Inside the visitor processing room, a volunteer named Mrs. Kessler gave Micah a paper badge with his first name on it. The woman had a warm voice and the tired eyes of someone who had worked in the building for many years. She admired his drawing, then placed it in a clear plastic sleeve after making sure the pencil had been removed.
"It can go with you," she said. "Just keep it on the table."
Micah nodded solemnly. "It's for my dad."
"That's a fine reason to bring a picture."
Behind Mrs. Kessler, a television played a cheerful promotional video about family connection and rehabilitation. Smiling people in blue uniforms carried trays through a bright room. Lena noticed there were no guards visible in the video, and no children looking afraid.
A heavy security door opened. Their group moved down a corridor smelling of floor wax and boiled vegetables. At the end was the cafeteria, prepared for the event with paper placemats, small centerpieces made from folded construction paper, and tables spaced farther apart than usual. Tall windows admitted weak afternoon light. An officer watched each exit.
Micah found Isaac immediately.
His father stood beside a table near the center aisle in a neatly pressed blue prison shirt. His hair was shorter than in the photographs at home, and there were new lines beside his eyes. But his smile was exactly the one Micah remembered from the last contact visit. Isaac lowered himself onto one knee before the boy reached him.
"Hey, Captain."
Micah rushed into his arms. Isaac held him carefully, as if the boy were both wonderfully real and impossibly fragile. For a moment, the noise of the cafeteria dissolved. Micah smelled laundry soap, institutional detergent, and something warm that was simply his father. He leaned back and searched Isaac's face for proof that this day would last.
"I got taller," Micah announced.
"I see that. You keep this up, I'll have to look up to talk to you."
Lena waited as they embraced. Isaac rose and met her eyes, not assuming he was owed the same greeting. She stepped forward and let him hold her for a short moment. There was gratitude in the gesture, but also grief for everything that had happened between them.
"Thank you for bringing him," he whispered.
"He's been counting the days," Lena answered.
An officer tapped the face of his wristwatch. Isaac moved back at once. The three sat down, and Micah began telling him about a school project involving a model bridge made from craft sticks. He explained which parts had held and which had collapsed. Isaac listened with the attention of a man who did not want to waste a single word.
"You know what makes a bridge strong?" Isaac asked.
"Triangles. We learned that."
"Triangles help. So does having good supports on both ends."
Micah gave him a serious look. "You always say that about people, too."