When they call her, she goes through a metal detector so sensitive a zipper will set it off. Officers buzz her through a sally port, and she gets a seat on the shuttle bus.
She walks into the dim fluorescent light. Gone is the resplendent life just outside -- the redwoods, the water lilies in the creeks, the ocean air and sun.
The guard tells Pam to sit at the window at the end of the row. She grabs a disinfectant wipe from a box on the table.
She walks over to her chair and wipes the phone down.
This may be the only place she ever sees Robert again.
In ways, she has come to accept their relationship as it is, as it has been -- something between them, with nothing outside to adorn it and nothing to spoil it.
Maybe this craving for him to get out is what she had to let go.
She gets angry and forlorn still. But whatever anyone else says, whether they judge her or ridicule her, she knows that what she has is as simple and pure as that pebble.
Robert walks into the cage behind the glass, smiling in his Woody Allen glasses and yellow jumpsuit. He looks at her as he puts his hands through a slot behind him to have his handcuffs unlocked. His knees bounce with energy.
Pam smiles and picks up the phone.