Brookstein was hovering by one of the bookcases looking pale and ill. Damn it. He’d completely forgotten about Grace. The last thing he needed was to have his most notorious prisoner distracting the group’s attention from the jewel in Bedford’s crown.
He whispered in Hannah Denzel’s ear. ‘Get her out of here. Quietly. She’s a distraction.’
The prison guard’s cruel eyes lit up. ‘Yes, sir.’ This was more like it. Walking over to Grace, she grabbed her roughly by the arm. ‘Let’s go, Brookstein. Back to your cell.’
‘My cell? But I-I can’t,’ Grace stammered. ‘I’m working.’
‘Not anymore you’re not. Move it.’
Grace opened her mouth to protest but no sound came out. Panic rose up in her throat like vomit.
‘Is something the matter?’ Sister Agnes glided over. ‘Can I help?’
‘No,’ snapped Denny, pushing Grace toward the door. She resented the Sisters of Mercy’s presence at Bedford Hills. Sister Agnes should back the fuck off to her rosary and leave the inmates to the professionals. ‘Warden wants this one on lockdown. And he doesn’t want a scene.’
Grace looked pleadingly at Sister Agnes. Help me!
The nun smiled kindly at her friend. ‘Don’t look so woebegone, Grace. You could do with a little rest. Enjoy your afternoon off. We’ll still be here tomorrow.’
Yes. And now so will I, thought Grace. She could have wept.
It was three forty-five before Lisa Halliday was able to get out of the children’s center. That slave-driving do-gooder Sister Theresa had given her a list of chores as long as her police record. Sprinting to the warden’s office, she marched up to the reception desk.
‘I need to see the warden,’ she panted. ‘It’s urgent.’
The receptionist looked at the surly bull dyke in front of her and stiffened. ‘Warden McIntosh can’t see anybody today. He has a delegation –’
‘Like I said. It’s urgent.’
‘I’m sorry,’ the girl repeated. ‘He’s not here.’
‘Well, where is he?’
The receptionist’s tone got frostier. ‘Out. He’s in meetings all afternoon. Is it something I can help you with?’
‘No,’ Lisa said rudely. ‘I want the organ grinder, not the friggin’ monkey.’ She had to see the warden and she had to see him alone. If word got out that she was the fink who’d sold out Grace Brookstein, she’d be finished at Bedford Hills.
‘Then
