The Row Page 10

  My stomach clenches in pain at the word when. That isn’t a word we use. We learned not to use it the first time the jury found Daddy guilty and I don’t think either of us has used it in this way since. I feel an intense urge to make her stop, to take that word back and lock it away. I want to protect us both from the false and agonizing hope the word when can bring with it.

  “Maybe we should be careful…” I start slowly, wanting to let a little bit of the air out of her balloons, not massacre them all with a machine gun. “Let’s see what Daddy has to say about the news before we make too many plans.”

  Mama’s smile wavers, but not for long. “Who raised you to be so practical, huh?”

  I pretend like it’s a hard question. “Hmm, I’m going to say you.”

  “Maybe we’ve been too practical for too long.” She rests her head against mine, and I stiffen because her words are taking her further into the hopeful arena than I’m ready to go.

  “Riley?” Mama sits back and stares at me until I meet her eyes. “What’s wrong? How do you feel about this?”

  In the face of her hope, I lose control of the emotions I’ve been holding in check. Mama pulls me into a tight hug as tears flow down my face.

  “I so hope you’re right.” I try to force what I’m feeling into words. “Last week—last week when I visited him, Daddy told me something. I’m sorry I haven’t told you, but I’ve been worried about you since the hospital and I didn’t want to make things worse.”

  Mama scowls, but she keeps her arms around me as she clucks. “Pay no mind to those doctors, Riley. I’m tougher than they know.”

  “I know you are.”

  “What did he tell you?” she urges.

  “He—he said he did it, Mama. He said he was guilty. That he’s getting what he deserves, and we should move on with our lives.” Even saying the words out loud feels like a betrayal, especially now that we know someone outside of Polunsky is capable of having committed the murders themselves.

  Mama seems to be holding her breath. When she pulls back, her eyes are wide open and all hint of a smile is gone. “He actually said that?”

  I nod. My tears have stopped and I wipe those that remain off my cheeks.

  The color drains from her face and I worry that the doctors and Daddy were right. Maybe she really isn’t ready to deal with information like this.

  “Mama?” I reach out and place my hand on top of hers. It’s cold.

  “He told you that?” Her eyes go to my hand.

  “Yes…” I frown. “Why are you shocked he would tell me?”

  “Did he tell you not to tell me?” Her voice is so soft I have to strain to hear it, but when she looks up the unmistakable anger I see in her eyes makes me draw back instinctively. She grabs my hand before I can get far and squeezes it hard. “Did he?”

  “Kind of. He said he wasn’t sure you could take it right now with the stress you’re under, and he left it up to me.” I look down at my hand. It’s starting to ache as she grips it tighter and tighter. “Mama, you’re hurting me.”

  She releases me immediately, shaking her head and murmuring low enough that I can’t hear her.

  “What did you say?”

  “He never should have told you that.”

  “What does that mean?” I’m so confused by her reaction. It only firms up my resolve to get answers and I reach for her hand again. “Mama, I have so many questions.”

  “Not now.” Mama stands up suddenly and walks toward her bedroom. “I think I’m going to lie down and rest for a bit.”

  I stand up, confused. “Don’t you have to work today?”

  She stares me straight in the eye and the utter lack of emotion I see in her feels like I’m looking into a void. As she moves through her bedroom door, she says the last words I ever expected my mama to utter: “I’m taking a sick day.”

  I stop her before she can fully close the door.

  “What are you thinking, Mama?” I keep speaking even as she goes to sit on her bed. “Why wouldn’t Daddy tell me? What’s wrong?”

  “Because you’re our child! We are supposed to protect you.” Her face is full of defeat and I catch a hint of anger in her eyes. “Do you know how many times he could’ve told me this over the years? If he wanted to confess to someone, why not me? True or not, he shouldn’t have put this on you.”

  “I’m not a child anymore. You have to start telling me what’s going on and stop treating me like I can’t handle anything. I’m strong enough to know the truth—whatever it is.” I sit down by her and go on without thinking, but I know the words are hurtful before they even leave my mouth. “And of course he told me! You haven’t visited him in months.”

  She jerks back and her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t respond to my accusation. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now and knowing what happened during your last visit only makes me surer. I don’t say this lightly, Riley, but I think maybe you should stop going to Polunsky.”

  I blink once—twice—certain that I’m missing something. Then I laugh until she frowns deeply in response. Finally, I say, “Stop? What do you mean stop?”

  “Just for now. Just for a little while…,” she begins, and there is a pleading note buried deep in her tone.

  “Stop going completely?” I raise my voice and lean away from her in shock. “I don’t understand, he only has a few—”

  “You don’t think I know that?” As she interrupts, her voice matches my pitch before she takes a breath and reaches her hand out for mine. I jerk away before she gets close. “Not forever, Riley. Just until the police get this new murder sorted out.”

  “You want me to stop visiting Daddy right now?” I shake my head because I’m still not sure how she can be saying this. I may have considered not going back, but thinking about it myself and being told not to by Mama are very different things. The wary look on her face tells me she really means it, and I stand up immediately. “You’re asking me to stop visiting when he could have less than three weeks until … when he has only three weeks—”

  I still can’t finish the sentence, but she doesn’t let me anyway.

