The Row Page 18

  My heart jumps to my throat as I see her reach out for the coffee mug in front of her. Her movements are wobbly and she’s struggling to not fall out of her chair. It takes me a moment to put that together with the two empty liquor bottles on the counter. I’ve very rarely seen Mama drink and now she’s at home in the middle of the day, completely wasted? When I gasp, she looks up at me and knocks over the mug. What spills out is far too clear to have any actual coffee in it.

  Jordan moves immediately, rushing over to help her clean up.

  I feel so small, so humiliated that I could disappear at any moment. It isn’t bad enough that this friend—this boy that I’m beginning to care far too much about—knows all my secrets from the past. Now he has to make new dark discoveries with me? My father, the one-time admitted killer. My mother, the drunk who bruised up my cheekbone.

  Me, the girl who lies to him at the mall, who drunk-texts him in the park, and the daughter in a family that does nothing but hurt each other.

  Mama watches Jordan with bleary eyes and blinks a few times before jerking her mug out of his hands. “You. Why are you here?” she snarls.

  Jordan stops moving, looking from her to me in confusion.

  Coming forward in his place, I take the mug and put it in the sink. Mama’s eyes never leave Jordan. They’re filled with pure hatred that I’ve never seen on her before.

  After a few seconds, the hatred fades to confusion and she slowly climbs to her feet, using me to balance like some piece of furniture that she doesn’t actually see.

  “You … you’re too young.” She takes a step backward, but when I try to pull her into her kitchen chair, she won’t move any closer.

  Releasing her, I sigh and move over to Jordan. I do the only thing I can think of to show her that he isn’t a threat and he isn’t his father, like she appears to think. I stand next to him, and then slip my hand into his. He jerks his head toward me in surprise but then tightens his grip. The warmth and feel of his hand around mine seem to lend me the strength I need.

  “I know what you’re thinking. This isn’t Detective—or Chief—Vega. This is Jordan, his son. He’s a friend.”

  Mama glares, looking from Jordan to me. I feel Jordan’s eyes on me, too, and he moves his thumb softly over the back of my hand.

  “I need a drink,” Mama finally groans before shuffling around us to take her seat at the table.

  “I think that’s probably the last thing you need,” I reply softly, and she whips her eyes up to me. She opens her mouth to speak, but before she has a chance, I cut her off. “Mama, what’s going on? Why are you home? Why are you drinking?”

  Her cheeks flush and I see the emotions on her face start with anger and morph into remorse and guilt. Mama’s voice cracks when she whispers, “Riley, I got fired today.”

  “What?” Her words don’t make sense. “Why?”

  I grip Jordan’s hand tighter and we take seats at the table with her. I sit next to Mama, trying to understand how this could’ve happened. Yes, Mama has lost jobs before, but this one seemed so steady. She’s been there for a while and she works so hard. How could she have been fired?

  “I’ve been missing a lot of work lately. When I should’ve been at the office, I’ve been meeting with Mr. Masters or Stacia to ask questions. I even went to talk to Vega.” She puts her head down on her arms. “I hoped I could make him see, but all he would say was that he was looking into it. I know what this has been doing to you, Riley, and I wanted to find a way to make it easier on you somehow, but instead I’ve lost my job … again.”

  Then I reach down and lift the towel so I can see the contents of the box beside her. It holds pictures of the two of us, a purple stapler, a file of papers, and a silver nameplate from her desk.

  I curse quietly and release Jordan’s hand so I can hug her.

  “Language, young lady,” Mama snaps before wrapping her arms tight around me. In that moment, she looks more like herself than she has since the day Valynne Kemp was killed—and I’m surprised how incredibly relieved I feel to have the real Mama back, for however long she stays. When she pulls away, she looks like she’s composed herself a bit, but I still see tears in her eyes as they flit over to Jordan. “If you know who he is, why is he here?”

  “He knows, Mama,” I reply clearly. She can make me feel bad about anything else she wants, but I will not let her make me feel bad about the only person I’ve ever let get close to me. “That night I was drunk, I told him about Daddy confessing.”

