Krista wished uselessly and restlessly for some kind of reprieve, but never really believed it possible. She did finally get some ritzy female lawyer from a big-deal law firm to handle her case pro bono, but it was something she saw as the futile crust of bread, a little charity work for a rich broad, the Gospel Mission of law. Every lifer had a lawyer. Who knew if they could do anything? Krista never contacted her or asked about her progress.
There sat Krista for almost twenty-three years, not even eligible for parole when Charles Manson was. So imagine her surprise when her hoity-toity lady lawyer appeared one day to tell her that she had petitioned the California Supreme Court and they agreed to hear Krista’s case, which could finally include the battery in her defense. Rather than scheduling a costly trial, Krista’s sentence was miraculously reduced, and she was suddenly eligible for parole. The board approved her release and relocation to Lake Waseka, Minnesota. In May 2016.
* * *
Jake McAllister put in much longer hours than necessary, so it wasn’t uncommon for him to walk the grounds of the lodge, or even take a walk along the lake for a breath of fresh air and to stretch his legs. He heard someone crying and calling out to God and he ducked behind a tree. It was by complete coincidence that he’d come upon her. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned up against a tree where Krista couldn’t see him. He had a lump in his throat as he listened to this emotional outpouring.
He went quickly and quietly back to the lodge, feeling pretty good about his day.
* * *
Krista suspected it was getting close to dinnertime when she finally left that rope swing, her eyes dry and feeling lighter, freer. She couldn’t wait to tell Charley and Meg she had a job. She couldn’t wait to call Patricia Driver and give her Jake McAllister’s number. Then her mother...she’d call her mother.
She could hear Meg and Charley talking in the kitchen when she walked across the porch. Meg was sitting on the stool at the breakfast bar while Charley was across from her, tearing up clean lettuce for a salad.
“Hey,” Krista said. “You’re not going to believe this. I got a job!”
“At the lodge?” Charley asked, eyes wide.
“It’s the only place I went. I told the manager I’d take anything but he’s going to give me a chance to waitress.”
“Oh, my God, I thought it was going to be a challenge,” Meg said. “Guess you’ve got that handled! First place you looked!”
“That was easy,” Charley said. “But you look a little... Are you disappointed? Was it terrible?”
“It was very good,” Krista said. “I told the truth, and he gave me a job. And then on my way home it just... It hit me. The road to a waitress job has been a long one. I’m wrung out.”
“Too tired to celebrate?” Charley asked. “Because I’m prepared.” She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a chilled bottle of sparkling cider. She pushed aside her salad makings and put out three glasses. “Selfishly, I’m glad it’s still just the three of us. We’ll drink it out of champagne glasses. But I’m warning you both—I’m not sticking to this diet. After we’ve toasted the new start, I’m hitting the wine.”
“You do what you gotta do,” Krista said. She sat at the counter next to Meg, tired to the bone.
“Gimme a second,” Charley said, excusing herself from the kitchen. She returned a moment later with a white box tied with a red bow. She put it on the counter and poured their cider.
“Now what have you done?” Krista asked.
“I thought it would take a while for you to get a job but I was determined to be ready. I’m glad I didn’t wait. It was killing me just waiting this long. Krista, here’s to you. You’re the bravest person I know and I’m proud of you.”
“Here, here,” Meg said. “Me, too.”
“I didn’t expect a party,” Krista said. “That’s really optimistic of you. Presents and everything. I hope it’s more underwear.”
“It’s not underwear,” Charley said, pushing the box toward her.
Krista lifted the lid, parted the tissue paper and looked at a rectangular metal folder. She’d seen these before. Some inmates had these or similar tablets, though they weren’t allowed to hook up to the internet. Even knowing what it was she asked, “What is it?”
“It’s called a Surface,” Charley said. “For your writing. And your research.”
“I’ve seen these,” she said softly, lifting it out of the box.
“It’s all charged,” Charley said. “You give yourself a password and then write your brains out and no one can read it but you.”
Krista slowly lifted the top to look at a flat, black screen and the keyboard below. Charley reached across the breakfast bar and pressed a button on top and it came to life.
“I can’t believe you’d do this for me,” Krista said.
“I did it for all of us.”
