The Row Page 25

  This time Jordan falters. “I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t want to lie then, and seeing him in prison has made her desperate. I do know one thing though: my dad thinks she’s lying. He thinks people will be in serious danger if your dad is released—and I believe him.”

  I just stare at him and then roll my eyes, not at all surprised to hear Chief Vega is following protocol on the release while secretly not believing Daddy should be back on the streets. I reply sarcastically, “And this is supposed to shock me?”

  “Why did Mr. Masters even want to meet us? Have you thought about that?” When he says Mr. Masters’s name, I flinch, but with a determined look on his face, Jordan just keeps going. He shoots off more questions so fast that it’s obvious he’s been wondering about them as much as I have tried not to. “Why did she kill him at all? What was he going to tell us, Riley?”

  My voice drops lower now as a fresh wave of pain about losing Mr. Masters washes over me. “Maybe he was going to tell us that Stacia did it. Maybe she killed him to stop him from doing just that.”

  “And then just popped on down to the station to confess on her own? Why?” He presses on, like if he can just ask the question the right way, the truth will suddenly appear for me.

  “She already told us that. She knew we both witnessed her killing him, and she decided that if she was going down for that one, she might as well come clean about all of them and save Daddy, too.” I stare hard at Jordan, preparing myself for whatever he has coming next.

  “Or maybe she killed Mr. Masters to stop him from telling us something else, and she succeeded. Maybe she knew she was going down for that death, so she might as well save your father in the process. Plus, she’s a legal assistant for a criminal defense attorney. She has to know that, as a woman, her chances of actually being executed are far lower than his.” His argument is part plea and part reprimand.

  “You can’t argue that she’s unstable and then argue that she’s reasonable enough to think all that through,” I say. “You’re grasping.”

  “Maybe so, but come on, Riley, you have to see that Stacia’s story doesn’t really fit every detail.” I can see that my stubborn responses are starting to chip away at the composure he’s trying so hard to maintain.

  I sit down in the nearest chair with a groan. “No, but I’m sure you can educate me.”

  “She doesn’t seem methodical or organized, but the killings are. Even the way the bodies were laid out matches the way your father lived his life—the mask of normal on the outside, broken and twisted on the inside.” He shakes his head and sits down in the chair next to mine. “You have to see that.”

  “And a legal assistant who’s hiding her taste for murder doesn’t sound like that as well?”

  “Can’t you see that I’m scared?” he pleads. “If your father is released, he might hurt you, but I’ve seen him with you and I doubt that.”

  “Good.” It’s a relief to finally agree on something.

  “But it’s also possible that he’ll come after the man who put him in prison in the first place.” Jordan’s voice is desperate to make me understand, but I can’t. Not right now. “Setting aside innocent or guilty, your father still must be so angry. What if he decides to get revenge for all the years he lost? I can’t let Matthew lose the only parent he has left.”

  The energy and anger has been sucked out of me and now this argument is just breaking my heart. “You’ve never believed he could be innocent. You still don’t. Like father, like son—I shouldn’t have hoped for anything different.”

  “And you never believed that he could really be guilty.” Jordan’s shoulders slump and I see the massive dark circles under his eyes. I can’t face the idea that what we had may be gone forever. I can’t look at him and see what trying to help me has done to him.

  It hurts too much and I’m tired of all this pain.

  “I think you should go now.” I push the tears away from my eyes before he can see and get to my feet.

  He stands up immediately. “Don’t do this, Riley, please. I’m just worried. I’m scared that he’ll—”

  “Come on,” I interrupt, and start moving toward the front door, waiting for him to follow me. When he doesn’t, I say, “We were idiots to think our differences wouldn’t rip us apart eventually.”

  He follows me, but I can see the arguments he’s trying to formulate in his eyes as we walk and know that I need to get him out of here before I crumble completely.

  “We’re too different and we’ve always been too different. Seeing you can only hurt me now … and you said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

  Jordan stands on my front porch, his eyes filled with pain and worry. He reaches out, his fingers grasping my hand as it falls limp in his. “I don’t want to hurt you, Riley. I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you.”

  “Please leave me alone. You’ll only make this worse.” I shut the door before he can say anything else, then I get as far away from the front door as I can so I won’t change my mind and try to take it all back. In my room, I close and lock the door, turn off the lights, and cry silently into my pillow until I fall asleep.

  35

  BENJAMIN MASTERS’S FUNERAL IS CROWDED with clients, secretaries, lawyers, judges, and cops. People from all sides of the law gather together and mourn him.

  My black dress doesn’t keep me warm enough even with the sunlight heating up the fabric. I tightly clutch the yellow flower Mama gave me to place on the casket.

  We sit with the people from the law firm. They hug us and tell us they’re happy about the news with Daddy’s case. When we turn away they whisper about how Stacia “wasn’t ever quite right.” They say Mr. Masters must’ve figured out it was Stacia and decided to confront her. More whispers come next, calling him something none would have dared say to his face: “An old fool for trying to take on a killer by himself.” It reminds me of some of the things they’d whispered about Daddy during his trial, and I have to grit my teeth not to respond the way I want to.

