Daddy's Girl Read Online Free PDF Page B

will you take me off the wait list?”
    Nat flushed, flattered. “Yes,” she answered, and they took off through the countryside. She could have been imagining it, but he seemed to drive faster after she turned him down. They traveled up and down hills, through forest and pasture and over the Brandywine Creek, and in time, rounded a sharp curve. On the right was a brick building with a bright green roof behind a Youth Study Center sign, but they drove on. Tucked uphill behind a grove of tall evergreens appeared an older wooden sign that read, CHESTER COUNTY CORRECTIONAL INSTITUTION in white-painted letters that were oddly rustic for a penitentiary.
    “End of the Wyeth part.” Nat instantly regretted that she’d come. She should have been back at school, teaching class. Her students needed sleep.
    “I know, right?” Angus said matter-of-factly. They drove up to a tall, white guardhouse, and out of its skinny door stepped a young, blue-uniformed guard with a black rifle slung over his shoulder. The guard leaned into the car window, which Angus had rolled down. “Hi, Jimmy.”
    “Hey, Teach!” the guard said, grinning broadly. He had brown eyes under the patent-leather bill of his cap and sported a small, dark mustache over unevenly spaced teeth. “You brought a new student? Hi, honey.”
    “Keep it classy,” Angus said, mock-stern. “This is Professor Greco. She’s lecturing here today.”
    “Oh, jeez.” The guard shifted his cap up, instantly sheepish. “Sorry.”
    “It’s okay.” Nat waved him off, and Angus thanked the guard and hit the gas. Nat asked, “Don’t we have to show him any ID?”
    “Nah. He knows me.”
    “I have to show ID in a store, when I use a credit card.”
    “Like I said, minimum security.” Angus shrugged, but Nat didn’t get it.
    “More minimum than J.Crew, yet not so minimum that the guard doesn’t carry a gun.”
    “Exactly.” The VW traveled up a single-lane paved road to a small, elevated parking lot. Freshly plowed snow sat piled around the perimeter of the lot, decreasing the number of spaces. Angus continued, “Inside, none of the guards is armed. I should say C.O.s. Corrections officers. They don’t like when we call them guards. They’re nice guys, most of ’em.”
    “They don’t have guns inside?” Nat’s tone said, You told me it was safe.
    “No. It’s standard in prisons. Most of the C.O.’s treat the inmates with respect, but still as a group. Like a lower caste, not like each one is an individual. The C.O.s have to, to manage them. But in my class, I try to make up for that.”
    Nat sensed that Angus was climbing a soapbox, but she didn’t mind. Passion did that to people. She’d sound the same way if anybody asked her about Abraham Lincoln. She loved reminding her students that he was a lawyer. Nobody believed her.
    “Rehabilitation is essential here. These men are inside for only two years, so they’re getting out again. They’re in for misdemeanors and nonviolent offenses. Petty larceny, burglary, fraud. Chester County offers drug and alcohol counseling, and job training like heating and air conditioning, auto repair, even haircutting.”
    Bad to worse. “With scissors?”
    “Sure, and the inmates who work in the kitchen use knives.”
    “Great.”
    “Don’t worry.” Angus steered the car into the parking lot. “They hang up the scissors and knives in glass cases, on pegboards painted with the shape of the tool, and when the inmates are finished, a C.O. locks the cases.” He found a space, and Nat noticed that many of the cars were idling, with white plumes of exhaust puffing from their tailpipes.
    “What’s up with the cars?”
    “They’re inmate families, waiting for visiting hours to start.” Angus put on the emergency brake and looked over at Nat with a smile. “Let’s rock. Bring your driver’s license but leave your handbag. Only legal papers are allowed. Do you have lecture notes?”
    “Yes.” Nat retrieved her