Broken Marilyns

HEIRLOOM

HEIRLOOM

"Mr. Henley, is there anything you'd like to say in your defense?"

Looking at no one, he said matter-of-factly, "I did what I had to do."

"This is a collect call from the Benton correctional facility.  This call may be recorded and listened to.  Please press 1 if you accept the charges."

“Hello?”

“Jenna?”

“Yes.”

“This is Tom Henley.  I’d really like to speak with you again if that’s okay with you.”

            If you’d have told me years ago that I would be excited to talk to Mr. Henley, I’d probably punch you in the face.  Mr. Henley asked if I could arrange an in-person meeting – the thought alone sent panicked tremors through my chest.  I still hadn’t heard back from the Second Chance program but if he was willing to talk I had to pretend that I had.

            I fidgeted with my fingernails at the small two-person table inside the prison.  Each wall of the stuffy room was manned by armed guards.  The room smelled like cheap perfume made stronger by the anxious, pounding hearts of prison wives.  A door buzzed open and a line of inmates walked into the room.  Mr. Henley was much more intimidating to me now that there was nothing separating us, but I took a deep breath and steadied myself as best I could.

"I been thinkin' about what you said and...I think it's time to finally clear my name,” Mr. Henley said the moment he sat down.  “Now, I wanna meet with these people, ya hear?  I need to know this is the real deal."

"I'll see what I can do.  They’re not based far from here so I’m sure we can figure something out but you have to give me something.  Please."  Mr. Henley bounced his knee under the table and looked to be having an inner struggle.  "I know I already showed you these but humor me.  This is a picture of my brother," I tried my luck, setting the picture on the table.

"I know what it is,” Mr. Henley pointed to the picture of Charlie, “I see it every damned day in my head," Mr. Henley shook his head.

"You said in court that it was a belt buckle?"

"It was a family heirloom my pappy passed down to me.  One-a them boys stole it from me, the little shits."  He was a smart man, keeping his answers informative yet vague when it came to which son he was talking about.

"Well here’s a picture of Julia," I retrieved the picture and pushed it next to Charlie's.

"Mmm," Mr. Henley pressed his lips together in disapproval.  "That's the same buckle, all right."

“How can you be so sure?” I pleaded with him through my eyes.

“Ain’t another one like it.  My pappy made it himself.”