Brent and Courtney knew the routine at Yankton. Instead of surrendering their belongings, it was easier to carry only the authorized items into the visiting room. With just their keys and identifications, they arrived at the prison. Being too early for the prisoners, they migrated with the other visitors into the visiting room. As they found their way to seats, and sat quietly, they watched the other people. Some appeared confident, while others looked side to side, wondering what would happen next. Brent found it strange that only a year ago this had been a difficult and uncomfortable process. It wasn’t that they now enjoyed it, but the entire routine had become normal. The metal detector seemed less invasive. The guards and questions seemed less subjective. Brent equated it to the airport security system. Though it was a pain in the ass, it was no longer troublesome to step into the glass cubical, lift your arms, and allow the machine to scan your entire body. It just was. That was the process at Yankton—it just was.

Not long after 10:00 AM, he and Courtney watched as the inmates entered through the north door of the building, the opposite end from where they themselves had entered. They were all dressed in their khaki shirts and pants. Their black shoes with soft soles created a muffled thunder as the visitors stilled, waiting for their loved ones.

On the way, they’d discussed how nice it was to visit outside. Although it was summer and the morning temperature was conducive, it was evident that wasn’t happening. The threatening South Dakota sky and forecast of severe storms had them trapped indoors.

The inmates scanned the crowd from veiled lids, searching. Near the middle of the pack, Brent saw Tony, his height giving him away, and noticed how once Tony spotted his friends, his gait changed. No longer did he blend into the masses with his head slightly bowed and steps shuffled. In an instant, he was walking confidently with his familiar stride. Though the latter made Brent smile, his heart ached at seeing his friend as the former.

Tony extended his hand, but before Brent could shake it, Courtney was up out of her seat, and wrapping Tony in a quick, friendly hug. “How are you doing?” she asked in her cheeriest voice.

“I’m all right. How are you?”

Brent shook Tony’s hand just before he took his required seat. “We have some news,” Brent offered.

Tony nodded. “I saw it already. There was an article in this morning’s Wall Street Journal.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s so nice of them to spell out the whole Wall Street connection between me and Nathaniel.”

Brent inhaled. “I’d hoped you hadn’t seen it yet. Keep in mind that it wasn’t negative against you. As a matter of fact, they made a big point out of how Rawlings Industries has been carefully scrutinized and come out clean as a whistle.”

“I’d rather avoid any publicity, especially any connected to Catherine.”

“They’re adding Rawls to her name, now. The reporters are, I mean,” Courtney added.

“Isn’t that great?” Tony asked. “She’s going to spend, what was it? Five life sentences in prison, but she finally gets my grandfather’s name back. Ha!” Tony forced the laugh. “Think of all the lives that could have been spared if only they’d given her that honor years ago.”

Courtney reached out and touched Tony’s hand. “It’s over. It’s all over.”

His dark eyes clouded. “Not for thirty-four more months.”

“I know I’m here today as a friend, not your lawyer,” Brent said, “but let me remind you, you’ll go up for review in less than a year and then every six months after. There’s always a chance that it could be less.”

“And I could go batshit crazy, and it could be more.”

“Don’t say that, Tony,” Courtney said. When Tony smiled in her direction, she cocked her head to the side and asked, “What?”

“It’s dumb I suppose, but no one here calls me that. I think I miss it.”

“Well, Tony,” she said, emphasizing his name, “what else do you miss? What can we do to make this better?”

Though his expression didn’t change, Brent saw a spark of something in Tony’s eyes: a recognition or connection like he hadn’t seen in some time. “What is it? What did you just think of?”

Tony shook his head. “Damn, am I that easy to read? I didn’t used to be.” He paused and looked at Courtney. “I can’t tell you how much your letters have meant to me, especially the pictures. Thank you.”

“Of course, I’m glad to do it. Nichol is beautiful. You should be proud.”

“Of her, I am.”

“You have a lot to be proud of,” Brent offered.

“Thank you.” His gaze fixed on Courtney. “I can’t imagine not having the visits or your letters. That’s just who you are and always will be. Thank you for taking the time. I was wondering if I should continue to write to you at your home or if I should send your letters to your P.O. box in Chicago?”

Brent turned to his wife and watched as the color drained from Courtney’s cheeks. “What P.O. box?” he asked. Turning back to Tony, he continued his questioning, “What are you talking about?”

Tony’s tone was gentle, almost sad. “Thank you, Courtney. Thank you for being J. Findes.”

Tears fell from her eyes as Courtney tried to remain composed.

“Someone tell me what’s happening,” Brent demanded in a hushed tone.