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“Puppy,” he managed, flinging his arms around the thick neck.
She held in a shriek as she pulled Jackson back, all the while trying not to imagine what those sharp teeth could do to her son. “Don’t! That’s not a puppy. That’s a working dog.”
The guard holding the leash barely gave her a look. “Get back in line.”
Fortunately the dog was much more friendly. He turned his head and gave Jackson a quick swipe of his tongue on his cheek. His tail wagged twice and his expression softened. Then he turned to the next visitors and immediately went on alert, sniffing the woman and the teen.
Allison’s heart was pounding in her chest as she went into the holding area. She used her cash to purchase a card for the vending machines, then waited with everyone else. After a few minutes, Jackson raised his hands.
“Up.”
Her back already hurt, but she didn’t want him to get upset, so she tried to lodge herself into the corner, to get as much support as possible, then lifted him into her arms.
Her lower back screamed in protest, but she ignored the pain. She held him, rocking slightly, willing her name to be called, so she could go in and see her husband.
After what felt like hours but was probably only twenty minutes, she and the other visitors were allowed in. She was the sixth visitor who passed through the guarded door into a big open room.
There were plastic chairs pulled up to low tables. The overhead lighting was harsh, the room sterile. Vending machines lined the far wall, surrounded by a barrier along with a sign saying no prisoners were allowed in that part of the room.
She searched the men filing into the room, looking for—
“Allison!”
She saw him and immediately rushed toward him. “Peter! Peter!”
Jackson saw his father and began to shriek. They closed the distance between them and then Peter’s familiar arms were around her, holding her so tight. She hung on, letting her fear fade, feeling only this minute and how much she’d missed him.
“Hey, Jenkins. That’s enough. Back off or you’re out of here.”
Peter immediately stepped back. “Sorry. It’s my first time having a social visit.”
The guard glared at him. “You know the rules. One hug, one kiss. That’s it. Otherwise keep your distance. I’m not going to tell you again.”
Allison stared at Peter. “I don’t understand.”
He looked at her. “We can’t hug like that. I’m sorry. I got carried away.” He offered her a sad, awkward smile. “There are a lot of rules. But I am allowed to hold Jackson.”
He took their son and settled him easily on his hip, then motioned to some chairs. “Let’s have a seat.”
He said something else, but it was difficult to hear because an airplane flew directly overhead. It was a reminder of how close they were to the airport. Did Peter hear that noise all the time?
She studied him as he smiled at his son. Peter looked pale and thin. His clothes hung on him. She squeezed the card she held.
“Did you want me to get the drink and some doughnuts?” she asked.
“Please.” His mouth turned down. “I have to eat them here. I can’t take anything back to the cell with me.”
She had no idea what to say to that. Everything about this experience was awful. The bright lights, the air of desperation. More and more people poured into the visiting room, raising the volume. Another plane flew overhead.
She bought the cola and a small, plastic bottle of juice, along with two packs of doughnuts. When she returned to her seat, Peter frowned.
“You didn’t want anything for yourself?”
“I have water in the car.”
He opened the can and took a long drink, then sighed. “This is good.” He opened the juice bottle and helped Jackson take a drink. “Hey, little man. How are you doing?”
“Peter, we have to talk,” she said. “What’s happening? What’s going on? Where’s your lawyer? When are you getting out? How are we going to get our bank accounts unfrozen?”
