On The Inside Read online

  On The Inside

  a novel by

  Kim Cano

  Copyright © 2013 Kim Cano

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Books by Kim Cano

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Excerpt of A Widow Redefined

  For my sister-in-law in prison.

  You have not been forgotten, and you are loved.

  I’ll see you again someday… on the outside.

  Books by Kim Cano

  Novels:

  A Widow Redefined

  On The Inside

  Eighty and Out

  His Secret Life

  Novelette:

  The Rescue

  Short Story Collection:

  For Animal Lovers

  About the Author

  Kim Cano is the author of four women's fiction novels: A Widow Redefined, On The Inside, Eighty and Out, and His Secret Life. Kim has also written a short story collection called For Animal Lovers. 10% of the sale price of that book is donated to the ASPCA® to help homeless pets.

  Kim wrote a contemporary romance called My Dream Man under the pen name Marie Solka.

  Kim lives in the Chicago suburbs with her husband and cat.

  Find Kim Online:

  Website: www.kimcano.com

  On Twitter: twitter.com/KimCano2

  Facebook Fan Page:

  facebook.com/pages/Kim-Cano/401511463198088

  Goodreads:

  goodreads.com/author/show/5895829.Kim_Cano

  To get your free copy, just join my readers’ group here:

  kimcano.com/the-rescue-giveaway-lp

  Chapter 1

  Reaching for a stack of incoming mail, Lakeisha spotted a greeting card, obvious because of its telltale shape and colorful envelope. She opened it and the song “Happy Birthday” began playing. A brief smile formed on her face, and then she let out a sigh. She picked up her letter opener, and with the skill of an artisan, pried the musical device out of the back of the card without ruining its cheerful appearance. After a quick scan of the card’s seams for drugs, Lakeisha put it back in its envelope and sealed it with a single piece of tape.

  She felt awful defacing the gift, but it was procedure. Inmates with nothing but time on their hands were notorious for taking little things like batteries and wiring and turning them into something dangerous. Musical cards simply weren’t allowed.

  Lakeisha had been in a hurry to make it to work, so she skipped breakfast. Luckily, Megan, the new prison psychologist, was just passing by with a box of donuts.

  “Girl, how’d you know I’d be hungry?” Lakeisha asked.

  “Because we’re on the same page. Pretty much need to be jacked up on sugar to make it through a day here, right?”

  Lakeisha smiled in agreement at the tall brunette. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  Megan popped the lid open so Lakeisha could make a selection. After pulling out a chocolate glazed, Lakeisha thanked her, then took an ample-sized bite of her donut. As she savored her meal, she watched Megan walk away. She was a sweet kid, and she kind of felt bad for her. Gossip was this was the only mental health position she was offered after her recent graduation.

  “Guess we all gotta start somewhere,” she said out loud. She stared at her desk and had a sobering thought: the problem was sometimes you never left.

  Before moving onto the next piece of mail, Lakeisha removed a napkin from her top drawer and carefully wiped her hands. As she pulled the letter out, a photograph spilled onto her desk, a glossy shot of an out-of-shape, heavily tattooed naked white man.

  Lakeisha shook her head in disgust, then mumbled, “I didn’t need to see that while I was eating.”

  Not only was it gross, X-rated photos weren’t allowed. Now she had to set it aside and fill out an “unauthorized” form. “Always something,” she muttered. After completing the form, Lakeisha proceeded to scan every fold and seam for drugs. Seeing none, she put the letter back in its envelope and set it aside.

  Prisoners knew she had the right to read everything they wrote. Sometimes folks on the outside were aware of this too, but Lakeisha didn’t have time to read all the mail. Her job was to process it and make sure it was free of contraband. With five hundred pieces going through her hands each day, and a thousand during the holidays, she didn’t have time to read every word.

  But there was some correspondence Lakeisha never missed, a few prisoners whose stories she followed closely. As she learned the details of their lives, through the incoming and outgoing mail, it was like a soap opera. With each letter, she was always left wondering what would happen next.

  Long ago Lakeisha had learned not to get close to any of the inmates, to keep her distance. She wasn’t allowed to show any form of favoritism. That was against the rules, so she kept her little mail soap operas a secret. The inmates’ stories were just a little indulgence to make her job more bearable. Plus, even though she knew they were criminals, some having committed truly despicable acts, they were still people. They had dreams once. And as she delivered the mail to them each day, she often wondered what those dreams looked like. How different were those dreams today?

  After a short bathroom break, Lakeisha moved onto the second pile of incoming mail. The return address on one envelope in particular caught her attention.