  “Riley, I know it’s hard to understand.” She climbs slowly to her feet.

  “What’s wrong with you? How could you possibly think this is even an option for me?” My voice gets louder and then I just stare at her. She feels like a complete stranger to me. “He’s my father!”

  Mama’s chin sticks out a bit and her words fall with a staccato emphasis. “And I am your mother, Riley. You don’t speak to me like this.”

  “You—you’re being crazy! This is insane. How am I supposed to talk to you when you’re saying things that make no sense at all?” My hands clench so tight at my sides that my short nails feel like they’re cutting into my palms. “You know someone else killed that girl this morning, right? You know that there is more chance now than ever that he’s actually innocent? Why?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Not more complicated than everything else. Tell—me—why!” The last three words are half plea, half demand.

  “Young lady, you don’t tell me what to do.” Mama actually quiets her voice instead of raising it. I recognize it as a technique she uses to get me to calm down, which only pisses me off more.

  “What went on between you and Daddy back before he went to prison?” If I keep asking, maybe at some point she’ll accidentally answer me. “What haven’t you told me?”

  “Enough!” Mama slams her fist down against her side so hard I wonder if she might have a bruise later. We both pant into the huge divide that’s been planted between us. Has it always been there? Did I just never see it before all this?

  “I don’t even know who you are, Mama. We live in the same house, but you don’t talk to me. You don’t trust me. You don’t tell me anything. Nothing you’re saying makes any sense and I’m so tired of being kept in the dark. I will not just leave him alone now. I can’t do that. I won’t!” My hands ball into fists, m
y eyes burn with held-back tears, and I realize I’m shouting. Mama’s brows draw together in warning, but I don’t care. All the frustration, sorrow, and fear I’ve been bottling up inside explodes. I can’t control it—and I don’t want to. “Do you know why I’ll never abandon him, Mama? It’s because I am not—like—YOU!”

  Her cheeks drain of all color and her mouth opens once, then twice before she closes it. Mama points one shaking finger in the direction of my bedroom.

  “Go. Now.” Her words land hard and I know I have to get out of here. I’ve crossed dozens of lines that I’ve never come near before. “And you will do exactly what I say, whether you like it or not.”

  My eyes and chest burn but I go to my room and slam the door because I don’t want to see her this way.

  I don’t want to see me this way.

  And I’m afraid if I stay, we’ll both say more things that we can never take back.

  15

  I KNEW MAMA COULDN’T MISS an entire day of work. Within twenty minutes of me slamming my bedroom door, she was gone. She must’ve pulled an all-nighter too, because by the time I leave for Polunsky the next afternoon, I still haven’t seen a glimpse of her.

  The drive out to Polunsky is torture. I spend most of it with my emotions swinging drastically between excitement about this possible new hope and dread about how the upcoming visit may play out. I’ve never felt this way about visiting before and I hate it.

  Of course, I’d never really considered the possibility that my loving father could actually be a murderer either. My, how times have changed.

  When I’m not torturing myself about how the visit will go, I try to puzzle out what is going on with Mama. Why? Why after all this time, after raising me to take a trip out to Polunsky every week, after teaching me to love and adore my father, after telling me every day that Daddy was/is/will always be wrongly convicted?

  Why try to keep me away now?

  I, of all people, understand how shocking Daddy’s confession was. But what is she thinking now? Could it really have been enough to make Mama entirely change her mind about him, or is she just as confused as I am? One single confession under circumstances like those we’ve been under … should that be the one we believe? Or the years and years of maintaining his innocence that came before it? And right now, in the face of the best evidence we’ve ever had that he could truly be innocent? It’s hard to believe that she would suddenly be convinced that he’s guilty. But if not, why forbid me from visiting him now?

  And how will she react when she finds out that I didn’t obey?

  My fingers rub across the cracking leather on my door. The car had been Daddy’s before he went to prison, and it had been beautiful. Now, eleven years later, we’re all significantly more run down than we were then.

  I look at the road before me and am overcome by anxiety. Polunsky is coming up fast on my left. Despite my distractions, it would be hard to miss. It’s built like a fortress. I’d wanted to come up with a plan for how to handle this visit on my drive over, but I’m still not prepared, and I’m already here. The sight of the prison only reminds me that I have no idea how to get the answers I need from Daddy.

  When I pull into the parking lot, I wait there for a minute, breathing heavily. I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting there before my phone dings.

  Unwelcome Conspirator: I’m worried. Are you sure you’re ready for this?

  I glance at myself in the rearview mirror. Forcing my gritted teeth into something a little less like a grimace, I whisper the answer into an empty car. “I have to be.”

  * * *

  When the guard brings him in, Daddy looks surprised to see me. It’s possible that, after last time, he expected I’d never come back again. That thought breaks me a little inside, and when he meets my eyes I look away, memories of the last visit still painful and confusing. How am I supposed to see him now? Who is he? Who does he want me to believe him to be?

