Page 24 of Protect My Heart

The guard cleared his throat and the warden released her hand. Finden addressed him then. “Are we all good here, Officer Sampson?”

“Yes sir.” He nodded to his boss and left the room.

Soothing his hand over his salt and pepper hair, Warden Finden turned back to Liz. “I’m sorry for your loss. We usually let the family say goodbye one last time, but when we didn’t hear from a family member for two weeks––we proceeded with your father’s last wishes to be cremated.”

“I understand. I recently moved and it took a few weeks for the notice to reach me.”

“Yes, well. Your father was a model inmate and a brave soldier.” He extended his hand again and when she took it, his placed his other hand over hers. “If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.”

“Thank you.” She slid her hand from his clasp and reached for the box.

“I got this, Doc.” Jim easily tucked the box under his arm and shook the warden’s hand with the other. “Thank you, sir.”

They picked up their personal effects they’d left at the guard station and headed to Jim’s truck.

“You okay?” Jim asked as he pulled the vehicle out onto the highway.

Fine was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t lie to him. “I don’t know.”

Jim didn’t respond. Which was good. Her head swam with thoughts. The pounding in her chest accelerated until it was the only thing she could hear. Nausea pushed bile up her throat. Wave after wave after wave.

Liz prayed. She started with the rosary to calm herself. Mami always swore prayer was the answer. But by the third Hail Mary, the churning in her stomach had spread.

Please Lord, don’t let me puke on Jim’s nice leather seats. She dropped her head and started on the Our Father.

Was she singing? Jim watched Doc rock back and forth out of the corner of his eye. He stretched his hand out to rub her back but pulled back at the last second. One look at her gray pallor, and he swerved into a convenience store parking lot. “Doc, are you going to be alright?”

She groaned.

“Can I get you something? A Sprite. A bucket.” He knew the signs. She was ready to spew chunks. He just hoped it wouldn’t be all over the inside of his new F-150. “How about we get you some air.”

Jim rounded the truck and opened her door. Slipping his arm under hers, he helped her from the vehicle. He caught the glimmer of a tear on her lashes.

“Shit.” He understood this had to be stressful for her, but he wouldn’t have pegged Doc as a crier. He checked his pockets for a tissue but only found a Chick-fil-A receipt. “Don’t cry.”

She pulled back so fast he thought she slipped again. “Don’t touch me!”

“Okay.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I was only trying to help.”

“I know.” The tears leaked from her eyes as big, fat drops slid down her rosy cheeks. “I’m normally not a crier. Damn, I never cry. Not since the day they took Papi from the courtroom.”

Questions rattled around his head, but he clamped his mouth shut. Doc needed to process.

“He was my father.” She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve.

Jim steered her to the back of the truck. He dropped the tailgate and brushed it off for her. They sat and Jim watched as Doc took deep cleansing breaths. It must be the grief.

“God, I hated him.”

Or not. Jim could understand tears of grief and loss, but hate?

“I mean, I loved him, but after what he did.” She looked up at Jim with watery eyes. “You know, don’t you?”

He nodded. No sense lying. She might be emotional at the moment but Doc was one hell of a psychologist. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“CJ?”

“No. I Googled you.”