  I want to stand up, turn to them, and then scream in their faces, You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about! So would you please shut up?

  Mama and I both bring yellow roses to put on his casket. First, because Mr. Masters always argued that the yellow rose should be the state flower. Second, because they symbolize friendship and we both agree that our family has never had a better friend.

  I stand over his casket and put my hand on the cold silver metal that is so unlike Ben Masters. His thick, warm drawl will always comfort me, and his quick wit and intelligence are impossible to contain in such a small box. I hate knowing he’s in there, knowing we lost him—knowing I lost him.

  Mama walks up beside me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. Bending closer, she whispers in my ear, “You have to stop blaming yourself.”

  I look up at her and my eyes fill with tears again. “He wanted to meet me, to tell me something, Mama. He wouldn’t have even been there if it weren’t for me.”

  “Investigating your daddy’s case is what got him in trouble. And that’s his job. This isn’t about you, honey.” She leans over and kisses my forehead. She smells like fresh flowers, and her eyes are clear. I’ve been watching closely, and I don’t think she’s had a drop to drink since the night she was fired. She was actually offered a job yesterday working as an executive assistant with a large accounting firm. She’ll be starting next Wednesday. She’s excited about it because the atmosphere is more relaxed, and she thinks she’ll be able to be home more, which sounds pretty great to me.

  Maybe everything will turn around for us now. Maybe we’ll finally get that fresh start we’ve always needed.

  I feel someone staring and search the crowd. Jordan’s brown eyes watch me from a few rows back on the other side of Mr. Masters’s grave. He stands next to Chief Vega. They’re both among a group of other officers. The chief nods to Mama, but I can’t take my eyes off of Jordan. He looks incredible in his black suit and it makes my
heart jump around inside my chest. His eyes are full of all the things I want to see. They’re warm and welcoming, and I can see even from this far away that he misses me, too. I want to run to him. It takes all of my willpower not to sprint over and wrap my arms around him.

  In the three days since I asked him to go, it’s been so hard not to pick up the phone and call or text him. I miss everything about him.

  His father leans over and whispers something to him. Frowning, Jordan turns, and the spell is broken. I’m reminded of all the reasons our most important differences will prevent me from ever being with him again.

  Dropping my shoulders, I stretch my back as I try to clear the longing out of my bones. I whisper to Mama, “Can we please go?”

  She doesn’t say a word, but I see her look up at Jordan before she takes my elbow and leads me toward the car. His eyes are on me again like a weight as I walk away, and my steps feel harder and heavier because of it. By the time we get to Mama’s car, I’m trying hard to keep myself together. Once we’re a few minutes into the drive, Mama looks at me with sadness in her eyes.

  “You’re sure this is what you want, honey?” Her words are soft, but the fact that she’s speaking them means a lot. I told her when she came home on Monday that I wouldn’t be having Jordan over anymore, and she hadn’t asked any questions. Instead, she just gave me a hug.

  “I know he’ll only confuse me right now.”

  Mama nods and keeps driving, but she reaches over and holds my hand as she does it.

  * * *

  On Friday afternoon, when I would normally be heading out to Polunsky, I’m in a courtroom instead. Mama sits beside me, clutching my hand. I know that everything Mama’s heard from Chief Vega and the new lawyer tells us that this should be pretty straightforward, but I’ve never been in a courtroom without being terrified. The family-of-the-victims section is conspicuously empty today, and I don’t know if that’s because they feel bad about all the time that’s been stolen from Daddy—or perhaps because it’s still impossible for them to look at him and not see a murderer.

  It may be that way for most of Houston, to be honest. Far more attention in the media is given to a man’s guilt before he’s declared guilty than to a man’s innocence after he’s been cleared. David Beckett’s guilt had rated as a front-page story for months. The meeting to declare him innocent after nearly twelve years in prison only got a single paragraph near the bottom; the rest of his story was continued on the fifth page. Now it’s Stacia’s story that dominates the media’s attention.

  It won’t go to trial. She’ll go straight to sentencing, because she signed her confession.

  If she hadn’t signed and it had gone to trial, it’s weird to know that I would be sitting on the side with the victims this time around. Mama and I—along with his full-grown daughter, who now lives in Canada—are the only family Mr. Masters had.

  I wish again that he could be here with us. Mr. Masters would know what to do with everything we are facing. I desperately miss him always taking the time to prepare us for what we might see and hear.

  Now, there is only one thing we can do. We have to prepare for the worst and hope for the best.

  And the best is what we get.

  It’s shorter and sweeter than any time we’ve ever spent in a courtroom. It feels like a dream. The crowd is full of smiles instead of hostile stares. A new judge declares Daddy cleared of all charges and offers the apologies of the court and the State of Texas. After my father shakes a few hands and starts to head our direction, strangers with microphones stop him to ask questions like, “How does it feel to finally be going home?” Daddy is all charm in his suit and tie. I don’t remember ever seeing him in a suit and tie, except in pictures from before. His old suit hangs loose on him now, but anything is a massive improvement over the prison jumpsuit.

