Chapter 7: Closing the Door

Gisele and I were sitting in the kitchen, drinking a coffee while she heated some muffins. It was still early on a quiet Sunday morning, not that every morning in February wouldn't be quiet in the hills overlooking Wenatchee. We had made love for the first time, been discovered by Jana, and slept naked, something I never did. I had a feeling there would be more firsts in our relationship.

I had pulled on my briefs and Gisele had given me a guest bathrobe from the bathroom closet. She was similarly dressed. We had pretty much just gone straight to the bedroom last night, so I was looking around this big ranch-style home to see what it was like.

"Paul put an addition on for me when I moved out here. It used to be an "L" shaped house, but now it's a "U." I have my own bedroom and bathroom. Paul sleeps at the other end of the house and Jana's room is next to the main bathroom, just before you get to the kitchen. When Jana's up, I'll give you the tour," she said.

"Jana's up," the young girl announced, shuffling into the kitchen in her bathrobe and floppy slippers.

"Good morning, Aunt Gisele," she said sleepily, wrapping her arms around the older woman from behind and kissing her cheek.

"Good morning, dear." Gisele was watching me for my reaction.

"Good morning, Geoff," Jana said with a smile and gave me a kiss on the cheek too.

"What ... no hug," I said, immediately wondering if that had been a bad idea.

She giggled and came over and hugged me and I got another buss on the cheek.

"How was your date?" Gisele asked.

"Not as good as yours," she said with a cheeky smile.

Her aunt ignored the remark and we continued our breakfast. I couldn't get over the change in Jana. It was a remarkable transformation. Gisele insisted I was responsible for it, but I thought it was a combination of things; the job, Jimmy, and her feeling more confident in herself. Whatever the reason, she was a lovely young lady with a brilliant mind, and we were lucky as hell to have her at the shop.

Over the next six weeks we began dating more regularly, and as our relationship grew, Gisele became more outspoken about my past and how I had handled it. She wasn't critical at all, but she did question why I did what I did. It took me a while to figure out what the questions and probing were all about, and then the light went on.

"You're still thinking I'm not over Joyce, aren't you?" I challenged her one evening. We were relaxing on the sofa in the great room and talking about our day's activities.

"In some way ... I think you haven't quite finished with her," she said. "She's still there, like a ghost from your past. It comes out once in a while and you have to deal with it. You've done a great job of hiding it, but sooner or later, Geoff, you will have to deal with it."

I sat considering her observation and knew she was right. Every now and then I would find myself comparing the two women, or wondering what Joyce would think about something I did. Somehow, I had to exorcise that ghost.

"What do you think I should do about it?" I asked, knowing I had my own solution.

"I think you should go to Dublin and see her. Try and find out as much as you can about what happened to her. Some kind of explanation might put this out of your mind once and for all. It isn't killing us, Geoff. But it is there. I can feel it."

"There's an old saying about great minds thinking alike," I said. "I was going to mention it to you. I was pretty much convinced that's what I'd have to do."

"There's no guarantee," she added. "But I think you should try."

I nodded. It was good that we agreed. I was worried that she would interpret my going there differently ... perhaps thinking that I might want to get back together with Joyce when she was released. That was never going to happen.

"Nora and Mike want to do that too, but it's too early for Nora. Mike said there was a procedure you had to follow. You didn't just show up at the gate and get in. I'll look into it right away."

She hugged me. "You're right ... great minds do think alike, but the rest of that quotation goes something like 'as do fools.'"

I laughed as I turned to her again. "Which do you prefer?"

"I don't care, sweetheart. As long as we are in tune, I really don't care."

I looked up the visiting rules for FCI Dublin and applied on-line for permission to visit. In order to get that, I also had to get Joyce's permission. I thought that might be a stumbling block, but within a few days, I had what I needed. It was now a matter of scheduling my visit.

I talked it over with Gisele, Terry, and of course, Ross. He would stay with Nora and Mike, while Terry would cover for me with Red and Annie. I would leave on Thursday for the two day drive, visit Joyce on Saturday, then leave for Oregon that afternoon. I planned on being with Matt on campus late Sunday morning, then head home Monday. Terry, Annie and Red could mind the shop Thursday and Friday, while Jana and Jimmy could cover for me on Saturday.

I made it as far as Cottage Grove on Thursday and checked into a motel. I didn't sleep worth a damn. My mind was full of scenarios about what my meeting with Joyce would be like. Would we be segregated like they showed on the movies? I didn't think so. It looked more like there were lounges and outdoor patio areas where we could sit and talk. Just the same, my head was full of questions and I wondered how many of them Joyce would be willing or able to answer.

The Dunsmuir Pass on I-5 over the Siskiyou Mountains was clear and dry, unusual for late February. I made good time and was in the Dublin area by three Friday afternoon. I had booked a motel in Pleasanton, a short fifteen minute drive from the prison. It was a much nicer area I was told, and at first look, that was the case.

I wandered around the town and shopping center for the rest of the day, finally choosing a restaurant for my evening meal, then heading back to the motel to relax and watch some TV. My sleep deprived Thursday night caught up to me and sometime after nine o'clock I dropped off, not waking until a particularly obnoxious voice on an infomercial woke me at one in the morning. I got up, used the toilet, washed and brushed my teeth, stripped to my underwear and climbed under the covers. I was out almost immediately and didn't wake until my normal six-thirty the next morning.

Visiting hours were from eight in the morning until two in the afternoon. I showered, dressed and checked out of the motel, stopped at a nearby chain restaurant for breakfast, then drove to the prison. I checked in at the gate and they asked for some identification, which I supplied. They ticked my name off on a list and logged the time. I was then directed to a parking area and the visitors' entrance.