29 NoraTo Nora’s surprise, at ten minutes after ten o’clock on Thursday morning, she was comfortably seated on a gray plastic chair in an attorney room inside the visitor center at the federal correctional facility. Even though she wore a faded pair of Wranglers.
Earlier, in The Dalles, she’d discovered that she’d reached the bottom of her suitcase. After the status conference and her meeting with the other attorneys in Parma, both her lawyer outfits needed dry cleaning. She wouldn’t wear the stinky things.
Her midnight-blue cardigan was still wearable and she had a light-blue silk T-shirt to go under it. She’d brought a hookless sports bra to avoid setting off the metal detector. But federal prison regulations didn’t allow her to wear her khaki slacks. She didn’t consider putting on her
