My Name Is River Blue (54 page)

He changed
course. "You really loved Carlee, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir,
I really did."

"She was my
little girl, and I loved her very much. I hate that I was fighting with her before
she died. She was so angry with me that I can't stop wondering if she died
hating me."

"Mr.
Summers, there were times when Carlee didn't like what you did. When she
thought you mistreated people, including your family. When you didn't listen to
her and were too controlling. But no matter how angry she was, she still loved
you. Even the night before she died, she loved you. She told me."

Big Bill's voice
wavered before he gained control. "Thank you for telling me that. It helps
a lot. I've made so many mistakes, and my priorities were all wrong. It's taken
losing my family to see how damn stupid I've been."

"Mr.
Summers, it's not my place to say, but I think you still have a chance with
Billy. Maybe even with Mrs. Summers."

Big Bill nodded.
"Billy is spending the weekend with me, and I'm not going to work. We're
going to do something together."

"He likes
playing ball." I couldn't help adding a jab. "You could take him to
the old park before you tear it up."

"About the
park. I've changed plans. The town needs some decent apartments, but we're
keeping the rest of the property as a park instead of building the retail stores
and the parking spaces they would have used. I'm having plans drawn up to
revitalize the park so that it's all good as new. When we are finished, we will
have two new ball fields, a basketball court, a tennis court, a kid's
playground, and a wellness trail suitable for walking and jogging. New benches
and new bleachers. Beautiful landscaping. It won't be as big as the old section,
but it will be much nicer and well-maintained."

I was surprised
and grinning. "Thank you, Mr. Summers. The neighborhood kids and their
families will appreciate that. I know that Carlee, Ant, and Papa would
too."

"See what
you think of this idea, River. When we're done, we'll have the new Carlee
Summers Memorial Park, the Papa Ray Long Athletic Fields, and the Ant Jefferson
Health Trail. We'll have bronze signs with dedications at the entrance to the
park, in front of the ball fields, and at the start of the trail."

He amazed me. "Thank
you, Mr. Summers. They would be proud. Thank you especially for considering
Papa and Ant along with Carlee."

"I can't
make up for what Max did to Papa and Ant, but my family at least owes them the
honor of recognition. They were good people who meant a lot to our town." Big
Bill turned his massive wrist to see his watch. "My time is about up. Is there
anything I can do for you?"

The conversation
was so odd. I never thought I would see Big Bill as anything but an asshole,
and there I was smiling at him. "No, sir. I guess not."

Big Bill
chuckled. "I never liked you, but that's because I didn't give you a
chance. All I could see was that you were turning my little girl against me. I
blamed you for her rebellion when it was really my fault. I was an idiot, and
now I'll never be able to tell her I'm sorry."

"I hope
things work out with your family, Mr. Summers. It would make Carlee
happy."

Big Bill nodded.
He shook hands with me and stood to leave, but I stopped him. I had to ask.
"Mr. Summers?"

"Yep?"

"That night
after the homecoming dance. How come you never came after me for punching
you?"

Big Bill took a
few seconds to answer. "I almost did, but the more I thought about it, you
did the same thing I would have done. You stood your ground like a man. By the
way, I apologize for all those things I said. I always respected how hard you
worked."

"Okay.
Well, anyway. Thanks." I didn't expect the explanation he gave, but I was
learning that other people were just as complicated as I was.

As Bill Summers
turned to leave, he added, "Besides the football season wasn't over yet,
and I had bet a butt load of money that you would lead the Hawks to another
state title."

He grinned and I
had to laugh. When I see Bill Summers in my mind, I picture him with a smart-assed
smirk on his face as he tapped on the door to signal to Dunc that he was done.

***

The Bergeron
County Jail staff treated me as well as I could have reasonably hoped. Because
I was a high profile prisoner awaiting trial, they segregated me from convicted
inmates who were already serving time in prison, and had been brought back to the
county jail for a hearing or a trial on another charge. A few of those
prisoners, who were doing long stretches, were apt to attack a famous inmate,
such as me, just for the additional notch on their prison rep. In the future, I
would find out how important prison reps were to inmates.

Dunc told me that
another reason for separating me was that they tried to keep young, pre-trial inmates
away from the older, hardcore criminals. He added that all of their lives would
be hell if the media heard that I had been beaten or raped, so I had my own
cell except for one period of a couple of weeks when the jail was overcrowded.
My cellmate for that period was another young guy who was in for his first time
on a drug charge, and I had no problems with him.

My jail cell was
not a pleasant place to live, but since the staff worried about my safety, I
spent little time out of it. There were bunk cots, and I always slept on the
bottom one. Attached to the wall, there was a tabletop, which served as a desk
and a meal table. There was one small chair, a shelf to place personal
belongings, and a stainless steel sink and toilet. That was it for my cell
furnishings.

Since I couldn't
eat in the cafeteria with the other prisoners, a guard brought my meals to my
cell. The food wasn't horrible, but it wasn't good either. I was fortunate that
I had visitors bringing me much better food that the guards delivered to my
cell.

Kirby Wallace
was one of my regular guards. He was a young man, only a few years older than I
was. He was a huge Hawks fan and had watched me play almost all of my home
games. Instead of giving me the normal jail dinner, he often brought me a warm
plate of food from his home. He still lived with his parents, and his mom could
sure as hell cook. Kirby often took his dinner breaks with me, and he would sit
just outside my cell while we discussed sports. Sometimes, I would listen to
him talk about his family, mostly about hunting and fishing trips he took with
his dad.