  “I haven’t told a soul,” Jordan jumps in quickly, trying to reassure her.

  Mama stares at me in shock like my words caused her physical pain. Then she scowls menacingly at Jordan. “And what’s he making you pay to keep this secret?”

  Jordan’s muscles stiffen beside me and I rush to his defense. “Nothing, Mama! He’s not like that. He’s been helping me, that’s all.”

  Jordan’s voice is slightly darker when he speaks again. “And I’ve decided I’m never going to tell anyone, so you can relax about that.”

  I glance over at him, my eyebrows raised.

  “It isn’t my secret to tell,” he murmurs, reaching out to squeeze my hand again under the table. I grip it when he starts to move his hand away, weaving my fingers slowly into his. His eyes are on Mama now and they stay there.

  “Fine.” Mama folds her arms over her chest and leans back in her chair. She is less openly hostile, but she definitely isn’t friendly. “I just hope you don’t suddenly change your mind.”

  “I won’t.” His tone is firm, leaving no room for any further questions.

  I turn back to Mama, thinking that now, with her guard down, might be the best time to get the answers I need from her. I try to decide on where to start.

  I finally spit out the most important question my brain can settle on. “How many secrets do we have, Mama?” I watch her face contort with a bit of fear before settling back to normal.

  “What do you mean?” she asks evasively. I remember what Mr. Masters said about her denial. Maybe that’s her go-to stance when facing truths that she can’t handle. She protects herself externally from anything that can hurt her, even if she knows better on the inside.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me the truth about Daddy cheating on you?” I whisper, trying to brace myself for the answer, but then realizing there is no way to do that with a topic like this one.

  Mama’s face immediately falls, and watching it feels like a punch to the gut. Up until that instant, some part of me hoped that there might have been some misunderstanding. That Mama would sort it out and explain how all the evidence I’d seen was some sick private joke, and we’d laugh. But then, maybe that’s just me trying to hide behind denial, too. Perhaps it’s a family trait. Now that I’ve seen her expression, the regret and pain on her face, I know for certain that my instinct was right. She knows the truth. She isn’t crazy or deluding herself, but she has been deliberately hiding this from me all along.

  I slump down low in my chair, holding tight to Jordan’s hand like an anchor in a storm. I feel so confused. I’ve always believed my parents—always. Now, within the last two weeks, I’ve caught them both in their lies and it’s turned my world upside down. I’ve never been able to depend on anyone but them. Now I can’t depend on anyone but myself.

  How do I find the truth in a den of liars?

  “I just—I thought you probably knew, hon—” Mama starts, but I interrupt her before she can dig herself a deeper hole.

  “No, you didn’t. Do not feed me any more lies!” I expect my words to come out as a shout. Instead they’re a hoarse whisper. “You knew I didn’t know, because you made sure I didn’t, Mama.”

  Her expression is rapidly flipping through a variety of emotions: indignation, anger, sorrow, guilt, frustration, and finally defeat. “I was trying to protect you, Riley. You need to understand. You were so little, and it’s so hard because we know Stacia. If we want to get your daddy out of this mess, we need her help—�
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  “Stacia?”

  Mama’s mouth closes.

  “Daddy’s assistant? The one we’ve had over for dinner? Talked to? Laughed with?” My voice creaks with a desperation for her to say she meant something else—someone else—anyone else.

  Mama’s skin pales to the color of the white kitchen cabinets behind her as she realizes she’s just dropped a bomb into the center of my world. And now there is no way for her to stop it from going off. Distantly, I feel Jordan’s hand frantically squeezing mine under the table like he’s trying to give it CPR.

  But I may never recover from this kind of destruction.

  My urge to argue that this couldn’t be true fades as I realize with a sinking feeling that it makes perfect sense. How they always “worked” late together. How she has been just as committed to proving his innocence as we were. She’d even been to visit him at Polunsky every week. He’d told us that she was assisting him with his case. He said she was the go-between for him and Masters, but maybe they’d just been carrying on the emotional aspect of their affair this entire time.

