THE LAST HOUR OF SEVEN BELLS
The Visit
The prison was the same.
Gray walls. Gray floors. Gray light. Gray faces. Nora walked through the metal detectors, signed her name on the visitor log, waited for the guard to escort her to the visitation room.
She had been here a dozen times since the trial.
Each time, she told herself it would be the last.
Each time, she came back.
Miles was already there, sitting in his gray prison uniform, his hands cuffed to the table, his face pale and tired. But his eyes were brighter than they had been. The months had softened him. Or perhaps the hope had.
Nora sat down.
She picked up the phone.
He picked up his.
“You came,” he said.
“I said I would.”
“You always do.”
“Not always.”
“No. Not always. But more often than not.”
She looked at him.
“You look better.”
“I feel better.”
“The medication?”
“The visits.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
“I brought you something.”
She reached into her pocket.
She pulled out the letter.
The one she had written weeks ago.
The one she had not mailed.
Miles stared at it.
“What is that?”
“A letter.”
“From who?”
“From me.”
His eyes widened.
“You wrote me a letter?”
“I wrote you a letter.”
“Can I read it?”
She shook her head.
“Not yet.”
“Then why did you bring it?”
“Because I wanted you to know it exists. Because I wanted you to know I’m thinking about you. Because I wanted you to know I’m trying.”
He reached toward the glass.
His hand pressed against it.
She pressed hers against the other side.
“What does it say?” he asked.
“It says I forgive you.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“And?”
“And it says I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not being there. For not answering the phone. For not saving her.”
“You were young.”
“I was selfish.”
“We were all selfish. That’s what being young means.”
She pulled her hand back.
She tucked the letter into her pocket.
“Are you going to mail it?” he asked.
“Someday.”
“When?”
“When I’m ready.”
“What will it take for you to be ready?”
She was silent for a long moment.
“I don’t know. Time. Distance. Perspective.”
“You have all those things.”
“I know.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
She looked at him.
“I’m waiting for you to forgive yourself.”
The words hung in the air.
Miles’s face crumbled.
“I don’t know how.”
“Neither do I. That’s why we’re here. Together. Trying.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Then we keep trying. That’s what forgiveness is. Not a destination. A journey.”
The guard announced that visiting hours were over.
Nora stood.
She pressed her hand against the glass one last time.
“I’ll come back,” she said.
“I know.”
“Next week.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Same time?”
“Same place.”
She turned.
She walked to the door.
She didn’t look back.