“Of course, right.” Marcus’s voice softened.

“Right.” Christine felt a wave of guilt. “Jessica down the street can take care of the animals, so I think I’m going to go.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

“We’ll leave tomorrow morning and come back Sunday.”

“Fine. I won’t be home until Sunday night myself. Remember, it’s my dad’s birthday Monday night?”

“Oh, right.” Christine rolled her eyes because she could get away with rolling her eyes on the phone. She disliked her father-in-law, the insufferable Frederik Nilsson.

“We’ll go out to dinner. I made reservations at that Thai place he likes, so you don’t need to cook. Sound good?”

“Yes, that’s great.”

“Okay, I’m beat, so I’m going to turn in.”

“Me, too.”

“Love you,” Marcus said, and for a brief second, he sounded almost like himself.

“I love you, too,” Christine said, touched, but she could hear the defensiveness in her own tone.

“Hey, good night then. Give Murf the Surf a kiss for me.”

“How about Lady?” Christine said automatically, their call-and-response, because he preferred the dog to the cat.

“Her, no. Drive safe tomorrow. The Jersey Shore is a long haul. Good night.”

“Good night.” Christine hung up, then stood still at the counter, the dishwasher door hanging open. She realized she had just lied to Marcus twice, once by omission and once by commission, her old Catholic catechism rising to her consciousness; she had lied about where she was going and she hadn’t told him about the ultrasound. She couldn’t remember the last time she had lied to him, if ever.

Christine looked out the kitchen window, into the darkness of the backyard, and suddenly the motion-detector light went on, which meant that Murphy was at the door, ready to come in. She shook some Cascade powder into the little boxes in the dishwasher door, closed it, and pressed ON, then went to retrieve the dog, so they could both go upstairs and end this hellish day.

Chapter Seventeen

It took Christine and Lauren until three o’clock to reach Pennsylvania, because the driver was pregnant and had to stop every hour to go to the bathroom or eat McDonald’s French fries, salads from Sbarro, and an iced lemon cake from Starbucks, plus assorted drinks. The sky was sunny and cloudless, and it would’ve been a pleasant drive if they hadn’t been so tense about where they were going or why they were going there.

They drove through the town of Collegeville on Route 29, a winding two-lane road, and continued past colonial vintage houses, then rolling hills and pastured horses. The farmland turned into a vast open space, and Christine sensed they were approaching the prison. “I think we’re almost there,” she said, glancing over.

Lauren straightened up in the passenger seat. “How do you know? It looks like more farms.”

“I read on the website. The prison is set on seventeen hundred acres.”

“So it’s in the middle of nowhere. What else did you read?”

“Well, it’s Pennsylvania’s largest maximum-security prison.”

“Oh, great. Go big or go home.”

“It has about thirty-seven hundred adult men who have committed felonies, because that’s who gets sent to maximum-security. It also has one of the two Death Rows in the state.”

“Now there’s an idea for summer vacation.”

“It has a Facebook page.”

“Whoa.” Lauren chuckled. “Facebook for felons.”

“Its profile picture is a koala.” Christine gave the car gas, spotting the massive concrete complex that had to be the prison in the distance, to her right.

“Why a koala?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“And you’re sure Jeffcoat will see us?”

“I called ahead and asked to be put on his visitors’ list, which he has to approve, so, yes.”

“He must want the company.”

“Or the press. Remember, I told them we’re freelance journalists.”

“Okay. No comment.”

Both women fell uncharacteristically silent as the prison complex loomed larger, and Christine took a right turn when the GPS told her to, even though there was no sign. She steered onto a long, asphalt road that divided an open field, and they came to a fork in the road; to the right was a visitors’ parking lot, which was signed, but to their left, the road led to a massive concrete prison rising behind a fifty-foot-high wall of concrete, topped with coiled barbed wire. At the corners of the building, guard turrets pierced the blue sky.

“Oh boy.” Lauren grimaced. “Can we go home now?”

“Not yet.” Christine steered into the parking lot, which was about half-full, parked, and shut off the engine. “Here are the rules. We’re not allowed to bring phones or handbags, but we need to show IDs. Apparently they have lockers for the car keys, and we’re allowed to bring in our pads but not pens.”

“Can I bring my gun?”

“Do you even own a gun? It might be the one thing I don’t know about you.” Christine looked over, sliding her laminated driver’s license from her wallet.

“Of course not. I’m Jewish. Words are our weapons.”

“Good thing you’re a reporter then.” Christine handed her a fresh legal pad. “Here.”

“Oh right, I forgot.” Lauren took the pad, then got her ID from her wallet.

“Remember, I’ll ask the questions. All you have to do is take notes. They give us the pencils inside.” Christine slid the keys from the ignition, and they got out of the car.

“Here goes nothing.” Lauren squared her shoulders, walking around the front bumper.

“Thanks for doing this.” Christine met her, trying to ignore her case of nerves.

“It’s okay. It’ll be interesting.” Lauren patted her on the back.

“To say the least.” Christine shot her a shaky smile, and they fell into step, heading up the road toward the prison. It loomed even larger as they got closer, its high wall even more forbidding; up close the concrete looked stained and aging, and its barbed wire glinted sharply in the sunlight. The turrets at the corners of the building were of smoked glass, so she couldn’t see the guards inside. The air felt so humid it was almost claustrophobic, but that could have been her imagination.