  It was from Kristen’s husband Jeremy, the one who hadn’t written or visited in three long years, even though she wrote him every week without fail. Lakeisha always read Kristen’s correspondence. Anxious to see what he had to say, she ripped open the envelope.

  Kristen,

  I’ve been getting your letters. I haven’t written back because every time I try it always comes out the same way, with me cursing at you, so I give up and toss the pen and paper aside.

  My sister suggested I just write what I feel, no matter what it is. That some communication is better than nothing. So, based on her advice, I’m going to say what I’ve been dying to say for a long time.

  You’ve ruined my life, Kristen, in every way a life can be ruined. And worse, you’ve hurt the kids. They’re suffering without their mother. All because for you it was never enough. You always had to have more. Even if it meant stealing to get it.
<
br />   I’ve lost a lot of friends because of what happened, and some good clients will no longer work with me. Because of that and a bad economy and trying to survive on a single income, now the house is gone. I had to rent a small, two bedroom apartment and am sleeping on an airbed in the family room that I blow up each night and deflate each morning. I do that so the kids can each have their own bedroom, so they won’t feel like anything in their lives changed.

  But who am I kidding? Your goddamn mugshot was in the newspaper. People contacted me and asked, “Is that your wife?”

  Ryan and Toby were bullied at school once the story spread too. They still struggle to sleep at night and their grades have suffered.

  As if that weren’t enough, finding that shit on the computer after you were arrested, when I stood by your side after you got fired. That hurt the most. I hung in there through the drinking, then came to grips that you committed white collar crime. But I drew the line when I discovered you cheating behind my back.

  Seriously, why the fuck do you continue to write me?

  Jeremy

  Lakeisha slowly refolded the letter and put it back in its envelope. She felt bad for Jeremy and the kids. Their side of the story was heartbreaking. But she also had a soft spot for Kristen, a model prisoner who seemed to be a genuinely nice human being.

  Delivering the mail was usually something that made Lakeisha happy, as she knew it often was the only bright spot in a prisoner’s day. She dreaded today’s trip.

  When quitting time came and Megan stopped by to say goodnight, Lakeisha was relieved. Maybe Kristen had taken the news better than expected. She assumed Megan would’ve had to make room in her schedule to handle an inmate’s nervous breakdown.

  *****

  Kristen was thrilled to receive a letter from Jeremy. Once she tore it open and read it though, her spirit deflated.

  She had put him through a lot. He had stayed by her side, dealing with her constant drama. Like the night Toby and Ryan had noticed her stumbling out the front door holding car keys in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. Fearful she might drive off and kill someone or hurt herself, Ryan ran out and tried to take the keys from her, but she pushed him to the ground. When he landed, he’d smacked his hand hard on a stone garden gnome and cried out in pain.

  Toby saw blood on his older brother’s hand and grabbed the phone to call 911. He’d tried his best to speak to the operator, but his mom was making such a ruckus in the background, he could barely hear. Instead of helping her son up, she was screaming expletives at the top of her lungs. She whipped the bottle of wine at the side of the house, staining the white stucco red and sending glass shards flying everywhere. The grand finale was when the cops showed up, and she began mouthing off to them just as Jeremy pulled in from a long day at work.

  Of course, she didn’t remember any of this at all. But her family sure did. And they never let her forget it.

  They’d been keen to bring up the pasta incident too. Jeremy kept texting her asking where she was, saying that the kids were hungry and wanted to eat. He’d worked all day and made dinner, but everyone was waiting for her to return before eating. When Kristen eventually showed up, she was wasted. She stumbled into the house and to the kitchen table. After she sat down, her face fell into her dinner plate.

  With unusual calm, Ryan rose and wiped spaghetti noodles and sauce off his mom’s cheeks as Jeremy held her limp body. Then they carried her off to bed and made sure to position her on her side in case she vomited in her sleep.

  There had been many nights like that one. Most of which Kristen only learned about in embarrassed retrospect. When she first started stealing, she hadn’t been drinking much, but then the stress of keeping secrets and telling lies led her to drink more and more each day. That’s how she finally got caught. She took it too far, lost focus in her alcoholic haze, and her scheme unraveled.

  Even then Jeremy had stayed. He said they’d figure out how to fix things. He thought they could find a way to raise money to pay back what she’d stolen. He’d been under the impression it was eighty thousand dollars, a large sum but not impossible to obtain. Maybe they could sell the house and use the equity. Maybe it didn’t have to go to court.

  The truth came out after the arrest. Kristen had stolen almost half a million dollars from her employer, a family-run construction company, over the course of five years. She’d been their controller.

