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LEEWOOD FOLCRUM

I NMATE 82145

Leewood and I are in love. I’ve already booked the prison chapel for next spring. That will be the first time we see each other in person, and I’m going to wear an all-beaded dress with this long princess train. All my siblings are coming into Lancaster for the wedding. Well, except for my older brother, who says I’m crazy.

—Tiffany Rose, veterinarian tech

I knew Tim had gotten the letter when he showed up on a Saturday. He didn’t have any food with him this time, and he was standing on his side of the glass, in a green sweater and corduroy pants. He was half-bent over the table, my letter there, his hands tented on either side of it.

I took my time sitting down. I’d had a week to prepare for this beating, so I was ready for whatever bullshit he had to bring. “Hello, Grant.”

It was a shot in the dark. I could have been wrong about which girl he was related to. I could have been wrong about how he’d gotten his hands on the letter at all. Maybe someone had given it to him. Maybe he was best friends with Grant Wultz. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But I felt the odds were big enough that I could take the stab and see if I was right.

He met my gaze squarely, and his jaw clenched for a moment; then he spoke. “So you know who I am.”

“I had a pretty good guess. Wasn’t sure.”

“And this?” He tapped the middle of the page.

“What about it?”

“It’s real?”

“Looks real from here.”

He exhaled slowly, and it took me a minute, but then I saw the signs. The wobble of his jaw. The quick blink of his eyes. The raw pinch of his mouth.

He was a man on the edge. A man who was a breath away from crying or exploding or both.

I took a mental pause and reminded myself of why I wrote that letter. To give her family closure. To mend some of the pain and suffering that night—and my actions—caused. This was gonna hurt, but it was the right thing to do. “Yes, Grant. It’s real.”

“So you’re admitting it. You did it.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It’s all there in the letter.”

He hung his head, staring at the page, his shoulders sagging from the weight. When he lifted his gaze, his distrust was clear. “I don’t get it. I’ve met with you ... what? Eight, ten times? And then you send this?”

You lead a thirsty horse to water, and the damn thing still doesn’t want to drink. This. This was why people just couldn’t be happy.

“So you don’t believe me,” I said. Shit, I couldn’t do anything to make this guy happy.

“I don’t know what to believe,” he said. “But this ... it feels too pat.”

Whatever the fuck that meant. I put my hands on the table and hoisted myself to my feet. “Well, it is what it is, Grant. You think you wasted a bunch of visits, and I feel the same. You could have just told me who you were. It wouldn’t have made a difference. Instead, you invent this whole ...” I gestured up and down, encompassing him. “It was wrong,” I said flatly.

And then I left. As Redd locked the door behind me, I glanced back through the window, and he was there, still hunched over the table, and he didn’t look at peace.

He looked pissed.