11
Eventually Franky quieted. Sniffling, she pulled away from Bridget. “You have to go to Wentworth now,” she stated.
Bridget gently stroked Franky’s shoulders. “I’m not leaving you, Franky. They can wait to be told. You need me now.”
Franky shook her head, trying to make Bridget understand. “No, Gidge. No. The women need to know. They deserve to know. We—they—have enough taken away from them in that place.” She took a deep breath. “You can’t take away their right to know what’s happening as it happens. That’s not fair.”
Bridget leaned into Franky, gently laying her cheek on Franky’s shoulder. “I don’t care about what’s fair to them,” she whispered. “I don’t care about my job. I care about you, Franky. I care about your pain.”
Franky leaned her own cheek against Bridget’s forehead. “I know you do, Gidge. And that’s why I know I’ll be okay.” They stood silently for a long moment, bodies pressed closely together. Franky exhaled, pulling herself away from Bridget. “The women don’t have what we have,” she reminded her forcefully. “They need you to help them through this. They need you to be there.”
Bridget stared closely into Franky’s eyes. She sighed.
“Come on,” Franky ordered, wiping the tears from her own cheeks. “I’ll get the keys.”
“What?” Bridget asked, raising her head, suddenly confused.
“You don’t think you’re going there alone, do you?” Franky replied, reaching across the counter for the car keys.
“Franky, you know you can’t go in there!
“I know that, Gidge! But I sure as hell am not going to stay in your damn kitchen while you tell my friends about Red!” She strode purposefully to the door. “I’m going with you.” She suddenly halted, turning back to Bridget, pointing with her finger. “And I want you to tell them that they’re not alone.” Her voice faltered. “I want you to tell them that I’m sitting in that car, just on the other side of the wall, and that I’m with them. They’re not alone, Gidge!” She stared hard at Bridget, blinking back tears. “They’re my girls! They’re not alone.”
Bridget nodded. “I’ll tell them,” she whispered.
“Damn right,” Franky replied, letting out a shaky breath as she opened the door.
It was time to go back to Wentworth.
***
Pain, Maxine thought, is no less cruel when you see it coming. And that was wrong. There ought to be a way to make pain kind, to gentle it, to stop the suffering as pain’s sharp blade slices into and through you.
But, like so many other injustices in life, that was not the case.
She sat with the others—with Boomer, unable to keep still; with Liz and Sonia, quietly chatting with each other; with Doreen, staring absently at a magazine.
It was difficult to sit here, waiting for news about Bea. Previously, Maxine had assumed that she had become the epitome of the patient person. Everyone was forced to become patient in Wentworth. They stood in queues to use the phones. They stood in queues to eat. They queued to take showers.
But Maxine had to be extra patient. She waited in a queue to get her blood drawn. She waited in a queue for her chemo drugs.
She waited for the effects of testosterone to ravage her feminine body.
She waited to die.
No. She knew she couldn’t think like that. Bea would have shouted at her for thinking like that.
And Bea still would. They had no reason to think she was dead! Yes, there had been a code black, and yes, she was pretty sure that Bea was somehow involved, but… well, it was Bea! How many hits had Bea taken before?
Bea always came back.
That’s who Bea was.
She nodded to herself.
Suddenly Maxine tilted her head, hearing the sound of footsteps coming from the corridor outside.
Almost as one, the women turned toward the gate.
Vera appeared. She halted in the entryway, as if unable to proceed farther. Her face was stern.
Bridget Westfall emerged beside her.
“No,” Maxine whispered. “No!”
Boomer looked confusedly from Vera to Maxine, then back again. “What the fuck is going on?” she asked, jumping from her chair.
“Boomer, love, sit down!” Liz exclaimed as she tugged at Boomer’s shirt, pulling her to sit down with the rest of them. “I think… I think the governor has something important to tell us.”
No one commented on the crack in Liz’s voice, belying her seeming calm.
Vera unlocked the gate. She stood in front of the women, her arms crossed defensively across her chest.
“Is Bea okay, Ms. Bennett?” Doreen asked earnestly. “We heard about the code black, and she’s not here, and… where is she? Is she all right?”
Vera opened her mouth, but couldn’t seem to say anything.
“Fucking tell us what’s going on!” Boomer shouted, again leaping up from her chair.
“Please, Ms. Bennett,” Doreen implored simultaneously. “You’re scaring us!”
Maxine sat silently, her still-living body hurting, waiting for the others to understand.
Vera shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she uttered quietly. “I’m so sorry—”
Bridget put her hand on Vera’s arm.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS FUCKING HAPPENING?” Boomer yelled.
“Smith!” Vera blurted. She lifted her chin, straightening her posture. Forcing herself to appear calm and authoritative, she finally told the women the truth.
“Bea Smith is dead.”
There was silence.
Boomer fell back into her chair.
Doreen dropped the magazine she had been clutching defensively.
Sonia sighed.
Silence.
“How?” Liz finally uttered.
Maxine stared out the window. Liz had asked the big question. She should listen to the Governor’s reply. But somehow, somehow…
She didn’t care.
It didn’t matter.
What mattered was that Bea was really and truly gone.
She didn’t know how to understand that.
“It was a shivving,” Vera informed them. “She was found in the corridor. No,” she said, raising her hand and forestalling Boomer’s outburst, “we don’t know who did it yet.”
The women watched her, waiting for more, but Vera had nothing more to give them. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, seemingly the only thing she could say. “I’m sorry.”
Bridget could see Vera faltering. She stepped forward. “I know you were all close with Bea. I know that you must each feel confused, possibly even angry. I want you to know that I’m here for each of you. I’m here to listen.”
The women looked away.
The silence lengthened.
“And,” Bridget continued, glancing nervously at Vera, “I have a message from Franky.” She shifted her gaze back to the women, smiling. “She wanted you to know that you’re not alone. She’s here, in the parking lot. She wanted to be here when you found out. She wanted to be with ‘her girls.’”
Boomer looked toward the window. “Franky?” she asked.
Vera glared subtly at Bridget.
“You’re not alone,” Bridget repeated.
Vera cleared her throat. “That’s all for now. We’ll be asking for your help to try to determine the guilty party. In the meantime, I hope that you will each take the opportunity to talk with Ms. Westfall. And…” she looked closely at each woman. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
The women continued to stare at her, their gazes making her feel guilty, as if they knew her own role in Smith’s death. Vera felt the inadequacy of her words. She abruptly turned on her heel and walked toward the gate. Bridget followed.
“Bea’s dead?” Vera heard Boomer ask, finally processing the information.
She shut the gate, all but fleeing away.
The silence remained behind her.
No, Maxine thought abstractly, once again staring out the window. There really was no way to stop pain’s sharp blade from slicing into and through you.