Ron came to me and he had proof that Anderson was involved in criminal activity. I know how much you love your father and how proud you feel of him. Back then you were secure in your place in life: son of a state senator and soon-to-be Princeton freshman. I couldn’t bear the idea that you might find out, that all that would be taken away from you. But now here is the truth:
Ron discovered Anderson was making money illegally, mainly drugs and prostitution. He had photographs. Even I knew of Dot’s place out near Route 1. Your father was pictured there. Incriminating photos. Money passing hands outside the brothel. And Ron suspected your father of buying votes. Finally, he showed me money transfers from Anderson to Ron. Ron was blackmailing him, which was all the proof I needed that what he said was true.
At the time.
I wish I could go back to that scared kid and tell her to trust you, to tell you, to let you take care of it. But I’d lost Mom and you knew how much that destroyed my world. I didn’t want to destroy yours like that by taking away your father.
I realize now how wrong I was.
Please forgive me.
Ron told me he would go to the police and the newspapers with what he’d found and that not only would Anderson go to jail, but you would lose any chance you had of getting into Princeton. Your whole future was on the line. I was stupid. So stupid.
I agreed to marry Ron in exchange for his silence.
Everything fell apart anyway. You hated me. I still see your face when I told you what I’d done while you were gone. I will never get that look out of my head. And I understand.
About you and Annabelle.
I don’t know if you slept with her to hurt me or if you genuinely cared for one another. When the baby came, when little Marie came, I was angry. I was hurt. I was . . . I lost my love and I lost my best friend. I lost my best friend when I needed her the most. But over time I’ve grown to understand. I hope you two found happiness in your marriage in spite of everything.
And I’m sorry that after everything I hid so you would have Princeton and the future you dreamed of, fate took it away from you anyway. But I hope that being a father has been a new kind of dream, better than the one that came before it. God, I hope that for you, George.
I’m sorry for keeping the truth from you for so long. I’m just so ashamed that something that could have been avoided grew so out of my control.
It’s selfish of me now, I know, to tell you the truth. But there’s so little time in life. I realize that now more than ever before. I needed to unburden myself. I just needed you to know that I love you.
Always have. Always will.
Forever yours,
Sarah
Heart thumping, I almost dropped my drink trying to get to the next letter in hand. I had to know what happened. Why hadn’t these letters made it to George?
Sarah Randall
Inmate No. 50678
Women’s Correctional and Rehabilitation Facility
Wilmington, DE 19801
May 8, 1976
My darling George,
I’ve made all the wrong choices up until now. I hope this isn’t another.
I hope this is the right thing to do.
I have asked much of you in these letters, George, and now I ask one last thing: write me back, just once, telling me you got the letters, and letting me know whether you forgive me or not. Yes or no, I’d like to know. If you could do this as soon as possible I would be so grateful. So grateful.
I will never ask anything else of you. Not ever.
I love you.
Always have. Always will.
Forever yours,
Sarah
With tears on my cheeks, my nose running, and a sharp ache in my chest, I folded the letters up and slipped them back into the envelopes.
For some reason Sarah’s letters had never made it to George.
My heart hurt for her beyond bearing.
A sob escaped me and I sat in my low-lit apartment with my heart breaking over a stranger’s story.
Upon waking the next day the first thing I thought about was Sarah. I couldn’t get her letters out of my head, and I realized that the ache in my chest wouldn’t lessen until I found out what had happened to her.
“Any chance I can get into the old records room?” I said to Fatima during my lunch break. I always came down to the guards’ room to eat my lunch with her and Shelley, Fatima’s shift partner.
Fatima swallowed the bite of sandwich she was chewing and frowned. “Why? You can’t check the computer’s medical records?”
“I want to find out what happened to an inmate that was here in 1976.” The computer held only the records for inmates of the past fifteen years.
Shelley pulled a face. “Who the hell did you know here in 1976? Suddenly the truth comes out about why this one is working here. Ghosts in her closet, huh?” Shelley winked at Fatima.
Fatima gave her a dry look. “You are the only person I will say this to in my life: stop reading so many damn books.”
Shelley looked horrified. “And actually have to talk to Paulie? No, thanks.”
Paulie was her husband.
Fatima chuckled and turned back to me. “Seriously, why do you want into the old records room?”
“It’s for a friend. She knew of someone who served time here in 1976. My friend just wants to know what happened to her.”
“You got a name? An inmate number?”
“Both, actually.”
“Okay. I guess I can trust you. Remember, though, no stealing or photocopying those records,” she teased.
I crossed my heart.
