Chapter Thirty-Two

It was ridiculous. And if Whitney had been Holden Caufield, she might have laughed out loud. Instead, she kept the miserable giggle on the inside, pretending not to notice as it brushed by a floating organ or tickled one of her ribs. Denise McGovern, all grown up.

She wasn’t formidable by any means. She looked decent, put together in something one would imagine a lawyer would wear, but she wore it like it had taken her a painstaking amount of time to pick out. Even with a fresh coat of lipstick, Whitney could tell Denise was tired. She looked overworked like the guards that stalked the halls outside of her cell. As much as Whitney had feared this meeting the entire time she had followed Gina to this tiny room, that fear dissipated, and it was almost replaced with pity. Almost.

“Hello,” Denise said in her best grown up voice, absent-mindedly extending her hand. Whitney raised both of hers, her wrists handcuffed in front of her and waved both hands at a slightly embarrassed Denise. “Yes, sorry,” Denise said, awkwardly moving behind the table as Whitney sat down in front of her. 

“Long time,” Whitney said, surprising herself. She forgot about her voice, how she had found it in prison. Not only that, but the force of her hands. She wondered about that now, if she could take Denise McGovern head on even if her heart pounded so hard it was deafening. Gina might even give her a few minutes for the sheer sport of it.

“Yeah. Um, I’m sorry—”

“About which part? That I’m dying slowly in this hell hole or that my son is headed down the same path?”

“That I wasn’t very nice to you.” The sound was no longer deafening because Whitney’s heart had stopped beating. All she could hear were the string of Denise’s words, how there was no malice in them. 

“Oh, I see. Guilt complex. You feel bad for going after the father of my kid, so you’ve come all this way to alleviate your precious brain from any ounce of responsibility. Well, guess what Denise? You didn’t kill him. You’re not responsible. This has nothing to do with you, which I’m sure is probably hard enough to swallow in the first place.” She enjoyed the muffled shock in Denise’s eyes. She danced along that nerve. “I killed him because he was gay. I mean, that sounds terrible, that’s not what I mean.” Her heart was at it again, so Whitney looked down, pausing to breathe.

“I killed him because he lied to me, because he tricked me into thinking I was worth anything more than a place like this. But he was wrong, apparently. And now his kid’s a monster too.” Whitney smiled. She wanted it to look maniacal, but she was afraid it would have looked that way whether she intended it to or not. “Something wrong, princess? This pity trip not panning out like you thought?”

Denise’s throat rose and fell with a swallow. She was working out something on the scummy top of the metal table. Whitney internally rolled her eyes knowing Halo and Rhonda from two cells over were tasked with wiping down the meeting rooms. Who knew what concoction they’d come up with and smeared to their heart’s delight.

“You’re right.” It looked like the whole world had dropped right there on Denise McGovern’s head. As much as Whitney wanted to poke at her pained face, she knew Denise wasn’t bluffing. She looked like she was going to be sick.

“What?”

“You’re right. I’ve been making this about me. I’m sorry.” It was almost deflating watching Denise McGovern say the words Whitney had always wanted to hear, if not from Denise, then from everyone who had ever broken her heart. “I’ve been really mad at myself and at you for so long. I blamed you. I thought you ruined my life, that you had taken away Jamal. And you did, but he wasn’t mine in the first place.”

He wasn’t either of ours, Whitney thought. She kept her cuffed wrists in her lap, careful not to touch the disgusting table. Denise seemed to wilt in her suit.

“I used to dream about running away with him. It took me a really long time to figure this out, but I wasn’t running away with him in my head. I was running away from all the things I hated in my life.” Sucker punched. Whitney drew her lips together and kept studying her wrists, but it couldn’t keep her from thinking about all the things she had tried to run away from too.

“My dad is a complete imbecile, and my mom needs to live in a perpetual rehab. I don’t have anyone, except my dog. I have my church, and I’m thankful for that. But it’s the feeling of utter loneliness, I just can’t shake it. You ever feel like that? Like you’re all alone and nobody even cares anymore?” Denise looked up, and Whitney steadily met her gaze. “Well, crap,” Denise said, choking on her own foot.

Whitney wanted to hate her but couldn’t. It felt like there was this lifeline between her and Denise. Even though Denise McGovern lived on the outside, and had her fancy job, and a dog who probably made a better roommate than Halo, her heart still hurt too.

“All the time,” Whitney admitted. She thought of Marge without wanting to—Marge who lived in Walt’s big fancy house with a child who hadn’t murdered anyone lately. Whitney sometimes stroked the jealous demon in her belly late at night. Her eyes up to the cinderblock ceiling, she’d decorate a lovely little room in Walt’s two-story. She lived there in her head, locked the door so nobody could even get in. Her mother and stepfather would beat on it, but she never would open it. She felt bad about this, but only for a second because she’d quickly realize she already had a locked door, but it wasn’t anywhere near the beautiful home her family got to live in without her.

“Then why’d you do it?” It was a question asked so plainly, Whitney forgot she had ever been asked it before. But she had. On the stand and in newspaper articles and by people spitting it at her on the street. Even Halo had asked when they first met, not even a question of “if,” only “why.” 

Whitney thought quietly. Why, why, why. She knew why. Jamal had lied to her, and she had tied her entire life to that lie. He was a boulder sinking in a stream, and she would have been dragged along with him if she hadn’t cut the rope. It all made sense in the neat and tidy spaces of her mind. Nobody questioned it, especially not anyone serving their sentences alongside her. But she was curious to know what Denise thought.

“I told you why. He was gay.”

“But that’s not why. Tell me the truth.” Acid on skin. Whitney could practically hear the sizzle. She didn’t want to have to say it out loud.

“The truth.” She breathed in deep, let it out. “I lost control.”