“I’m not that generous.”
“That’s a fancy way to say stealing.”
“Yes,” he said. “It is.”
“But I didn’t take the $600,000 they put on me,” he added. “Dean did that.”
“Who’s that?”
“My cousin. He moved the larger funds, forged my name, and let my smaller mistake make me easy to blame.”
“Then why did you let them bury you?”
“That’s a fancy way to say stealing.”
Jonah looked toward the guard.
“Because I already hated myself enough to believe I deserved it.”
So I signed the papers.
So did he.
Just like that, I had a husband and rent money.
***
At first, I performed.
So I signed the papers.
I visited twice a month because Celeste’s checks cleared. I wrote letters that sounded warm enough to be useful and vague enough not to be real.
Jonah always wrote back.
His letters were neat, with sketches in the margins. A coffee cup. A tired waitress. Owen as Captain Algebra after I mentioned his failed math quiz.
At the next visit, Jonah asked, “Did Owen retake the test?”
Jonah always wrote back.
I blinked. “You remembered that?”
“You wrote it down.”
“I write a lot of things down.”
“And I read them.”
That annoyed me more than it should have.
Kindness is harder to ignore than cruelty.
“You wrote it down.”
***
Once, after a double shift, I read Jonah’s case file on the kitchen floor.
Owen stepped over the papers with cereal in hand.
“Please tell me that’s something fun and not prison husband stuff.”
“Prison husband stuff. Look at this date.”
He crouched beside me. “October fourth.”
“Prison husband stuff.”
“Jonah was already in custody on October fourth.”
“So he couldn’t have signed this transfer order.”
“Exactly.”
Owen leaned closer. “Dean?”
“I think Dean copied his signature.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Not yet.”
Owen set down his cereal.
“Can you prove it?”
