Free The Girl Before by Rena Olsen

visited him. He has been in prison this whole time. For the first time, Glen looked to me to be strong. I stand up straighter. Glen trusts me to do what I need to in order to get us out of this. He is counting on me not to give in, not to let them break me. One day. I can do anything for one day. And if I do well, perhaps they will let me see Glen again. I position his facesquarely at the front of my mind as I take the final steps to the door, which a guard holds open for me.
    I wink at the guard and stride forward into the building, leaving him behind with a baffled expression. Good. I stop short when I enter the building, unsure of where to go.
    â€œYou here for the day?” a plump woman with tightly curled hair asks.
    â€œI-I think so?”
    She points to a door. “Through there. They’ll process ya.”
    Process? I take a hesitant step toward the door. “Will it hurt?” I ask, turning back to the woman. There is a chuckle from one of the people sitting in the molded plastic chairs. I scan the room, but cannot figure out who finds me funny.
    The woman eyes me. “Only if you don’t follow directions. Can you follow directions?”
    I nod.
    â€œThen you’ll be fine. And you’ll be glad to be leaving at the end of the day.”
    I take a deep breath and walk into a nightmare.
Then
    I dread Thanksgiving every year, and this time is no exception. Mama tries to make it festive, a time for the family to gather and enjoy one another, but there is a constant underlying tension between Glen and Papa, a push and pull that never quite lets up.
    We sit at the enormous table in Mama and Papa’s large home. They bought the house after things picked up with Glen’s businessand Papa retired. Well, he said he retired, but he still has fingers in all aspects of the business, and even insists on accompanying Glen on trips, which is a source of constant frustration for Glen.
    â€œI said I would take care of the Smith situation,” Glen says now, his tone conversational, but tight. “There was no need for you to get involved.”
    â€œHe’s an old friend,” Papa says, the warning in his tone less disguised. “I called in a favor. Don’t make this a big deal, Glen.”
    Glen slams a fist on the table. “It
is
a big deal.” I place a hand on his knee, but he moves away. Mama notices the interaction and sends me a sympathetic look. “Your old colleagues can’t assume that you will step in on all of our deals. How are they supposed to respect me if my daddy undermines me at every turn?”
    â€œWatch your tone, boy,” Papa says, his breathing growing ragged. He has been having more difficulty lately with his lungs, though he refuses the oxygen the doctor has suggested. The struggle becomes more pronounced when he is agitated, which is often around Glen.
    Mama reaches toward Papa. “Take deep breaths,” she says.
    He swats her hand away. “I’m fine. Don’t be a nag.”
    I look down at my hands, twisting together in my lap. I feel a tap on my foot below the table and look up to meet Joel’s eyes. He sits across from me, as he has every year since we began our little family tradition. His eyes swing back to his plate, and he remains silent, but the corners of his mouth are tipped up in amusement. Instead of becoming uncomfortable in these situations, Joel seems to thrive. It is unnerving how much he enjoys seeing others implode, and I have suspicions that he helps the process along whenever he can.
    Glen seethes beside me, but even he can see how an argument would affect Papa’s breathing. Papa may not back down, but Glen always will, if only to keep his father breathing a few days more. Though they bicker, there is plenty of mutual respect between the two men.
    â€œSo, Clara,” Papa says. “I hear you have some good news to share.”
    I shoot a look at Glen. We were keeping it a secret this time,