Chapter Nine
It was almost humorous, the amount of pride Krista felt putting on her waitress uniform. It was a simple pair of khaki shorts and a dark green knit shirt, but it was a costume that put her in the world of the working class. She didn’t get an extra set; every penny counted. She laundered it every evening and even though it was polyester and needed no ironing, she touched it up with a hot steam iron. Her creases were sharp and her seams flat. She was up at four thirty a.m. to get to work by five thirty. And she had warm smiles for even the earliest of customers.
Of course, one of the first people in for breakfast every day was Jake McAllister. She would never complain about her hours after taking note of his. He was there at least twelve hours a day, sometimes more. “But this isn’t exactly my work schedule, Krista,” he said in good humor. “I live at the lodge, it’s that simple. I was brought in from a resort back East in the Catskills to help the owner get this place in shape. Seemed it needed a little freshening up. My specialty is sprucing up or shutting down a resort. It requires some moving.”
“Your family must hate it,” she observed.
“I’m divorced—my son’s in the Army, my daughter is in college. Since I don’t get to see that much of them, I might as well enjoy my work.”
Krista settled into a routine, relieved by how quickly she was adjusting to being out of prison. There were no nightmares or panic attacks. She wanted to boast about opening a bank account; she wanted to flash her shiny new credit card. She wanted to sing about how great it felt to write her mom a check, to empty the change out of her pockets every afternoon and watch it fill up the mason jar on her dresser—and be safe there. Untouched. In prison, not even your toothbrush was safe. Her small change and minimum wage salary was nothing compared to the money Charley must have, but to Krista it was a personal fortune. She might as well be a brain surgeon, she felt so important.
One week of work and the job came easy to her. Her training was brief and simple and she was on her own in no time. The staff, as Jake had promised, were friendly and accessible. They seemed not to know she was an ex-con. She said she’d just returned to Minnesota to spend the summer with cousins after living in California for twenty-three years; she liked it here and thought she might stay on since her mother wasn’t far away. When asked what she’d done in California, she answered, “Nothing as interesting as this,” as if to imply her life was dull beyond imagination. Then she deftly turned the subject back to them. People were universally predictable; when offered a chance to talk about themselves, they invariably took it.
Jo rode the bus to Brainerd and came to the lake house for one day and one night and it was the greatest treat Krista could remember having. Jo brought homemade cinnamon rolls and carried one little overnight bag that must have been thirty years old. The four of them talked over coffee, remembering past summers at the lake. When it was time for lunch Jo took up her place in the kitchen beside Charley. “Tell me what to do,” she said, and Krista had a clear memory of Aunt Lou telling Jo exactly what she wanted done in the kitchen and Jo following instructions. “I’ve been so lazy, living alone all these years. I’m bad about grabbing something fast and easy on the way home from work.”
“It’s all for me,” Meg said. “Charley’s never going to make me believe she was so fussy about her diet before. I visited her, remember.”
“I’ve always been fussy,” Charley insisted. “How do you think I keep this youthful figure?”
“By being the one member of this family with a metabolism that can whip through chili dogs and cheesecake!” Meg said. “Anyone but Charley would gain fifty pounds in a year.”
“Lord knows I can’t get by with that,” Jo said.
“I was always on the run a lot,” Charley said.
Krista was in heaven. She couldn’t believe how natural it was, the four of them, talking and laughing and then being quiet together, as though no time had passed. When Meg rested in the afternoon, Krista and Jo went for a walk and ended up on the fringes of the lodge. Jo didn’t want to go in, didn’t want to invade that space. “It’s where you work, Krista. Keep it to yourself for a while. I can tell you’re happy there.”
“I’m happy here,” she said. “Just to be able to walk around the lake, to earn a little money, to be with friends.”
“After all that’s passed, you’re not bitter,” Jo said.
“I am bitter,” Krista said. “There’s a dark place deep inside me where the bitterness lives. I just won’t let it come out of that cave I keep it in. I’m afraid it would keep me from smelling the lake, feeling Charley’s fancy linens, eating the food she makes to try to keep Meg alive.”
Jo touched her daughter’s cheek. “Don’t let it eat a hole in you,” she said.
“I won’t. I’m too stubborn for that.”
Jo laughed softly. “I never thought I’d be grateful for your stubbornness.”