The Inmate

by Freida McFadden

“You need to call an ambulance!” Josh tugs on my sleeve again. “He needs to go to the hospital!” I can’t bear to tell him the truth. I hated this man, but Josh doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know that the icicles from the tree may have saved his life. He doesn’t know that the man lying in front of us in the snow is his father—the one he has been desperate to meet all these years. He doesn’t even know Shane is dead.

As it turned out, Pamela Nelson survived the gunshot wound, and it was a good thing she did. She ended up confessing to everything, which is more than Shane was ever willing to do. After she found out her son was dead, she didn’t really care anymore. She told the police everything—the whole shocking story.

“You should ask Tim to come over, Mom,” Josh says. “I should?” “Yeah! I miss him.” That tugs at my heartstrings. Josh has lost so much, some of which he doesn’t even know about. In the last year, he lost his father, a grandfather, and two grandmothers. All he’s got left now is me.

He doesn’t look great. I remember how I swooned a bit when I saw him standing outside the elementary school on Josh’s first day of school. But now he looks tired and pale and about fifteen pounds thinner. And pissed off as hell. “Brooke.” His eyes are like daggers. “What are you doing here?” He doesn’t invite me in. He doesn’t even budge from the doorway. “Um.” I wish I had planned something to say. I could have written down a little speech. Why oh why didn’t I write out a speech? “I wanted to say hi.” His eyebrows shoot up. “Hi?” “And welcome home,” I add. There isn’t even a hint of a smile on Tim’s lips. “No thanks to you.” “Look…” I squirm on the porch. “This hasn’t been easy for me either, you know—” “I was in prison, Brooke.” “Yeah, well.” I raise my eyes to meet his. “Josh’s dad tried to kill me. So, you know, it hasn’t been any picnic.” “No kidding.” Tim folds his arms across his chest. He’s wearing just a sweater, and I’m cold in my coat, so he’s got to be freezing, but he doesn’t look it. “I’d been telling you all along that Shane was dangerous. Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I warn you repeatedly?” I hang my head. He absolutely did. “The guy stabbed me in the gut.” His fingers go to the area on his abdomen where he still has that scar. “I was practically bleeding to death, barely conscious, and I dragged myself off the floor when I saw you make a run for it. I grabbed that baseball bat off the floor and hit Shane as hard as I could, so he wouldn’t come after you. I di...

“I’m sorry,” I croak. “You have no idea how sorry I am that I didn’t believe you.” He blinks at me. “I don’t know what to say. It’s a little late for that.” “I know you hate me.” I wring my hands together. “I get it. But look, don’t take it out on Josh. He’s lost everyone but me. And he really likes you. At least… at least spend some time with him. It would mean so much to him. I could clear out of the house if you wanted, or I could send him over here or…” I’m having a lot of trouble reading the expression on Tim’s face. But the syllable he utters makes my heart drop. “No,” he says. “Please, Tim.” I hate to beg, but I’ll do it if I have to. For my son. “Just once or twice even. I know you care about him.” Tim shakes his head. “No,” he says. “That’s not what I meant. I meant, no, I… I don’t hate you.” What? “I mean…” His eyebrows scrunch together slightly like he’s surprised by this revelation as well. “I’m mad at you. I’m really mad. I thought after everything we went through together, you trusted me more than that. But… Christ, Brooke. I’ve known you since we were in diapers. You were my best friend for my entire life. You were the first girl that I ever… well, you know. And that night at the farmhouse when I told Shane he better treat you right, I meant it. Because you deserve the best.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “So, no. I don’t hate you. I could never…” He doesn’t hate me. Tim Reese doesn’t hate me. I almost cry with happiness.

He doesn’t hate me. That is a good start. Friendships have been built on less.

Tim is nice. I like him and I’m glad he’s been hanging around the house more again. I know he’s not my real dad, but I would be okay if my mom wanted to marry him or something. Anyway, whoever my real dad is, it seems like he doesn’t really want to meet me.

Anyway, it’s nice having Tim around again. He makes my mom really happy. And he’s smart too. Like, when he says stuff, I always listen. For example, a long time ago, at the beginning of the school year when I first moved here, Tim and I were sitting together on the couch and Mom had gone out somewhere. And he said to me, “There’s something really important I need to tell you, Josh.” “What?” I said. I put on a serious face so that he could tell I was old enough to hear something important. “You need to know,” Tim said, “there’s a man named Shane Nelson who might contact you someday and want to hurt your mom. This man, Shane Nelson—he’s a really bad man. Really bad. So if you ever see him or hear from him, you need to know that he’s dangerous.”

I nodded very seriously. I was glad Tim trusted me enough to tell me that. Even though I didn’t really expect to ever meet a man named Shane Nelson. So I was super surprised when Mom brought home that houseguest named Shane Nelson. He seemed nice enough, but I kept thinking about what Tim told me. That Shane wanted to hurt my mom. Tim said it was really important. And I trusted Tim. So when Shane took me out into the woods to make that snowman, I noticed that all the trees had a lot of icicles. They looked really heavy and pointy. Shane was a lot bigger than me, so I figured if I wanted to protect my mom, this was my only chance. I waited until Shane was standing under one of the branches. I reached up and shook the branches, and all the ice fell on him.

But it didn’t knock Shane out. He was on the floor, rubbing his head, but he was still fine. That’s when I saw the icicle on the ground. It was huge—about the same size as the bat in Little League, where I’m the best hitter on the whole team. So I picked it up with my gloved hands and I swung it—the way Tim showed me when we practiced in the fall. And I swung it again. And again. And again.

The first time the icicle hit Shane’s head, he shouted. But not the second time. Or the third. Eventually, Shane stopped moving at all. I can’t remember how many times it took before that happened.

But I’m not sorry I hit Shane in the head with that icicle. I had to do it. Tim said he was dangerous and that he was going to hurt my mom. And I could hear when he was talking on his phone that he wasn’t being nice to her. Tim was right. I had to do what I did. After all, I would do anything for my mom.