  When the guard removes Daddy’s cuffs, I stand back and study everything in the room except him. I bite one of my nails and then head for the table to take a seat.

  “Riley?”

  I whip my head up, surprised he’s speaking before the guard leaves.

  Daddy holds his arms out for the hug we always share at the beginning of my visits. His eyes don’t seem to hide anything. They’re unguarded and show me nothing but gratitude and an unspoken plea for me to love him like I always have—to imagine him the same way now as ever. It’s something I can’t fully give. Not yet.

  His words are far simpler. “I’m so glad you came.”

  My gaze holds his and I’m surprised to see him look away first. Then I answer. “Of course.” I walk over and put my arms around him like I’ve done a million times. He kisses the top of my head. I hold on tight, scared to let go. Scared that if I release him, everything will change, even when we both know it already has.

  When I try to pull back, he won’t let go. His voice is so low I can barely hear it. “Thank you.”

  Confusion fills me and I push with my hand firm against his chest. I feel anger deep within me and I’m not even sure exactly why I’m mad, just that I am. I want him to grovel and apologize and say he’s sorry for what he said, to take it all back, to tell me he was lying when he confessed and explain why he would do such an awful thing until I can’t possibly doubt him anymore.

  But he doesn’t do all of that the instant the guard closes the door—and I hate him a little for it.

  “How are you, Riley?” Daddy watches me with pensive stillness.

  “I’m not good.” I lean back, putting some distance between us. “You heard about the new murder?”

  “Yes.” Color flushes his cheeks in a way I haven’t seen in a long time. He looks more alive, hopeful. “Masters was here for a couple of hours this morning. We can’t file any motions until the police finish their preliminary investigation. If they concede that this newest murder opens the door for the possibility that it isn’t just a copycat, they’ll have to reconsider giving me an extension at the very least.”

  I frown, momentarily putting aside our many other issues at the prospect of some solid trial information. “How long could the investigation take?”

  “Depends. It could be days or months until—”

  “Months?” I interrupt in shock. “You only have twenty days left.”

  “Believe me, I know, but it actually plays to our advantage that Vega is still working in Houston. He’s the chief now, so they might not assign him the case. But if they do, I think it would be a good thing. He knows the details better than anyone else. He can make that call faster than a new detective would be able to.” Daddy looks nervous now and I find myself analyzing every word he says, every tic. Hearing him speak the name Vega sends me into an entirely different train of thought. What would Daddy think if he knew that I’ve met Jordan, and that we’ve spent time together, and what I’ve told him?

  I clear my throat and then mutter, “I guess it’s lucky that Chief Vega is already assigned to the case.”

  He lifts his eyes to mine, his gaze abruptly piercing, and I recognize my mistake an instant too late. “Where did you hear that?”

  I blink twice before scrambling together a response. “I heard someone mention it on the radio when I was out running errands earlier.”

  He nods, seeming to accept my answer, but I catch Daddy watching me closer than before. I decide to change the subject away from Vega.

  “How will they be able to tell it isn’t a copycat?” I ask, gathering my courage to bring up the last visit.

  “There are always details from cases like these that are withheld from the media. A copycat would get some of the details right, but not others.” Daddy takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a second before looking down at where his fingers clasp together on the table in front of him. “At this point, we just hope that every detail is the same. That way they can’t rule out the possibility that I am innocent. That this new victim was murdered by
the same killer as the others they’ve believed I killed.”

  I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. My eyes follow Daddy’s movements, his expressions. When he goes over this information, there is a slight smile at the corners of his mouth that turns me cold. Is it because he’s hopeful for this new chance at a future or because he hopes he can somehow fool everyone?

  My brain hurts from trying to decipher this code. My heart aches because I have to.

  On the other hand, am I seeing these things in him because deep down I now fully believe his confession? Or maybe it’s because doubting Daddy is easier than fighting with everyone else against the idea of his guilt anymore?

  “Just say what you’re thinking, Riley.” Daddy finally breaks the silence.

  “My brain is going to explode. What the hell am I supposed to be thinking?” I push my hands into my hair and then stare at him.

  “Watch your language, Riley.” Daddy’s brow lowers to match his voice.

  “My language?” My voice tilts with a hint of the crazy I’ve been trying to keep buried all day. “My language is quite tame, Daddy, considering our location. Or have you forgotten that we’re in a prison? You’re lucky I’m not breaking out my big-girl swear words after what you told me last week.”

  Daddy flinches like I’ve struck him. He looks genuinely shocked, and then his shoulders hunch. “Riley, sweetie, you have to know that I was lying.”

  My mouth falls open an inch before I catch it. I have to know? He dares to give me this burden of his confession that he’s never even hinted at before and then try to take it back and expect me to see that coming? At the same time, the blossom of hope takes root in my heart. I don’t know whether to nurture it or pluck it out like a dandelion from the grass. As if I wasn’t confused enough already.

  I say nothing, studying his breathing and wishing I could read him the way he’s always been able to read me. I want to see the truth through his body language instead of his words. As agonizing as it feels to recognize it, I know that I don’t trust his words anymore. I can’t. Either he lied last week, or he’s been lying my whole life.