Chapter 3 - THE SATURDAY VISITORS
The Turners appeared three weeks after I entered the juvenile facility.
Helen sat across from me in the visitation room.
Robert sat beside her.
I looked at the staff member.
“Who are they?”
Helen answered before he could.
“We’re the Turners.”
“I heard that.”
Robert almost smiled.
Helen elbowed him.
I stared at them.
“You counselors?”
“No.”
“Church people?”
“Sometimes,” Robert said.
Helen frowned at him.
“That is not what he means.”
“I know.”
“Then why answer like that?”
Watching them argue should have annoyed me.
Instead, it confused me.
They acted normal.
Too normal.
Helen pushed an approved paperback across the table.
The Outsiders.
“You ever read it?”
“No.”
“I think you’d like it.”
“Why?”
“You look suspicious of everyone.”
“That’s a reason?”
“It worked for me.”
I did not touch the book until after they left.
The next Saturday, they came back.
I assumed that was coincidence.
Then again.
And again.
They never asked what crime I committed.
Robert asked whether I knew how to fix a bicycle chain.
Helen asked what food I missed most.
I said tacos.
The next week she spent fifteen minutes describing a taco recipe because outside food could not be brought in.
“You realize this is cruel,” I told her.
“Motivation.”
“For what?”
“Getting out of here someday.”
I looked away.
She did not apologize.
That was another strange thing about them.
Most adults who visited kids in detention became careful when anything sounded emotional.
The Turners did not.
They did not promise.
They did not say everything would work out.
They simply came back the next Saturday.
By the eighth visit, I asked Robert what program they were with.
He looked at Helen.
Helen looked at him.
Then she said, “A local one.”
I accepted that.
I should have noticed she had not actually answered.
They remembered my birthday.
Robert taught me cribbage badly.
Helen brought three science-fiction books after I told her I liked space.
When I refused to talk one Saturday because Mom had missed another scheduled call, they sat there for forty-five minutes anyway.
No pressure.
Robert shuffled cards.
Helen read.
Right before they left, she said, “See you next week.”
I muttered, “You don’t have to.”
She put on her coat.
“I know.”
That answer stayed with me.
May you like
I thought she meant volunteers were allowed to miss a week.
I did not understand she was telling me something much bigger.
