Free Jailbird by Heather Huffman

an
orphaned waif.”
    “Until I stole a stranger’s clothes off the
line, I was wandering the woods in my underwear,” I informed him.
“I’m actually rather proud of how much I’ve accomplished with
nothing.”
    “You’ve done very well,” he acknowledged.
“But there’s nothing wrong with letting me help you.”
    “I can’t even begin to tell you how excited I
am to put these pajamas on,” I admitted.
    “Then go get a long, hot bath and put your
pajamas on,” he smiled. “There’s a razor and shaving cream in that
bag over there if you want to shave your legs.”
    “Are you even male? How did you think of all
of this?”
    “Hey, my world is centered on a pre-teen girl
right now. As often as she asks when she can shave her legs, I know
it must be important.”
    “She wants to shave her legs?” my brow
furrowed.
    “Don’t worry, I haven’t let her. Still, she’s
getting to an age where it’s becoming more and more awkward not
having another woman in the house.”
    “I’m so sorry I thrust this on you,” I
studied him. Had I kept him from finding a wife? Had he been too
busy raising my daughter to have his own life?
    “I wouldn’t trade one minute with her,” he
promised. “Well, except maybe the colic. That wasn’t fun. But the
rest of the moments have been good ones.”
    I nodded and stood on tiptoe so I could kiss
him on the cheek. He stooped over a bit so I could reach.
    I didn’t speak, I couldn’t. I was suddenly
keenly aware of how many moments I had missed with her.
    I took my time in my bubble bath. I shaved my
legs with great care—pleased I hadn’t forgotten how and surprised
at how much I’d missed that silky smooth feeling of legs that were
freshly shaved. The feel of my new pajamas against my clean skin
was almost more wonderful than I could bear. It made Dixon
Correctional and its itchy bedding seem like a bad dream. Places
like that didn’t exist in a world that made pajamas like this.
    When I came out, Conrad was just saying his
goodbyes to Gabrielle. From what I could hear of the conversation,
the two were clearly crazy about each other. The image of Charlie
and Cara staring at each other in mutual adoration came to mind. It
made me happy to know Gabrielle had that, too. I wanted to ask
about her. Wanted to, but didn’t. That was another door in my life
that was closed. Peeking through the keyhole wasn’t going to do
anyone any good.
    “Thank you,” I gave him another hug.
    “Call it ten years’ worth of Christmases.
Tomorrow we’ll catch up on birthdays.”
    “I hate to tell you, I didn’t get you
anything.”
    “You can catch me later,” he teased.
    “So I guess now is the part where I start
talking, huh?”
    “That generally helps,” he nodded.
    This wasn’t going to be a fun conversation.
Still, best to rip the Band-aide off and get it over with; I took a
deep breath and plunged headfirst into the story of my
nightmare.
     
     
     

Chapter Eight
     
    Conrad sat in stony silence, his eyes never
leaving mine, long after I finished my story. He seemed to be
processing it all. As best I could tell anyway. I eventually got
uncomfortable under the weight of his stare and crawled under the
covers, figuring he’d talk when he was ready.
    Next thing I knew, the golden rays of dawn
were streaming through the window. Conrad still sat in the chair
facing me, only now he was snoring softly. I stretched lazily and
relished the fact that I was in a real bed with real sheets and a
real pillow. The last time I’d done that, Y2K was still looming on
the horizon. My eyes had nearly closed again when I realized
Conrad’s had opened.
    “Hey big brother,” I curled up with my pillow
and regarded him.
    “Why didn’t you see me when I came to visit?
Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”
    “I told you,” I sighed heavily. “I didn’t
want to bring the wrath of Daniel Winslow down on the entire tribe
over me. He hated me. He still would if he knew I was