Free The Girl Before by Rena Olsen Page B

one.
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    Good things never last. This is what I have learned. When I wake up in the middle of the night two weeks later, stickiness running down my thighs, the metallic smell of blood in the air, I already know my baby is gone.
Now
    My lip curls as I study the food on the tray in front of me. If it can be called food. A river of grease runs from the pile of meat, pooling at the corners of the compartment. Rubbery green beans give off a questionable odor, and I can see flakes of something unrecognizable in the mashed potatoes.
    â€œBig day today, meat and potatoes! They always roll out the big guns for the vizzies.” A large woman drops into the seat next to mine. She leans in. “And you better eat it, or you may not make it home this afternoon in the same condition you got here.”
    I jerk my eyes toward her. She motions in the direction of the kitchen, where an imposing woman stands, watching me. It is possible this woman is messing with me, trying to scare me, but I don’t want to risk it. I take a tentative bite, controlling my gag reflex as I swallow the chewy meat. I manage a smile at the woman in the kitchen. She smiles back. I keep eating until she turns her attention elsewhere.
    My lunch companion laughs. “Nice work, vizzie.”
    â€œVizzie?”
    â€œVisitors. Short-term ladies. Although”—her eyes scan my body—“I wouldn’t mind if you stuck around.”
    Her gaze makes me uncomfortable, but I try not to let it show. “I’m Clara,” I say.
    â€œMarge. I killed my husband.”
    I choke on the soupy potatoes. Marge laughs as I lunge for my milk, washing the obstruction from my throat.
    â€œThat’s . . . nice,” I say, unable to think of a better response.
    â€œIt really was,” Marge says, a dreamy look taking over her face. “I’d do it again, too. Bastard.”
    I nod, trying to look sympathetic.
    â€œThose your girls?” Marge asks, indicating the group of teenage girls at the next table.
    I shrug. “I guess.” The girls were from some “scare ’em straight” program and had been with me since the morning. We were “processed” together, which consisted of being strip-searched, fingerprinted, photographed, and given the standard gray jumpsuit that would be our uniform for the day.
    The warden had given us a tour of the facilities, and then set some of the inmates loose on us. They walked us through work detail, screaming the entire way. I spent the morning with Glen’s face at the forefront of my mind. He was the reason I was doing all this. I would go through this every day if I could protect him.
    â€œYou’re a little old, ain’t you?” Marge asked.
    â€œI’m not with their program. Just along for the ride.”
    â€œWhat’d they get you for?”
    â€œThey want me to give them information.”
    â€œWhat sort of information?”
    I shrug. I’ve said enough. Marge doesn’t push, and we finish the meal in silence. As I scrape up the last of my potatoes and force them into my mouth, there is a commotion at the table behind us.
    â€œYou think you can go behind my back and talk shit about me?” A woman with wild blond hair towers over a petite woman with dark coloring.
    â€œOooo,” Marge whispers. “You picked a good day, vizzie. Things gonna get crazy.”
    â€œI ain’t said nothing,” the petite woman replies, calmly taking another bite. “You need to check your source of information.”
    The blonde grabs the front of the other woman’s shirt, yanking her off the bench. “You need to check the shit pouring out of your mouth before it gets you in trouble.” Spittle flies into the other woman’s face, and she flinches as the drops bathe her skin.
    Everyone in the room has gone quiet. The other women at the table edge away from their comrade,