The Row Page 11

  Either way, he’s a liar now. Something he never was to me before.

  After a few seconds he leans toward me, raw anxiety plain on his face. Even through the arrest, the trial, and all the appeals, I have never seen him look this desperate. “Riley, you must believe me. I am innocent. I’ve always said that, haven’t I?”

  My soul feels like it’s being ripped just seeing him like this. My heart pounds loud in my ears, my voice chokes with the emotion I’m fighting not to show him. “Until last week.”

  Reaching out, he grips my hand tight in his. I want more than anything to believe him completely when he says, “Please, I only said that to help you and your mama let me go when I’d given up hope. Please don’t use my one lie to trap me now that I finally see a light that could free us all.”

  I pull my hand away. My voice breaks and a couple of tears roll down my cheeks before I can stop them. “And what a horrible lie to tell.”

  “Don’t you see? I need you to understand. Your confidence in me matters more to me than what anyone else thinks.” His face cracks and I see my own emotion reflected back at me. “I thought it was over. I was trying to do the right thing for the ones I love the most. I hoped that if you thought I deserved what was coming to me then it’d be easier for you and your mama to move on. You’ve been stuck in one spot your whole life because of me. I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you without making sure you’d be free to really live.”

  His words are the ones I’ve been hoping for. They’re the only reasoning that makes a twisted kind of sense. They dull the edge of my anger, but it doesn’t disappear—and neither do my doubts.

  Daddy tentatively takes my hand again in his and this time I don’t pull away. I quickly wipe the tears from my face with my sleeve.

  “You didn’t do it?” For some reason, I need to hear him say it again.

  “I. Am. Innocent, Riley.” He emphasizes each word separately, trying to force them into my brain.

  “I’m not done asking questions.”

  He squeezes my hand. “I’ll have the answers.”

  I don’t say anything else, but I feel the weight of everything that’s happened in the last week through my neck and shoulders. I hang my head with a deep breath, trying to release some of the tension there.

  “You deserve better, Riley. You always have. I know this is all so hard, but please don’t give up on me,” Daddy whispers, his eyes pleading with me.

  “I haven’t,” I whisper back, and I hate myself because as much as I want to completely believe him, I’m not convinced. Being his daughter has taught me not to trust easily and now that I know he himself lied once, I can’t trust him again without some kind of proof. At the same time, I don’t know how to give up on a man I’ve loved and fought for my whole life.

  How could an innocent man choose to leave this world with those he loves believing he is guilty of something so awful?

  Even though I know for certain that going down this rabbit hole will rip me to pieces, I need to find the answers for myself. I need answers from Mama, from Mr. Masters, from Daddy.

  From now on, taking anyone’s word as truth is not enough.

  16

  I PARK MY CAR across the street from the address Jordan gave me and wait. Maybe I should’ve argued with Jordan when he asked me to come to his house tonight. I thought about it, and he must’ve known it would bother me to come here, because before I could say anything he told me all the reasons he couldn’t leave. He was watching Matthew, and it was getting kind of late, so leaving around bedtime wasn’t an option, etc., etc.

  The truth is, though, I feel a kind of dark curiosity about their house. His dad put my dad in prison. Vega had always been the monster of my nightmares, but Jordan and Matthew have kind of shattered that idea. So what is left? Could the monster who stole my dad away also be a loving father? Do they have a happy home?

  Is it how my home would’ve been if Daddy had never gone to Polunsky?

  Plus, I did promise to come and tell him how things had gone during my visit with my dad.

  But now that I’m here, I’m terrified. He said his father would be gone for the evening, yet just the idea of him suddenly showing up is keeping me here in my car—where I have been for the last ten minutes.

  With a sigh, I fold my arms over the steering wheel and rest my head on them. The idea of simply walking up and knocking on their door is extremely daunting. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. Maybe I should’ve told Jordan he had to wait until we could meet somewhere, anywhere else, but I didn’t.

  Oh, screw it, I’m going in.