  “He cheated on you with Stacia?” I repeat, feeling the weight of Jordan’s worried gaze glued to me. I’m glad I’m already sitting down, as my thoughts feel like someone replaced my brain with a blender.

  “Oh, God.” Mama lowers her head slowly to the table. A muffled sob escapes before she continues. “I never told you because I was trying to protect you.”

  “From what? The truth?” I ask, my voice cracking with frustration.

  “From the fact that someone we love can still hurt us so much.” She lifts her head and I see tears streak down her face as her eyes plead with me to understand, but I don’t. Protecting me because I was only six? Okay, I can see that. But I’m not six anymore, and I haven’t been for a very long time.

  “I found out he’d cheated with one of the victims from the case, Mama. I know you were all lying about Hillary. But from what you’re saying, he cheated on you more than once. You knew about it. And one of his mistresses ended up dead? This person can’t be the man I thought he was, but you knew the truth,” I snap. “Why couldn’t you protect me by telling me who he really was? By not letting me believe that the man I looked up to was a hero? Or for the love of God, Mama, doing what any sane person would’ve done by moving us to another state and changing our names?”

  Her eyes widen and she stops crying. “Being a cheater doesn’t mean he’s a killer. Riley, what are you saying? Is that what you would’ve wanted me to do back then? You were so young. Would you have wanted to not know your father at all? Would you have wanted to not visit him or ever see him? Would you want us to spend our lives pretending that he’s already dead?”

  My heart aches at the mere thought, but I pause rather than reassure her. If there is anything I’ve learned lately, it’s that my heart isn’t exactly trustworthy. I glance at Jordan and the sympathy and kindness in his face lend me strength. Still, I can’t make my voice rise above a whisper when I answer. “That probably would’ve hurt less than this.”

  Mama clucks her tongue at me. “Riley, you’re acting like everyone else when you should know better. You’re saying we should’ve tr-treated him like we assumed he wasn’t innocent.”

  I’m quiet because I don’t know how to respond to that anymore. She goes on, her speech starting to slur more with the emotion of our conversation. “No one c-can put him at any of the crime scenes, Riley. Not a single one. No one can even tie him to two of the three victims. He was at the office alone when it happened, so he has no alibi, but he did that kind of thing all the time. They never foun—found any of the so-called souvenirs he was supposed to have taken.”

  “I know all of this, Mama,” I say softly, but she keeps going.

  “Mo-most of their evidence is completely circumstantial. There were even times when…” Her eyes well up again and she looks utterly heartbroken. “There were times when I actually wished that he’d b-been with Stacia those nights because then she could’ve been his alibi. Do you know how sick that makes me feel?”

  In that instant, I start to hate Daddy just a little bit.

  27

  “MAMA, DO YOU REALLY STILL BELIEVE HIM? Can you still believe that he’s innocent after all he has done to you?” This time my words are quiet but clear. I stare straight at her, watching in a way I never have before for the slightest flinch, blink, or hesitation. Something to signal me of any worries or doubts, of any flat-out lies she’s been telling me.

  “I did”—Mama lowers her eyes to the table—“until you told me he confessed. Now I don’t know what to think.”

  “Mama, why did you stay loyal to him through all of this?” Releasing Jordan’s hand again, I reach for Mama’s fingers, but she balls them up into fists so I grip her wrists. “Why would you let him do this to you? To us?”

  It takes a few seconds before she releases a long, slow breath, and she looks endlessly sad. “I thought I was protecting you.”

  I can’t take the same answer again. Anger bubbles beneath my skin until I can’t sit anymore. I shove her hands away and stand up from my chair. “You weren’t protecting me, you were protecting him. If you really cared about me, maybe you could’ve helped me with things that were actually killing me inside, like how lonely it is to have zero friends, or dealing with absolute jerks at school and in our neighborhood, or knowing how to cope with losing my father. We’re only two weeks away now. Two weeks.”

  I can see the pain I’m causing in her eyes, but I’ve been waiting too long to say this and trying to stop now would be like trying to dam a river with barbed wire. “Never mind. You aren’t capable of helping anyone. You always pretend you’re so strong, but now I know why. You do it because you are weak and it terrifies you to admit that.”

