Chapter 7 - The Jailhouse Plea
The heavy iron door of the county detention center’s non-contact visiting room smelled of industrial floor stripper and stale coffee.
I sat down on the bolted metal stool, picking up the heavy black plastic telephone handset on my side of the reinforced glass pane.
On the other side sat Jason, wearing a bright orange canvas jumpsuit that looked three sizes too large for his slumped shoulders.
His hair was greasy, dark purple circles bruised the skin beneath his swollen eyes, and his hands trembled where he held his receiver.
“Mom,” Jason sobbed, his voice cracking through the scratchy telephone speaker.
“Please... you have to drop the charges.
The bail commissioner set my bond at twenty-five thousand dollars!
The magistrate said because it was grand larceny of legal deeds, it’s a Class C felony! I’ll lose my job at the logistics firm!”
I looked at my son, the boy I had rocked to sleep through ear infections, the boy I had cheered for at little league games.
I looked for the tears that usually came whenever he was hurt, but my eyes remained completely dry, anchored by profound exhaustion.
“You staged a burglary in my home, Jason.
You smashed your father’s patio door with his own hammer to steal our house deed.”
“Rachel told me to do it!” Jason wept, pressing his forehead against the thick Plexiglas.
“Brenda said that if we had the physical deed, our lawyer could file an emergency injunction to halt the thirty-day eviction!
They convinced me you were losing your mind, Mom! They said we were just protecting the family estate!”
“Brenda is not in jail, Jason,” I said softly, each word cutting through the static of the line like a razor.
“Rachel is not wearing an orange jumpsuit.
You are the one sitting behind that glass because you chose to listen to two parasites instead of honoring the woman who gave you life.”
Jason wiped his nose with the rough sleeve of his jumpsuit, looking up at me with raw, desperate bargaining in his eyes.
“If you drop the charges, Mom, I’ll divorce Rachel! I swear to God I’ll kick Brenda out of town!
I’ll move back into the small bedroom, I’ll pay you rent, I’ll do whatever you want!
Just post the bond and get me out of here before the arraignment tomorrow!”
A deep, quiet sigh escaped my chest, carrying away the very last lingering shred of my maternal illusions.
Even now, sitting in a county jail cell in handcuffs, Jason was not sorry for what he had done to me.
He was not sorry that he had stolen my credit card, or that he had planned to banish me to the basement, or that he had smashed my house.
He was only sorry that he had been caught, and he was ready to discard his wife just as easily as he had discarded his mother.
“I am not posting your bail, Jason,” I told him, keeping my voice steady, calm, and absolute.
“And I am not dropping the charges.
The prosecutor offered a plea agreement this morning: eighteen months of supervised probation, full restitution for the property damage, and a permanent criminal record.
You will sign that plea, you will serve your probation, and you will learn what accountability means.”
“Mom, please! Don't abandon me!” Jason screamed, tears streaming down his face as the guard stepped up behind his stool.
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“I didn't abandon you, Jason,” I said softly, replacing the black receiver on its cradle.
“You abandoned yourself.”