Man, it was dusty in the old records room. I slammed a drawer shut and sneezed for the fifth time as another cloud of dust floated up around me. ame to me and he had proof that Anderson was involved in criminal activity. I know how much you love your father and how proud you feel of him. Back then you were secure in your place in life: son of a state senator and soon-to-be Princeton freshman. I couldn’t bear the idea that you might find out, that all that would be taken away from you. But now here is the truth:
Ron discovered Anderson was making money illegally, mainly drugs and prostitution. He had photographs. Even I knew of Dot’s place out near Route 1. Your father was pictured there. Incriminating photos. Money passing hands outside the brothel. And Ron suspected your father of buying votes. Finally, he showed me money transfers from Anderson to Ron. Ron was blackmailing him, which was all the proof I needed that what he said was true.
At the time.
I wish I could go back to that scared kid and tell her to trust you, to tell you, to let you take care of it. But I’d lost Mom and you knew how much that destroyed my world. I didn’t want to destroy yours like that by taking away your father.
I realize now how wrong I was.
Please forgive me.
Ron told me he would go to the police and the newspapers with what he’d found and that not only would Anderson go to jail, but you would lose any chance you had of getting into Princeton. Your whole future was on the line. I was stupid. So stupid.
I agreed to marry Ron in exchange for his silence.
Everything fell apart anyway. You hated me. I still see your face when I told you what I’d done while you were gone. I will never get that look out of my head. And I understand.
About you and Annabelle.
I don’t know if you slept with her to hurt me or if you genuinely cared for one another. When the baby came, when little Marie came, I was angry. I was hurt. I was . . . I lost my love and I lost my best friend. I lost my best friend when I needed her the most. But over time I’ve grown to understand. I hope you two found happiness in your marriage in spite of everything.
And I’m sorry that after everything I hid so you would have Princeton and the future you dreamed of, fate took it away from you anyway. But I hope that being a father has been a new kind of dream, better than the one that came before it. God, I hope that for you, George.
I’m sorry for keeping the truth from you for so long. I’m just so ashamed that something that could have been avoided grew so out of my control.
It’s selfish of me now, I know, to tell you the truth. But there’s so little time in life. I realize that now more than ever before. I needed to unburden myself. I just needed you to know that I love you.
Always have. Always will.
Forever yours,
Sarah
Heart thumping, I almost dropped my drink trying to get to the next letter in hand. I had to know what happened. Why hadn’t these letters made it to George?
Sarah Randall
Inmate No. 50678
Women’s Correctional and Rehabilitation Facility
Wilmington, DE 19801
May 8, 1976
My darling George,
I’ve made all the wrong choices up until now. I hope this isn’t another.
I hope this is the right thing to do.
I have asked much of you in these letters, George, and now I ask one last thing: write me back, just once, telling me you got the letters, and letting me know whether you forgive me or not. Yes or no, I’d like to know. If you could do this as soon as possible I would be so grateful. So grateful.
I will never ask anything else of you. Not ever.
I love you.
Always have. Always will.
Forever yours,
Sarah
With tears on my cheeks, my nose running, and a sharp ache in my chest, I folded the letters up and slipped them back into the envelopes.
For some reason Sarah’s letters had never made it to George.
My heart hurt for her beyond bearing.
A sob escaped me and I sat in my low-lit apartment with my heart breaking over a stranger’s story.
Upon waking the next day the first thing I thought about was Sarah. I couldn’t get her letters out of my head, and I realized that the ache in my chest wouldn’t lessen until I found out what had happened to her.
“Any chance I can get into the old records room?” I said to Fatima during my lunch break. I always came down to the guards’ room to eat my lunch with her and Shelley, Fatima’s shift partner.
Fatima swallowed the bite of sandwich she was chewing and frowned. “Why? You can’t check the computer’s medical records?”
“I want to find out what happened to an inmate that was here in 1976.” The computer held only the records for inmates of the past fifteen years.
Shelley pulled a face. “Who the hell did you know here in 1976? Suddenly the truth comes out about why this one is working here. Ghosts in her closet, huh?” Shelley winked at Fatima.
Fatima gave her a dry look. “You are the only person I will say this to in my life: stop reading so many damn books.”
Shelley looked horrified. “And actually have to talk to Paulie? No, thanks.”
Paulie was her husband.
Fatima chuckled and turned back to me. “Seriously, why do you want into the old records room?”
“It’s for a friend. She knew of someone who served time here in 1976. My friend just wants to know what happened to her.”
“You got a name? An inmate number?”
“Both, actually.”
“Okay. I guess I can trust you. Remember, though, no stealing or photocopying those records,” she teased.
I crossed my heart.
Man, it was dusty in the old records room. I slammed a drawer shut and sneezed for the fifth time as another cloud of dust floated up around me.