No More Husband, No More Son novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Gate
Leona walks out of prison to Brice, Milo and Cassidy and a news camera, refuses the car, asks for a divorce on camera, and hears Milo call after her as the door shuts.
The prison gate rolled open at nine in the morning, and a news camera was already pointed at me.
I walked out in the jeans and gray sweater I had been arrested in.
In my pocket was an envelope with sixty-three dollars, my whole release money.
Brice stood across the road with a bouquet of white roses.
My husband had never once brought me flowers without a photographer nearby.
My son stood next to him in a navy coat that was too stiff for him.
He had been six when they took me away.
He was nine now, and his hair was cut short, the way his father wore his.
A blonde woman waited a step behind them with a thermos and a gray blanket.
She was Brice's campaign manager, and she lived in my house.
"Leona," Brice said, and smiled at the lens. "Welcome home."
The reporter pushed her microphone between us.
"Mr. Pennington, is this the reunion you hoped for?"
"My family is whole again today," Brice said.
Milo kept his right hand in his coat pocket, tight around something folded.
"Take your hand out, Milo," Brice said. "Give your mother a hug."
Milo did not move.
"Milo," Brice said again, lower.
The hand came out empty, and the folded paper stayed in the pocket.
He took one step toward me and stopped, because Brice's hand had landed on his shoulder.
The blonde woman, Cassidy Cordell, hurried over and wrapped the blanket around my arms before I could stop her.
"You must be frozen," she said. "I made your tea the way you like it, with the honey."
A pearl brooch was pinned to her coat.
I looked at it a moment, then at the road.
"I took care of your mother's house for you," she said. "You never have to worry about a thing."
"Nobody asked you to take care of my mother's house," I said.
"Of course not, of course. It's all handled, though."
"What's handled?"
"Later," Brice said, still smiling. "Not in front of the cameras."
He opened the back door of his black SUV.
"Three years is long enough for anybody to learn some manners," he said. "You're calmer now. I can see that."
Cassidy nodded along with him.
"Get in the car, Leona. Dinner is at six."
I looked at the open door.
Three years ago Cassidy had told my husband that prison would be a good chance to teach me how to behave.
He had nodded then, too.
I took the blanket off my shoulders and put it on the hood of the SUV.
"No," I said.
Brice's smile stayed where it was.
"Leona."
"I want a divorce, Brice. Today."
The reporter's microphone swung toward me so fast it almost hit my chin.
"Mrs. Pennington, why won't you go home with your husband?"
I looked straight into the camera.
"Because three years ago he let his girlfriend decide my sentence," I said. "I didn't push her. He knows I didn't."
Brice's hand left Milo's shoulder and closed around my elbow.
"She's tired," he told the reporter. "Prison does this."
"It's a lot to take in," Cassidy said, patting my arm. "Give her a minute, everyone. She'll feel better at home."
I pulled my arm out of Brice's hand.
He leaned in and spoke so only I could hear.
"You have sixty-three dollars. Your bank account was closed two years ago. You have no license and no address."
"Then I have nothing to lose."
"You have Milo," he said. "Walk away from this car and you'll see him when I decide."
The cameraman had stepped in to catch my face.
Brice knew it, and he straightened up and smiled again.
I looked at my son.
Milo was staring at me, and his mouth was a little open.
His pocket had gone tight again.
"Milo, in the car," Brice said.
My son climbed into the back seat without a word.
I understood what I was about to do, and I did it anyway.
I stepped back from the car, and then back again.
"I can't get in that car, Milo," I said.
Then I turned and walked toward the road.
Behind me Brice's voice rose, bright and loud for the reporter.
"She's confused. We'll get her help."
A horn blasted.
A dented green van skidded up to the curb and the passenger window rolled down.
Roz Tuttle leaned across the seat with her gray braid over one shoulder.
She had been my cellmate for two years and she had been out for eight months.
"Lee," she shouted. "Are we making a scene or are you getting in?"
"Both."
"That's my girl. Move it, the engine's hot."
I pulled the door open and climbed up.
Roz hit the gas before the door was shut.
In the side mirror I could see Brice standing in the road, still holding the roses.
I could see Cassidy's pearl brooch catching the light.
I told myself I wouldn't look back.
Then the van slowed for the turn, and through the cracked window I heard a small voice from the SUV.
"Mom, wait."
I saw Brice's arm reach across the back seat.
The car door slammed on whatever Milo said next.
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