If You Can Survive Jail, You Can Survive a Graduation Party

It’s been a rough few years. Jail changed my life. House arrest was a challenge. Then mom got sick. I really should go to the party tonight; it’s the only time my nephew will graduate from university and I should be there to help him celebrate. He worked so hard, and I am proud of him being the first college graduate in our family.

But. I can’t face these people. If embezzling from our local parish wasn’t bad enough, I had to write bad checks to my grandma. They will never forgive me, not that I expect them to-I will never forgive myself.

How did I get here, you ask? Well, that’s a funny story. Grab a cup of coffee and a cookie and settle in for an interesting tale.

The Catholic priest intimidated me so badly my knees were shaking under my dress. His dour expression took in my hand-me-down clothes and worn-down shoes as he opened the door for my interview. I glanced down at my notes, hoping my preparation would be enough to overcome these nerves. I needed this job. Desperately.

“Well, come on in and sit down. You’re not much to look at, but hopefully the kids won’t mind that. Can you keep up with a room full of elementary students? Can you keep them quiet while I lead the mass? That is really all you have to do. It’s not that hard, but you look like a strong wind would finish you. Have you eaten lately? Well? Do you speak? What’s your name?”

               Processing his fast-paced speech took me a beat. Why do New Englanders have to talk so fast? Deep breath, Ada May. Calm down. You can do this. You’re ready.

               “Sir, my name is Ada May Holton. I love kids, and I can absolutely keep up with a room full of them. Has noise been a problem? Hire me, and it won’t be a problem anymore. Y’all won’t hear a peep out of them little rascals, I swear to goodness. And I’m so hungry I could eat a horse, but lunch is next so don’t you fret.”

               Eyes twinkling with glee, he reached across the desk to shake my hand. “Welcome aboard, Ada May. I’m Father Martin, and I hope the kids treat you better than your predecessor.”

               Two months later, I knew what he meant. These kids were hell on wheels. Every Sunday morning, I spent the entire mass directing children to calmer and quieter endeavors.

               “Frankie, put down the scissors.”

               “Eloise, stop running.”

               “Jimmy and Emma, the stuffed animals don’t go on top of the cabinet-put them back in the cupboard, please.”

               By the end of mass every Sunday, exhaustion overtook me, and I fell into bed for a much-needed nap. Not sure how much longer I would last at this rate, I started looking for other options-and met Francie.

               Francie calmly picked up her children from Sunday school. Everything about her was peaceful and collected-even her children settled down the instant they saw her approach. Her clothes were new, and clearly name brand, as was the designer clutch in her manicured hand. I heard last week her husband lost his job when the paper plant closed-where did all this money come from?

               Intrigued, I invited her over for tea the next day. She pulled up to my single-wide trailer in a brand-new cherry red Mercedes wearing another new outfit. Where could all this money be coming from? She stays home with the children and her husband is unemployed. What a puzzle.

               “I’ll bet you’re curious about my money. There really isn’t anything to tell. We are just good with money, and had a nest egg saved. Tom got a nice severance package from the plant and we splurged a bit. Just because this town gossips like mad doesn’t mean there is any more to the tale,” she said all in one breath, twisting her hands in her lap and eyeing the door the whole time. Clearly, there was more to the story.

               It took a year, but I found out the rest of the sordid story.

               Tom developed an ingenious embezzlement plan at the plant-he siphoned money a tenth of a percentage point at a time from each sale coming through his department, expanding to other departments after working out the kinks. He had to keep the percentage small so as not to attract notice, but the small amounts added up over time and created a large cash account.

               How could I duplicate this? The kids at the parish were killing me, and I had no other marketable skills. This worked at the paper plant because they had the sales volume to hide the theft-the parish doesn’t have that same volume. The only financial transactions are salaries and offerings. Maybe the kids could start a new fundraising challenge and I have control of the money belt?

               Decision made-now time to implement.

               We started a fundraising drive to build a new playground at the local elementary school. Since most of our kids attend that school, it was a colossal hit. I siphoned off a fifth of a percentage point-less than Tom had done, but I had fewer transactions to hide the theft in.

It worked! Slowly.

Over the next 10 years, I accrued enough stolen cash to quit the dreaded children’s teacher job and leave frigid New England. I was going home-North Carolina called me.

As I put the last box on the U-Haul, a dark sedan pulled up, blocking the U-Haul in the driveway. Two men in dreary suits got out of the car and strode toward me. “Ma’am, are you Ada May Holton?” the older man said calmly as the other man went around the side of the house, looking in all the windows he passed. He settled himself, feet shoulder-width apart, half-way between the front and back of the house-ready to run to either door.

This doesn’t look good, Ada May. How did they find out, and why today?

I look up from the box I was closing and put down the tape. I tried to do it slowly, but my hands were shaking so much that I dropped the tape and had to reach down to grab it before it rolled away, but I didn’t get it in time, and it rolled to a stop on the man’s foot. He kicked it aside as he reached for me.

“Ma’am, you need to come with us. Get in the car without a fuss, and we will make this as painless as possible. We know about the money. Running will only make it worse.”

What else could I do? Two of them, with guns, against me? Get in the car, Ada May. There still may be hope-maybe they can’t actually prove anything.

As they drove me to the police station, they read me my rights and asked if I had an attorney. I didn’t. And I couldn’t afford one-I had spent the money on my moving expenses.

Maybe grandma would help with bail and then I can figure something out to pay her back-last resort, I’ll just write her a check even if it might bounce.

Brrringggg… brrringggg… brrringggg…

The phone woke me from my reverie. A look at the caller ID told me not to answer it, but that I needed to get moving if I was going to make it to the party.

First, shower; second, dress; last, leave the house- that is a manageable list. I can do this. I owe it to Charlie to celebrate his accomplishment, even at the expense of my embarrassment. Ada May, if you can survive jail, you can survive a graduation party. Let’s do this.