  The room has gone blurry from my own tears. In some still-rational corner of my mind, I can’t believe the words that keep spilling out of my mouth. Mama stares at me in silent shock until a soft cry of alarm escapes her mouth.

  “Riley, stop.” Jordan’s firm voice shocks me back to sanity—and I wish it hadn’t because I don’t want to see the pain in Mama’s face. He reaches up for my hand and I jerk it away without thinking.

  “You’re right.” Mama gives a soft shake of her head and I see a sense of peace in her eyes for the first time in a very long while. “About everything, you’re absolutely right.”

  Mama leans back in her chair and looks down at her hands before taking a deep breath. “But the lying ends now. I’ll tell you everything, Riley. I promise. I want you to know, because I see that all those things I did trying to protect you are only hurting you.”

  Her entire body seems to tremble, and I run to her, throwing my arms tight around her and burying my face against her shoulder. After a moment, I hear the tinkling of glass. Looking up, I see Jordan picking up the empty bottles off the counter and grabbing the mostly full kitchen trash bag as he moves toward the back door. “I’ll take this out,” he says quietly.

  He sends me a tentative smile and I mouth my thanks before he heads out to the garbage.

  Mama watches him with a thoughtful look on her face. Then, without a word, she turns to me. “You need to understand why I did what I did, Riley. Why I stayed with him and remained quiet after I found out he was cheating. Your father wasn’t the only one who made terrible mistakes.”

  My hands go cold, but I clutch hers tightly, afraid to interrupt her in case she stops talking. Jordan, who’d entered just as she said her last sentence, freezes in the doorway.

  Mama continues. “You were two. It was before your father ever cheated. We were so happy…” She opens her mouth a few times, but nothing comes out.

  I grab her a glass of water, waiting for her to compose herself a bit.

  “I had to work really late one night at a restaurant I managed at the time.” She drinks a long sip of water and then takes my hand again. Jordan has silently closed the back door and moved to lean against the counter, but I can see from his
face that he’s listening as intently as I am.

  “Daddy always told me to stay the night or call him if I was too tired to drive, but I didn’t.” Her tone quivers. I’m so used to seeing Mama as impenetrable that this is terrifying. I’m filled with a sudden, desperate urge to escape the end of her story, to simply run out the door.

  “I just wanted to be in my own bed. I was stiff and exhausted from the long night of work.” Guilt begins to drip like heavy rain from her voice and I dread what’s coming next. “I knew you were asleep and I knew if I called your daddy he’d have to wake you up to come get me, so I got in my car and drove.”

  She seems willing to stop there, so I prod her a bit. “What happened, Ma—”

  “I fell asleep, Riley. They tell me I rolled the car, went through a barrier and down a hill. By the time I woke up after the accident, I’d been out for several days. Your father was furious, and he would never speak to me about what I had done.” She hesitates and then plows forward, tears filling her eyes. “The baby was already gone. You … you were s-supposed to have a little brother.”

  I sit back in my seat in shock and stare at her. I vaguely remember Mama being in the hospital when I was very little. I wasn’t sure if I’d visited her there or just heard my parents mention it. I’d known she’d had a car accident, but nothing else about it. A brother? I have a brother who died and I never knew about it. The first image that comes to my mind is little Matthew. But this time I picture him with Mama’s shining blond hair and Daddy’s smile. A lump forms in my throat and I can’t speak.

  “The nurses told me he was terrified he would lose me, too, but by the time I woke up, your father wouldn’t even talk about the baby with me. I guess it was easier for him to just pretend I was never pregnant. Even after that, though, David never mentioned leaving me. When I tried to apologize, he’d walk out of the room. In my head, I had to mourn the baby, Riley. I named him Andrew.” She whispers the name gently, her voice cradling him like her arms never could. Her tears have dried up now, but the devastation on her face is plain and raw. Mama laughs quietly to herself, but it’s a sound of pain instead of joy. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever said his name out loud before.”