  Jeremy and his sons had watched as the police arrested Kristen. The neighbors had seen it too, but turned their eyes away, not wanting to get involved. After Jeremy had come to grips with losing his wife of twenty years, and the betrayal of being lied to about the actual dollar amount taken, he found the emails.

  “Where you been, baby?” the man had written. “I miss you.”

  Kristen responded, “I’m stuck here with you know who. Wish I could be in your arms. I’ll see you soon.”

  Tears filled Jeremy’s eyes as he read the emails. It was clear he’d been a greater fool than he first thought.

  After taking a long walk around the block, Jeremy decided to contact the police. Maybe this boyfriend knew where the majority of the money was, because he couldn’t figure out where a sum that large could have gone.

  And he didn’t want to think about it anymore. All he wanted was for her to be out of his mind and heart forever.

  Kristen sat on her bunk, thinking of all she’d done and felt sick.

  She was forty-five-years-old and had been sentenced to seventeen years in prison. She’d chosen “no restitution” because there was no money left to pay back. All that remained was a mountain of evidence in the form of a second set of books they’d found hidden in the ceiling tiles, and Italian owners who’d felt angered and betrayed by someone they’d once considered family.

  She was lucky they hadn’t killed her.

  The more she thought of it, the more she wished they had. She’d been in prison for three years already and couldn’t figure out how she’d make it through. She would have been better off as alligator food in the Everglades. What was there left to live for?

  After lights out the sound of Kristen’s anguished cries filled the quiet prison, a deep, guttural wail from the depths of her very being.

  Chapter 2

  The sound of hurried footsteps echoed and became louder as two prison guards approached Kristen’s cell. When the door swung open, she cried out, “Nooooo! Leave me alone!”

  “We can’t have you screaming at the top of your lungs,” one of the guards said. “You wanna cause a riot?”

  “I want to be left alone!” Kristen shouted. “Go away!”

  Clearly tired of her antics, the larger of the two corrections officers lurched forward and grabbed hold of her. Kristen thrashed around and wouldn’t cooperate so the second guard wrestled her to the ground and cuffed her.

  “Let me go!” Kristen screamed. “I want to go home!”

  “That ain’t gonna happen anytime soon. Get up. Let’s go!” the guard said as she yanked her.

  Kristen was small but stubborn as a bull when she wanted to be, and she continued fighting them. She had to be dragged against her will.

  Once at the infirmary, the nurse on duty stuck a needle into Kristen’s arm, and soon her deep sobs and shudders were quieted. After she fell asleep, the guards removed her cuffs and dimmed the lights.

  Kristen’s dreams were montage-like that evening, a jumble of childhood memories popping up in no particular order.

  One was of the time she was a tree in the school play, doing her part to stand very still as the other cast members danced around her. Holiday music filled the air, and her eyes searched the audience for her parents but didn’t find them.

  Another was of the day she came home from school with an “A” on her book report, anxious to share the news. When she walked in, she found her parents fighting; her mom screaming with slurred words and her dad storming off, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

  The dreams were a subconscious t
rip down memory lane, where Kristen was reminded of how she wanted nothing more than to be noticed by her parents—to be loved by them—and having grown up never hearing the words spoken to her.

  She woke to the sound of paper shuffling. She rolled onto her side and saw Megan.

  Kristen rubbed her eyes. Her head throbbed like a jackhammer was pounding it from the inside. “Hi,” she said in a groggy tone.

  “Good morning,” Megan replied. “I took the liberty of bringing breakfast in case you’re hungry.”

  Kristen sat up, noticing her body felt sore all over. “Thank you.”

  Kristen felt oddly comfortable around Megan. Maybe because she treated her like a human being, or like a patient at a high-priced therapist’s office. In Megan’s care, things seemed civilized, unlike the rest of the place.

  “Heard you had a rough night,” Megan said.

  Kristen stared at the floor, wanting to do anything but talk about what had happened. She took a bite of food. “You could say that,” she replied, while rubbing her head.

  “Do you have a headache right now?”

  “Do I ever.”

  “Let me get you something to help take care of it.” Megan rose and reached into a nearby cabinet and handed Kristen two aspirin. “Probably best to eat a bit more first. They can be hard on the stomach.”

  Kristen made eye contact with Megan. “Thanks.”

  As Kristen munched on her tasteless prison breakfast and took a sip of black coffee, Megan busied herself with paperwork. Kristen knew her routine. She waited for you to speak first. Megan never pushed the conversation.

  Exhausted, Kristen laid back down. “I got a letter from Jeremy,” she eventually said.

  Megan nodded, a pragmatic expression on her face. “I see. That must have been a surprise. I know how much you hoped to hear from him.”

  Kristen sighed. “Be careful what you wish for, right? Isn’t that the saying?”