Trace of Innocence Read Online Free PDF Page B

right?”
    I laughed, hearing the cacophony of male voices in the background. “How’s your roommate?”
    “You always make it sound like I’m off at college…or camp. My cell- mate? He’s got two years to go, but he’s a mean gin rummy player. I’m into him for two cartons of cigarettes. But I’ll earn it back.”
    “Even on the inside, you’re always working the angle, Mikey.”
    “Always, baby. Always…God…” He paused. “It’s good to hear your voice. How’s Pop?”
    “Daddy…you know, he’s good. He’s eating his way through the state of New Jersey—everything he missed while he was inside. Italian subs from Vito’s, Aunt Helen’s cheesecakes, the pub’s burgers with fries and onion rings.”
    “You’re making me hungry. I think we had Salisbury steak for dinner, but I can’t be positive. The gravy had the consistency of Alpo.”
    My stomach churned at the thought.
    “How was his homecoming party?”
    “Awesome. Ended in a bar fight.”
    “As only the Quinns’ parties can. That’s the sign it was really good.”
    “It was the Murphy brothers.”
    “Shit.” He sighed. “Poor Marybeth. Would you check on her for me?”
    “Sure thing.”
    “You hear from Uncle Sean?”
    “Yeah. I visited him a couple of weeks ago.Brought him a picture of his Caddy. He misses the car more than me, I think.”
    “The fucking maroon land tank?”
    “Yeah. He’s okay. I promised him I’d drive up to visit him next month, too.”
    “Courtesy of the Quinn men, Billie, you’ve seen the inside of every prison from southern New Jersey to Dannemora.”
    “Dannemora is the worst. I feel like I’m going back to some medieval torture castle when I drive there.” The Dannemora prison rose like a fortress in the mist in upstate New York.
    “I’m sorry, Billie.”
    “For what, Mikey?”
    “Everything. We should be protecting you, watching out for you. And we’re all always on the inside, and you’re alone. Spending your weekends driving to visiting hours and walking through metal detectors to make sure you ain’t bringing us a file so we can escape.”
    “I’m a big girl. What else am I going to do with my weekends?”
    “I have one word for you, Billie. A rather radical idea—it’s called dating. ”
    “Well, I am sort of seeing Jack again. Though he’s pretty well sick of the fact that I spend my weekends visiting prisons, and I’m knee-deep in PCR tests and lab procedures.Then again, he’s a cop with a ton of baggage, so maybe we’re a good match.”
    “You deserve a life, Billie. And this time, when I get out, I promise to keep my nose clean.”
    I looked at the picture on my coffee table of me, my long black hair pulled into a ponytail, wearing faded Levi’s and a white T-shirt, no makeup, summer freckles on my suntanned face; Mikey, in jeans and a denim jacket, his black curly hair in need of a trim, his dimples cut deep into the hollows of his cheeks, his arm wrapped around my shoulder, head cocked to one side, lopsided grin as if he knew a funny story he was just dying to tell you; and Dad in his regulation orange prison jumpsuit, his hair cut prison short, graying at the temples, his face still unlined despite the life he lived.
    “Mike,” I sighed. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
    He was silent. “You mad at me?”
    “For what? Being who you are…? No, Mikey. I’ve never been mad at you for that. I’m not mad at Daddy. I’m not mad at Uncle Sean. I just worry. I don’t want you to ever go back in, Mike. I miss you.” I swallowed hard and wiped at a stray tear in the corner of my eye.
    “Listen, the line for the phone is long. Let me go. Love ya.”
    “Love you, too,” I said, then hung up. I looked around my apartment. A small one-bedroom, it boasted fourteen-foot ceilings with crown molding and wood floors. Were I a yuppie, I am sure the place would have looked fantastic with trendy furniture. Instead, it’s an eclectic mix and match—homey and