Shame

wink at her, Van Doren would act as if she had received a boon from the gods. Notes were sometimes smuggled back and forth between the two of them. They acted like naughty schoolchildren who couldn’t wait for recess. But with no school playground available to them, there was only one alternative.
    “Van Doren became a frequent Death Row visitor at the penitentiary. At Raiford, the visitors’ room is hardly what you would call a romantic spot. There are no sofas, no easy chairs, and no dark corners. The room is institutional, with harsh fluorescent lighting. Tables and stools, the only furniture, are bolted to the floor. The room smells of desperation, with an unpleasant mingling of cigarette smoke and body odors and disinfectant.
    “The visitors’ room bathroom is even less appealing. The room is all concrete and cold. There is no door at the entrance and no windows inside. The stalls have no dividers and offer no privacy, and the toilet seat covers are made of metal. There are no mirrors, no place to primp. The bathroom is a step up from a hole in the ground, but not a big one. It is a place for bodily wastes.
    “And the place where Leslie Van Doren carried out her seduction of Gray Parker.
    “The Florida penitentiary system allows no conjugal visits, but the visitors’ room bathroom at the Union Correctional Institution was known by Death Row inmates as ‘the honeymoon hotel.’ For a hundred-dollar bribe the correctional officerswould turn their heads and allow the visitor and prisoner a joint five-minute bathroom break.
    “It is hard to imagine a less romantic spot to engage in intimacy, but that is where Parker and Van Doren met for their silent and hurried assignations. Parker described their time together as, ‘Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am,’ but it wasn’t remembered that way by Van Doren, who, by description at least, managed to make a silk purse out of a shit hole.
    “Their passion, she said, was one for the ages. One for the wages might be more accurate. It was Van Doren who paid for their time together. She funneled the money to Parker, who in turn distributed most of it back to the guards. As for their weekly rendezvous, Van Doren painted a picture of their passion that even the most flowery romance writer would be loath to put a name to. But their intrigue did provide a number of diversions, not the least of which was Van Doren’s becoming pregnant.
    “Her pregnancy was showcased during the penalty phase of Parker’s trial. There, Van Doren tried to change her image from that of vamp to that of mother and apple pie. Gone were her racy outfits, all replaced by maternity clothes. With each passing day, her burgeoning belly drew that much more notice, a notoriety that Van Doren clearly relished and sought out. She made no secret of who the father was, proudly revealing her lover and the circumstances of the conception. It was difficult to tell who was more chagrined: Florida’s Department of Corrections or Parker’s wife, Clara. As a result of her pregnancy, a no-contact visiting area was established, with inmates and visitors separated by Plexiglas. But the deed, quite apparently, was already done.
    “As Van Doren’s pregnancy came closer to term, the tension in the courtroom increased. Parker’s long-suffering wife tried to ignore Van Doren, but she was a difficult woman to overlook. Every day she sat center stage in the gallery knitting blue booties, the modern-day and even more horrific version of Madame Defarge.”
    “A half-brother,” Caleb said. “I have a brother.”
    His voice sounded so different and so hopeful that at first Lola thought he was still delirious.
    “No,” she tried to tell him, but he wasn’t listening.
    “When I was growing up I always dreamed of having a brother or sister. I thought if I only had someone to talk to, someone to share the pain...”
    “You have no brother.”
    In the background Elizabeth’s voice continued to narrate.
    “I don’t understand.”
    Lola reached over and turned off the player. “That woman did have a baby boy, but he wasn’t any brother of yours, even though she tried to pass him off as one.”
    The momentary hope left Caleb’s face. His features became hard. “Whose baby was it?”
    “Whose baby wasn’t it? I don’t think they ever determined who the real father was. Miss Van Doren wasn’t the most discriminating of women.”
    “That speaks well of my father, doesn’t it?”
    “Maybe it does.”
    “How