Chapter 4: Visiting Day

On Saturday morning I was mopping the visiting hall.

It wasn't a coincidence.

The landlord had a cousin on the work roster, and a king gets small favors.

I stood at the far end with a gray bucket and watched the doors.

The room was bright and loud.

Plastic tables sat bolted to the floor, with children's drawings taped to a corkboard on one wall.

Wives and mothers came in with tight faces and clean clothes.

A vending machine hummed in the corner.

The guard with the thick neck stood by the check-in desk with his thumbs in his belt.

I kept pushing the mop and counted the minutes.

At ten-fifteen a woman came in through the visitors' door, and I forgot what number I was on.

She was about my age, a little shorter than average, in faded green scrubs and a gray cardigan with the sleeves pushed up.

Her auburn hair was tied back in a knot that had started falling an hour ago.

She had freckles across her nose and dark circles under big brown eyes.

She also had a paper bag under one arm and a look on her face.

"Carmody," she told the desk officer. "Amos. I'm his daughter."

"He's not in the main hall," the officer said. "Medical hold."

"Since when?"

"Since Monday."

"Nobody called me."

"Not our department."

Her hand tightened on the bag.

"I drove ninety minutes. My father has a heart condition."

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