  Pushing away my fear, I step out of the car and cross the yard, jogging up onto the porch before I can change my mind. My hand shakes as I raise it to knock on the door, so I get the three raps over with quickly and hide it behind my back.

  1 … 2 … I count in my head just to keep my thoughts from going crazy while I wait. 3 … 4 … Please let Jordan be the one who answers. Please. 5 … 6 … Does Jordan have any other siblings besides Matthew? How have I never asked about this before? 7 … 8 … I take two quick steps down the porch, sure that I should just go home—

  The door opens, and Matthew looks up at me with a puzzled frown that clearly says I know you, but I don’t remember from where. His Avengers pajamas have creases like they just came out of a drawer. The dark, wavy hair that perfectly mimics Jordan’s is all messy. He must’ve figured out where he knew me from because he suddenly grins at me, both front teeth now missing. “I remember you!”

  “Hi, Matthew. I remember you, too.” The toothless smile is infectious. Resistance is futile. “Is Jordan here?”

  “Yes!” He continues to stand there, smiling at me. I imagine he should be in bed by now, but I’ve never really been around kids this age and certainly don’t know what to do with this one. “You’re Riley, the girl who likes the purple car!”

  It probably would’ve been better for him not to remember my name—in case he tells his dad about the girl who came by later—but it isn’t like I’m the only Riley in Houston.

  “Yep, that’s me.” He sounds so excited, I chuckle and wonder if I should start introducing myself this way all the time. It’s definitely better than my other options: I’m Riley, the girl who visits death row every week! Or the girl who got drunk that one time and told her biggest secret to the completely wrong guy! No, Purple Car Girl is definitely my best option. Shifting my feet forward, I peek around Matthew, hoping to possibly see Jordan lurking somewhere in the background, but no luck.

  “Thanks for visiting,” Matthew says like an usher who opens the door for people when they’re leaving a museum. He sticks his small hand out to shake mine again and my worries about coming here dissolve.

  “You know you’re not supposed to open the door by yourself.” The door suddenly jerks back and Jordan pokes his head around the edge. His expression goes from concerned to apologetic when he sees me, and he puts his hands on Matthew’s shoulders. “Sorry, we’re still mastering door etiquette. I hope you weren’t out here very long.”

  Matthew holds tight to my fingers and I’m not sure how to pry him off without offending him. So I just keep shaking and say, “He’s better company than you anyway.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” Jordan grins down at his brother. In one move, he lifts him up onto his shoulder, effectively freeing my hand. He turns his back on me and walks inside, leaving the door open behind him. In between bouts of Matthew giggling I hear Jordan say, “Come on in, Riley.”

  I stand still on the porch. Every inch closer to the Vega family feels like some sort of betrayal. What would Daddy think if he knew I was here tonight? What would he say?

  I draw my shoulders back and stand up straight as I walk into the brightly lit interior of Vega Central. I don’t know if I’m expecting it to look more like a holding cell than a house, but as I close the door behind me and my eyes adjust, I’m surprised by how welcoming it all feels. Everything in the living room I’ve stepped into is warm
and inviting. It’s decorated in a southwestern style with brown couches and white pillows with accents in pops of teal and terra-cotta.

  Absolutely nothing reminds me of my nightmares about the man who lives here, and I’m grateful for that.

  Everywhere I look, it feels like it has a woman’s touch and I’m hit by a wave of sadness as I remember Jordan’s mother’s accident. Daddy has been gone long enough that I don’t see constant reminders of him when I look around our house. I can’t decide if the memories would make it easier or infinitely harder. Probably both.

  One corner of the room is filled with a massive pile of blue plastic rectangles. I don’t have a clue what they’re for, but when Jordan puts Matthew down, he runs straight over and starts putting them together. I realize they make a track and then I see the familiar green tub of race cars nearby. There is a big section of racetrack that is already put together, tucked back on the other side of the kitchen table.

  “Wow, that looks like quite a project.” In my head, I try to picture all the pieces of track connected, and it’s quickly obvious that the finished track would take up more than the length of the room.

