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 before.
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 letter had reached him. The hope had reached him.
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.
“I found the photographs.”
“I know.”
“The one of us at the beach. The three of us. Laughing.”
“I remember.”
“Why did you keep it?”
“Because it was the last time I saw her happy.”
“The last time?”
“She died a week later. I didn’t know it then. I didn’t know anything then.”
“None of us did.”
“But we should have.”
Nora was silent.
The clock on the wall ticked.
The guard shifted in his chair.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” she said.
“Which part?”
“About redemption.”
“What about it?”
“I don’t know if I believe in it.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then why are we here?”
He looked at her.
“Because we have to try.”
She reached into her pocket.
She pulled out the photograph.
The one from the beach.
The three of them. Laughing. Young. Happy.
She pressed it against the glass.
Miles’s eyes widened.
“You brought it.”
“I brought it.”
“Can I have it?”
“When you get out.”
“I’m never getting out.”
“Then I’ll keep it safe for you.”
She tucked the photograph back into her pocket.
The guard announced that visiting hours were over.
Nora stood.
She pressed her hand against the glass.
“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.