With my previous
experiences, I was suspicious of any guard who would be so kind to me, but I soon
saw Kirby as just a good guy with a big heart. He was a decent, working class
white guy from a family of
real
Christians, not the fake, racist variety
common to Harper Springs. If I could accuse Kirby of wanting anything from me,
it was for me to relive my football days and share my experiences with him. He
had wanted to play during high school, but he lived on a farm, and there was
never time for afterschool activities. He accepted the fact at a young age that
he had a responsibility to help his father, and if he was bitter, he never
showed it to me.

Kirby and I
became friends, and he did all he could to make my life less miserable. I did
my best to make him look good in front of his superiors by addressing him as
"sir" and immediately following his commands. With Kirby, I kept
thinking about the job I would have had as assistant coach of the Hawks, and
how I would have wanted everyone to take me seriously.

The staff allowed
me to shower on Wednesday and Saturday mornings, which meant that I was cleaner
for the two visiting days. After the other prisoners showered, a guard would
take me to the showers alone and stay with me until I was finished. I was
supposed to limit the shower to five minutes, but when Kirby worked that shift,
he would give me as long as he could. Sometimes, we would talk about the latest
sports news for as much as twenty minutes before he would make me cut off the
water.

I could have two
hours a day for outside exercise, which in my case meant walking back and forth
alone in something that resembled a long batting cage. I was very limited as to
what I could do while the other prisoners had the whole yard in which to run, play
basketball, or work out with weights. Since I wanted a way to keep up my arm
strength, Kirby managed to find some hand weights and a few other portable
exercise pieces that I could use in the cage.

Kirby was not
the only decent guard. Once they knew me, most of them were friendly and treated
me as if I were human. In return, I followed the rules and was respectful of
them and the jobs they had to do. There were prisoners who complained daily,
but I was not one of them. I didn't expect any special treatment for good
behavior, but the guards often did more for me than they did for the whiners.

The staff always
gave me my medicine on time, and when I was not feeling well, they cut me slack.
There were some days, when my back was in such bad shape, that I couldn't bend
over without agonizing pain, and that was a much bigger problem in jail than if
I had been home. After an inmate left the visitation room, he had to stop off
at a small room for a strip search before he went back to his cell. In my case,
if it was one of my bad days, the guards would still search me thoroughly, but
they would help me so that I didn't have to bend so much.

Since the staff
didn't want me with the other prisoners, I couldn't go to the day room to watch
TV like the others who watched sports, usually baseball or football. The jail
had a large office and control room with monitors that showed camera views of
the halls, cells, cafeteria, day room, and yard. It also had an excellent TV for
the staff to watch sports during their down time between tasks. I never
complained, but I remember thinking how much it sucked that I was the only one
who couldn't watch a game.

One Sunday, Dunc
came to my cell again when I wasn't expecting him. He cuffed my wrists and
shackled my ankles, but it wasn't to see a visitor. I was surprised when he
steered me into the office, and I saw what the guards had on the floor. In a
corner out of the way of foot traffic, they had placed a single bunk mattress
with several pillows stacked on one end, and before I could speculate any
longer about why I was there, they told me that I was watching baseball with
them. I was glad to relax my back on the mattress and enjoy the ballgame that
afternoon.

I became a
regular weekend guest of the staff to watch whatever games were on, and often, Uncle
Manny would drop off enough burgers or pizzas for all of the staff on duty at
the jail. I enjoyed the games and the time out of my cell, and sometimes I
would get lost in the moment and forget where I was. It would only take trying
to change my position on the mattress for me to remember that I was the only
one in the room in chains.

***

After Big Bill's
visit, I was not surprised to learn that the community leaders, who witnessed
the shooting at the restaurant, were supporting me. Big Bill advised Mr. Stark
that the men in the dining room had been in shock when they made their original
statements, and after time to clear their heads, they saw a few things
differently. The point was that they would be sympathetic witnesses for the
defense, and there was no way a jury was going to hear their testimony and
convict me of first-degree murder.

As spokesperson
for the group, Big Bill urged Mr. Stark, the solicitor, to drop the murder
charge and offer me a deal on the manslaughter charge only. It was a difficult
situation for Mr. Stark because he could not win reelection without Bill
Summers' backing, but he didn't want to look soft on crime to all the
conservative voters.

Mr. Stark held
firm until a week before the trial was to begin and made my attorney an offer
of voluntary manslaughter and ten years. Mr. Lee and I rejected the offer.
After some negotiating, we agreed to a sentence of five years with credit for
the year I had served in county jail. It meant that I would have to serve four
years in state prison. It was a much better outcome than I had expected, and
unbelievably, I owed the reduced sentence to Bill Summers.

As I accepted
the fact that I would spend the next four years of my life in prison, I didn't
feel the same resentment I did when the judge sent me to Stockwell for
something I didn't do. Still, I think any man would be lying if he said that he
wasn't frightened to go to prison, and I certainly was. I knew it would not be
like the county jail in my hometown where the guards kept me away from the
older, hardened inmates. In state prison, I would be interacting daily with the
state's worst criminals, some serving life sentences without the possibility of
parole. They had nothing to lose if they picked up another charge.

I had heard that
state budget cuts to the prison meant that there were fewer guards, and many of
those were overworked and apathetic about their jobs. Even if all the guards
cared, it was not possible for them to protect every young prisoner, and in my
physical condition, I was limited in what I could do to defend myself. One blow
to my back or knee, one sudden twist or bend, one quick move to avoid a fist or
shank, and I could crumble painfully and helplessly to the floor. So yeah, I
was scared, and my nerves grew worse the closer I came to the time the state
would transport me to prison.