  “Want to help? Jordan helps,” Matthew shouts at an impressive volume without even looking up.

  “Thank you, but no. I have zero track-building experience. I would only slow you down.” Matthew considers my response carefully, then goes back to work like he’s decided that I’m probably right.

  I remind myself again where I am and—now that I’ve seen it—how badly I would like to be gone from here before Jordan’s dad shows up. I have a feeling he wouldn’t be nearly as welcoming as his racetrack-building kindergartner.

  Jordan has his eyes on me and I tilt my head toward the door. “Can we talk somewhere else?”

  “Sure. Just give me a second.” He turns to face Matthew. “Sorry Matty-boy. It’s time for bed.”

  “But Dad isn’t home yet.” Matthew drops his track pieces into the bucket, his pout clear in his voice even before he turns to face us. When he slowly pivots around, I’m surprised to see tears in his eyes.

  “I know. He might not be home until very late, but I promise he’s safe.” Jordan crouches down and pulls his brother in for a hug. The underlying reassurance from his words comes through perfectly. How hard would it be for Matthew to understand his mother being taken away so suddenly when he was so young?

  A sudden vivid memory sneaks up on me and steals my breath away. I remember lying alone in bed, afraid to sleep because I was terrified that if I closed my eyes the police would come and take Mama away, too. I’d been in bed asleep when Vega came for Daddy. The commotion woke me up, and I’d watched with tears burning my cheeks as they walked him out in handcuffs. Somehow I felt like if I’d stayed awake I could’ve stopped them. I was small and powerless. Not sleeping was the only thing I could think to do to make sure it didn’t happen to Mama, too. I haven’t slept well since that night.

  “We can’t see him. How can you be sure he’s safe?” Matthew’s tiny voice asks.

  My soul hurts, both from my own memories and for what Jordan and Matthew have been through. When Jordan sits and pulls Matthew onto his lap and against his chest, the raw pain I see in Jordan’s eyes wrenches my heart. He takes a shaky breath and then puts on a smile. “Tell you what. You go get your favorite blanket and I’ll let you watch cartoons on the couch in the living room while you fall asleep. Okay?”

  Matthew sniffles and nods.

  As I watch Jordan with his brother, some of the anger I hold toward him starts to melt away. The intense pain of sudden loss is something we share intimately. There are few who can really grasp that. No wonder Jordan seemed to understand me so quickly in a way that others in the past couldn’t. We are very different, but we’re also tied together in strange ways. I glance around the room and am suddenly aware that there are no pictures—anywhere. I see a few conspicuous mounting nails sticking out of a nearby wall. Somehow I doubt they’ve been empty for long.

  A memory of the day that Mama took down all our family pictures floats back to the surface. The pictures made me feel like a piece of Daddy was still with us, but then he wasn’t anymore. It was like he’d been ripped away from me again, but this time by someone I loved and trusted. I’ve never told Mama that.

  I stand quietly in the corner like a fly on the wall. I try not to feel like I’m intruding on this deeply private scene as I watch Jordan help Matthew gather his things and turn on the TV in a nearby room. Within five minutes, his brother is settled and Jordan comes back to me. He’s rubbing his shoulder with one hand like there is a knot there that will never quite go away.

  I think I have a knot in the exact same place.

  “He has nightmares if he goes to bed before our dad is home. I don’t usually let him stay up this late, but it isn’t a school night, and I can’t stand to hear him wake up screaming in his room.” He states this simply, like it isn’t the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever heard.

  I hesitate, but something in me wants desperately to reach out to him. “I used to have nightmares like that.”

  “Really?” Jordan leans back to sit on the edge of the couch. “About what?”

  “I was always afraid. I kept thinking that he might come back and take away my mom, too.” I meet his eyes and although I see sympathy in them, we both let the conversation drop there.

  Neither of us wants to bring up the truth that hangs over us: the fact that the monster from my nightmares is the same man that Matthew is so terrified to lose.

