Chapter 36: The Visiting Room

The Ohio Reformatory for Women sat behind two fences and a field of mown grass.

Byron parked in the visitors' lot at ten to one on Sunday, and nobody in the truck said anything.

Byron had written the request on Monday, and Eleanor's lawyer added our names to her list by Wednesday.

His note said only that Mrs. Angell was delighted.

I carried Poppy on my hip, because the lawyer had said a baby was allowed and I wasn't leaving her with anybody.

Cal got out of the truck and stood in his one good jacket with his shoulders up near his ears.

"He's here," he said.

I followed his eyes.

At the end of the second row, a long silver sedan sat with its engine off.

A man sat behind the wheel in a ball cap, with both hands on the steering wheel, looking straight ahead.

"He waits in the car," said Cal. "He always waits on my days."

"Why?" said Byron.

"Gran wants me to herself."

Byron walked three steps toward the sedan, and stopped.

For a moment I thought he would go all the way.

Brady didn't turn his head.

"Later," said Byron, and he came back to us.

Inside, there were lockers for our coats and keys, and a guard at a metal detector with a bored, careful face.

A woman at the desk checked three forms against three licenses.

She looked at Cal's.

"You're back," she said. "Your uncle usually comes in with you."

"Not today," said Cal.

We walked down a hall with painted cinder blocks and a mural of a sunflower field, and the guard opened a steel door.

The visiting room was large and loud.

It had rows of low tables bolted to the floor and a vending machine with a line.

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