How to Say Our Final Goodbye novel · Chapter 22 of 24

Chapter 22: Visiting Hour

Wyeth drove me to the jail himself, in his own car, still in his bellman's shirt.

He didn't ask if I was sure.

He parked across the street and turned the engine off.

"I'll be right here."

"It could take hours."

"I've got a book," he said, and held up a paperback with a broken spine. "The doorman lent it to me. It's about the 1967 blizzard."

"Of course it is."

The visiting room was long and loud, a row of stools in front of a thick glass wall, a black phone on each side.

They brought her in through a steel door at the far end.

I almost didn't know her.

No lashes. No platinum waves, just her hair pulled back flat, dark at the roots already.

A tan jumpsuit with a number on the pocket.

No phone.

I'd never in my life seen Kirsten without a phone in her hand.

She sat down across the glass and picked up the receiver.

So did I.

"You look terrible," she said.

"You called me here to say that?"

Her mouth twisted.

For a second she looked like she might cry, and then she didn't, and that was almost worse.

"Daddy's lawyers are dropping me on Friday," she said. "He can't pay them for both of us. Guess which one he picked."

"I don't have to guess."

"My mother won't post my bail. She says she's done paying for his mistakes." Kirsten laughed, a thin awful sound. "I'm his mistake. Did you know that? She said it to my face."

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