  “Well, in five minutes he’ll be sleeping peacefully anyway. Do you prefer not to have an audience? We can go outside to talk.”

  The desire to leave is only getting stronger and stronger with every passing moment. “I’d rather go outside, but are you sure you can leave the house? What if he needs you? I can always meet you somewhere tomorr—”

  “No,” he responds before I even get the whole word out. “Just wait a sec.”

  Jordan walks softly to the living room doorway and peeks in. After a moment, he nods. “He’s already asleep. I can’t go far, but we can go out to the front yard if you want. Is there a reason you don’t want to talk here?”

  I hesitate before just saying exactly what I’m thinking. “I’d rather be anywhere where there is less of a chance of someone coming home unexpectedly and interrupting our chat.”

  Jordan’s face twists into a strangely pained and rueful expression I’ve never seen on him before. “Not much chance of that, but okay.”

  I feel like maybe I shouldn’t, but concern forces me to ask anyway. “Why not?”

  “Dad works a lot anyway, but with this new murder he might not be home again for a day … or two.” Jordan shrugs it off.

  I shake my head, giving him a sad smile. “For being from completely different sides of this, we sure have a lot in common.”

  “You noticed that too, huh?” He winks at me before holding the front door open for me to walk through.

  I consider asking him if his dad has always worked this much—if it was like this before his mother died—but I hold my tongue. Of all the people in the world who should understand not wanting to answer questions about absent parents, I’m definitely one of them.

  Hell, I should be their president.

  “Long hours are a common occurrence at my house, too,” I say instead.

  He laughs, but the normal roundness of the notes is soured by a bitter undertone. “Long hours is an understatement around here.”

  I follow Jordan over to a beautifully carved porch swing that I hadn’t noticed on my way in. It hides in an alcove behind a large pecan tree. Jordan plops down and I take the seat beside him.

  Once we’re alone out here, the silence hangs between us, awkward and smothering. I don’t know how to ease it, but I really wish I could.

  “I wish you would relax a little.” Jordan watches me, half of his face hidden in shadow. “Why can’t you believe that I’m sorry? I wasn’t trying to hurt you. You
can trust me.”

  “Trust isn’t my strong suit.” The seat is only wide enough to give us about six inches between my leg and his. Being this close to him makes me nervous even though I’m not sure why. “So what exactly do you need to know about my visit?”

  “Wow, right to business.” Jordan laughs. “Is someone a lawyer’s daughter or what?”

  “I prefer the terms ex-lawyer, reformed lawyer, or born-again criminal,” I reply, playing along as I fight to keep my face straight.

  “Noted, counselor.” Jordan shakes his head. “Fine. Maybe just assume I want to know anything important. How was the visit?”

  My toes push off absentmindedly and the swing starts moving. Jordan stretches his long legs out in front of us and he listens as I tell him an abbreviated version of what happened at Polunsky.

  When I finish, he clasps his hands together in front of him and taps one finger at a time against the back of the opposite hand. I can tell from his expression that his mind is as busy as his fingers. “So he’s denying it now?”

  “Yes.” I bite the word off and end my statement there. My instinct is to defend Daddy, to say all the reasons why what he told me makes sense and why I believe him … except for the fact that I’m not completely sure if I do now.

  Jordan’s hands stop moving. “Riley, seriously. Take a breath. I’m not attacking him. I’m not even saying I don’t believe him.”

  My arms are crossed so tightly that I can feel the knot of tension at the back of my neck balling up. Forcing myself to relax, I drop my hands to my sides. “Okay, thank you.”

  Before he can respond, I speak again. “I don’t understand. Why can’t you just pretend you never heard about him confessing?” I ask him. My voice is small, but my exasperation at my own mistake shows in my tone.

  He stops swinging, turning his head toward me. His eyes are such a rich dark brown that in these shadows they seem nearly black, and now he stares hard, like he’s looking right through me. “Can you pretend you never heard it?”