Chapter 6 - The Twenty-Two Months That Changed Them All
Alex hated prison.
That should not have surprised anyone.
What surprised him was what he hated most.
Not the locked doors.
Not the schedule.
Not the loss of privacy.
Missing Tuesday.
Tuesday was Nanya’s piano lesson.
He had attended exactly four before sentencing.
Every Tuesday at 5:30, he imagined her sitting badly on the bench, hitting keys too hard and arguing with the teacher about whether scales were “emotionally necessary.”
He missed school pickup.
He missed the market.
He missed Nora complaining that he bought too much food.
He missed being irritated by normal things.
Nanya wrote every week.
Her first letter said:
Dear Alex,
Mom says I should write Dad but you have not earned that full-time yet.
He laughed so hard his cellmate asked if he was okay.
She included math grades.
Pepper business updates.
A drawing of Tony with the label:
FORMER SCARY GUY, CURRENTLY BAD AT VEGETABLES.
Tony framed a copy.
Nora wrote less often.
Her letters were practical.
Trust meetings.
Legal updates.
Nanya’s school.
But occasionally something slipped through.
She asked about you today.
Or:
You would have laughed at what she said to the dentist.
Alex read those sentences repeatedly.
Nora visited every six weeks.
Not every week.
She refused to build her life around prison.
Alex respected that.
At first, their visits were awkward.
Then honest.
“You look terrible,” Nora said during the third.
“Thank you.”
“You do.”
“I have limited tailoring options.”
She smiled.
Then became serious.
“The trust is stable.”
“Good.”
“I replaced three advisers.”
“Why?”
“They kept calling Nanya ‘the heir’ instead of her name.”
Alex stared.
“Excellent.”
“You’re not mad?”
“No.”
Nora looked surprised.
Old Alex would have wanted control.
New Alex was learning that information did not need to become authority.
“How’s the market?”
“Busy.”
“Peppers?”
“Recovered.”
“Thank God.”
She laughed.
Then silence.
Alex looked at her.
“You don’t have to wait for me.”
Her expression hardened.
“I’m not.”
“I mean romantically.”
“I know what you mean.”
“I don’t want—”
“Alex.”
He stopped.
“You’re still trying to decide things for me.”
He closed his eyes.
“Right.”
Nora leaned forward.
“When you come out, I’ll decide what I want then.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
That became the structure.
No promises.
No emotional hostage-taking.
Nanya visited too.
The first time, she stared at the security glass.
“This place is ugly.”
“Yes.”
“Your room?”
“Worse.”
“Food?”
“Terrible.”
She nodded.
“Consequences.”
Alex laughed.
“Your mother says that.”
“I know.”
Then she became serious.
“Are you still bad?”
The question pierced him.
“I’m trying not to be.”
“That’s not yes or no.”
“No.”
He smiled.
“You’re right.”
Nanya waited.
“I did bad things.”
“Yes.”
“I’m doing better things now.”
She nodded.
“That’s more accurate.”
When Alex was released after serving eighteen months with credit for cooperation and conduct, he expected a car from Tony.
Tony came.
But so did Nanya.
She was ten now.
Two socks.
Glasses replaced with purple frames.
She stood outside holding a paper sign:
WELCOME BACK, MR. MANNERS
Alex stopped.
Then laughed.
Nanya ran toward him.
This time, she did not wait.
“Dad!”
The word hit harder than freedom.
Alex dropped his bag and caught her.
Behind her stood Nora.
No dramatic reunion.
No kiss.
Just a woman watching the father of her child come home after paying part of what he owed the world.
Alex hugged Nanya.
Then looked at Nora.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
He smiled.
“You look good.”
“You look institutional.”
“Fair.”
Nanya interrupted:
“Can we go?”
“Where?”
“The market.”
Alex stared.
“Immediately?”
“You have a debt.”
“What debt?”
“Peppers.”
Tony laughed from the car.
Nora smiled.
Alex shook his head.
“Of course.”
The market had changed.
Nora’s stall was larger.
Permanent refrigeration.
New sign:
BENNETT FAMILY PRODUCE
Alex looked at it.
“Family?”
Nora shrugged.
“Nanya insisted.”
Nanya pointed to a bell pepper.
“Pick it up.”
Alex stared.
She smiled.
“Tradition.”
He crouched.
Picked up the pepper.
Everyone laughed.
For the first time, Alex Gene returned to New York without anyone lowering their eyes.
And strangely—
May you like
He preferred it.
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