The phone rang four times. Finally, a weary female voice answered. "Hello?"
"Mrs. Pendelton? Sarah Pendelton?"
"Yes? Who is this? Is Arthur okay?" Panic spiked instantly in her voice. The only time the facility called directly was if there had been an incident.
"Ma'am, please don't panic. Arthur is perfectly fine," Miller said quickly, keeping his voice low and steady. "My name is Officer Miller. I'm one of the guards on your husband's block."
A long silence followed. "Officer Miller? What's going on?"
"Mrs. Pendelton, I know today is Arthur's birthday. I also know your request for a visit was denied." Miller took a deep breath. "I want you and your children to be at the staff entrance of the facility at 2:00 PM today. Do not go to the main visitor center. Go to the staff entrance around the back. Bring whatever you want. A cake, presents, whatever."
"I... I don't understand," Sarah said, her voice trembling. "Are you saying we can see him?"
"I'm saying," Miller continued, checking his rearview mirror out of habit, "that a few of us here think your husband deserves to see his family on his birthday. Not through glass. In a room. Together."
A sharp gasp echoed through the phone, followed by a muffled sob. "Officer Miller... is this a joke? Because if this is some kind of cruel joke..."
"It's not a joke, ma'am. But you have to be discreet. If you arrive at 2:00 PM, my partner, Officer Davis, will meet you at the staff gate. She'll bring you in through the administrative wing. You cannot tell anyone about this. If the warden finds out, we'll lose our jobs, and Arthur will go to solitary."
"I understand," Sarah said, and Miller could hear a sudden, fierce determination in her voice. "We'll be there. 2:00 PM. Thank you. Oh God, thank you so much."
Miller hung up, leaning his head against the steering wheel. The die was cast. There was no going back now.
The second hurdle was Sergeant Reynolds in logistics. This fell to Officer Davis. Reynolds was an old-school bureaucrat who controlled the keys to every room in the facility. He was also famously fond of Davis's homemade pecan pie, which she occasionally brought in for the breakroom.
Around 1:00 PM, Davis casually strolled into the logistics office. Reynolds was buried behind a mountain of requisition forms, chewing on the end of a cheap cigar.
"Hey, Sarge," Davis said brightly, leaning against the doorframe.
Reynolds grunted without looking up. "What do you want, Davis? If it's about the new radios, they're backordered."
"Not about the radios. Listen, I need a massive favor."
Reynolds stopped chewing and looked up, his eyes narrowing. "Favors cost money around here. Or pie."
"I'll bake you two pies this weekend," Davis promised. "I need the keys to the Reunification Room in Admin."
Reynolds laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Yeah, right. That room's been locked down by the Warden for a year. Only high-level clearance gets in there. What do you need it for? Taking a nap?"
"I need it for two hours this afternoon. Between two and four." Davis dropped her casual demeanor, stepping into the office and closing the door behind her. "Sarge, I know it's against policy. But it's for Pendelton."
Reynolds frowned, taking the cigar out of his mouth. "The white-collar guy in D-Block?"
"It's his fortieth today. His family got denied a visit. Miller and I... we're bringing them in through the back. We just need a room where they can sit down together. No glass."
Reynolds stared at her for a long, heavy moment. The silence in the small office was thick. He looked at the keys hanging on the pegboard, then back at Davis. He knew the risks. He knew the Warden's temper. But he also remembered the time Pendelton had spent three hours helping a dyslexic kid in C-Block fill out an appeal form, asking for nothing in return.
With a slow sigh, Reynolds opened his desk drawer, reached past a stack of files, and pulled out a single, brass key. He tossed it onto the desk. It landed with a heavy clink.
"I am logging this key out for routine maintenance and ventilation check," Reynolds said, looking directly into Davis's eyes. "If I find out it was used for anything else, I will deny everything, and you and Miller can explain it to the unemployment office."
Davis smiled, snatching the key off the desk. "You're a good man, Sarge."
"I'm a fool who likes pecan pie," he grumbled, returning to his paperwork. "Get out of here before I change my mind."
For Arthur, the hours between breakfast and lunch dragged by with an agonizing slowness. He reported to the laundry room, the hot, steamy cavern in the basement of the facility. The air was thick with the smell of industrial detergent and bleach. He and five other inmates loaded enormous piles of soiled uniforms and linens into massive washing machines.
The physical labor was usually a welcome distraction, a way to exhaust his body so his mind couldn't race. But today, the rhythmic sloshing of the machines sounded like the ticking of a giant, mocking clock.
Ten o'clock, he thought, hauling a heavy canvas bag of wet towels into a dryer. Sarah is probably at work. The kids are in school.
He imagined a parallel universe. A universe where he hadn't trusted the wrong financial officers. A universe where he was sitting in his corner office, receiving texts from Sarah about dinner reservations for tonight. A universe where he wasn't wearing a coarse, sweat-stained gray uniform.
"Hey, Pendelton," grunted Ruiz, a heavily tattooed man serving time for aggravated assault. "You're moving slow today, man. Pick it up before the supervisor starts yelling."
"Sorry, Ruiz," Arthur muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. "Just... not feeling well today."
Ruiz stopped loading his machine and looked at Arthur closely. Despite his terrifying appearance, Ruiz had a strange sense of honor. He had respected Arthur ever since Arthur helped him read a letter from his grandmother.