Exert from Betty's diary

When I was young I dreamed of better; a better life, a better opportunity, a better everything.  I met Mack Jr. and everything changed. I was warned.  I knew better.  There it is again that word 'better'. But at the time I thought Mack Jr. was better.  He was better than others.  He was better than working Daddy's fields.  Better than working Daddy's store with no appeciation. Better than slaving in this hollar.

I met Mack Jr. at the town dance. I hated the dances, plus I never could go because of my chores at home. Karla Jo begged me to go. She went often enough to make a name for herself.  It wasn't something I liked.  Karla Jo was me best friend. We'd known each other since the 2nd grade. Our town wasn't that big so you were either friends or not. Everyone knew everyone.  You know everything about everyone's business.

I've done my best though to keep my family secrets. I'm not proud of the life I've been dealt. Kaylie Mae was the best thing to happen to me. If it weren't for her I don't know what I'd do. It took me forever to get pregnant. I often wondered if it would ever happen. I was fairly confident it wasn't me. I was more scared that it had something to do with Mack Jr. I guess scared isn't the word for it. Mack Jr. was rarely home so I know I had a hard time conceiving because of him. 

Mack Jr. and I had a good relationship. We weren't best friends. I document this now in hopes that Kaylie Mae will understand. I only want you Kaylie Mae to do better in life than I did. Yep, there's that word again 'better'. Through documenting my past I hope to do better even still for the love of my life, Kaylie Mae. If I can only achieve this part then I have done 'better'.

Kaylie Mae

I hate this long trip to the Saint Mary's Correctional Center.  I now find myself making this trip weekly as the end nears.  SMCC houses a variety of convicted offenders but it also houses those geriatric and chronically ill prisoners.  My Dad qualifies in both categories.  I come weekly more for the material I need for my book.  At least that's what I tell everyone.  My friends try to be understanding.  Michael will come along with me during many of the trips.  No one else will visit my Dad.  I really shouldn't be either.  I do it for the book but my heart tells me I'm doing it for other reasons.  I haven't figured that part out yet.

I've always been a writer.  I spent my younger years growing up watching my Mom writing.  She wrote for the local gossip paper.  I later found out she wrote so much more than anyone ever knew.  As I drive the long trip to SMCC I wonder what to do with Mom's writings.  She wrote poetry, short stories and many entries about her life.  I haven't even read it all.  I need to.  It will definitely help me finish the story I am writing about my life, "My Life Related to a Serial Killer", or something like that.  Not the catchy title I was hoping for. 

I'm under obligation to finish this book by year's end if I want to pay Michael back for the past year's rent.  Michael warns me daily as I stare off into space that time is nearing.  I know it is.  Time is not on my side; it is not on my Dad's side either.  Being the daughter of a convicted serial killer I feel as though life in prison is my sentence.  Dad didn't get life of course.  He was sentenced to death.  But as with any death the time cannot be predicted.  Appeals are required for such a sentence and then he waits. 

I try to think of something else.  The lingering book deadline is causing me worse anxiety than the trip to see Dad already puts upon me.  I keep stressing over that one piece of the book that I feel I'm missing.  That's why I've decided to make the 8 hour trip once a week to see him in prison.  The answers are there.  I feel it.  He always makes me believe he is speaking candidly but I leave SMCC feeling as though I'm still missing something.  I'm still missing that cliff hanger that will finally publish my book.