  Maybe they’d give us one to burn.

  Daddy kisses Mama and me on our foreheads and hugs us tight. He walks with one arm around each of us as we head out of the courtroom. I’m blindingly happy and at the same time so confused. My mind keeps getting stuck on things we’ve never ever had to worry about before. Is he hungry? Should we stop and get him food? Is there any restaurant he likes in particular? I’ve spent time with my father every week, and we’ve never discussed this. I’m thrilled to see Daddy outside of Polunsky, but at the same time I feel like I know so little about this man before me.

  We walk out into a hot, sunny day and Daddy stops, drops his hands from our shoulders, and turns his face up to the sky.

  As we stand and watch him, Mama shoots me a nervous smile.

  It’s such a whirlwind, I feel like my brain may never stop spinning in the wake of it. We sit awkwardly in the car on the way home. Mama drives because Daddy needs to renew his license. I’m in the back. I don’t remember the last time I sat in the backseat. I can’t find one of the seat belts and once I do, it’s stiff and uncomfortable.

  “We need to stay here for a few weeks while things get finalized, but then we could go anywhere we want. We can make a fresh start.” He watches us both with a hopeful expression.

  Mama looks like she’s considering it, but her tight smile isn’t hard to make out even from the backseat.

  “Mama just got a new job…,” I start.

  Mama says at the same time, “Riley seems like she’s finally settling in here a bit.”

  Daddy frowns for an instant before he shrugs. “We can wait a bit then. I need to fill out the compensation paperwork anyway.”

  “What’s that?” I lean forward a bit to hear him better.

  “Since I was wrongly convicted, the state will pay money to make up for what I’ve lost.”

  I’m shocked that the state of Texas feels like they can possibly put a monetary value to something like twelve years of a man’s life. “How much do they think ripping you away from your family for twelve years is worth?”

  “Almost one million dollars.” Daddy glances back at me and shrugs at the stunned look on my face. It’s like he’s been through too much to hold on to his anger.

  But I’m still angry. It’s cost me so much, too, and the great state of Texas won’t be paying me a dime. I shake my head and fall back against the seat. Crossing my arms over my chest, I mutter, “There isn’t enough money in all of Texas.”

  Daddy turns around and catches my eye. “No, but it’s a start.”

  Mama clears her throat twice before jumping in with the next topic. “I think you need to understand, David, things can’t immediately go back to the way they were before.”

  She told me on the way to the courthouse that she’d be saying all of this and asked me how I felt about it. I’d only hugged her and told her I was proud of her.

  So while she talks, I focus in on Daddy, trying to gauge his response.

  His face is suddenly guarded. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that you’re welcome to come home with us—”

  He sputters, “I—I’m welcome to come home to my family?”

  “You need to understand. We may know you from across a table for an hour or two a week, but in our own home, you’re a stranger to us now.” Mama’s words come fast like she’s afraid if she slows down they won’t all make it out.

  He’s not saying anything anymore, but his expression has an odd kind of blankness to it.

  “You can’t expect everything to be the same. We’ve changed. Riley is so grown up now.” She smiles back at me, before her jaw becomes firm when she looks at the road in front of her again. She looks decided as she finishes. “We’re all different and we need the chance to get to know each other again. You can sleep in our guest bedroom for now.”

  Daddy rubs his hand across his forehead. A vein stands out on the side of his neck, but then he relaxes. “Then that’s what we’ll do. Whatever makes my girls comfortable.”

  I stare out the back window for the rest of the drive. Exhaustion lulls me into a sort of trance, and my mind is so busy trying to make sense of this ne
w world. Mama, Daddy, and I are all vastly different people since the last time we were in the same house together. Can we even fit in it now? Will everything break apart once we walk through the door?

  Will our family break now that we’re finally together if the dream doesn’t turn out to be everything we’d hoped?

  Once we pull into the driveway, I see a few neighbors have put signs out on our lawn and they mill about on our front porch. The signs are the opposite of the messages they’ve been sending Mama and me for years. They say, “Welcome Home!” and “Congratulations!” The neighbors welcome Daddy home with open arms and it’s all I can do to not roll my eyes in disgust. A few have left baskets of food or bottles of wine on the front porch to celebrate, and I wonder how many of them are driven by guilt about the way they’ve acted. I watch my parents walk beside each other as they talk to the neighbors, but they don’t touch. This is definitely going to require an adjustment—and sleep. We should all sleep. A month’s worth of exhaustion has caught up with me, and my whole body simply yearns for bed.

  It feels like I haven’t slept well ever since I kicked Jordan out of my house.

  Walking to my room, I glance at my phone and see no missed calls or texts. My heart shatters all over again when I think of him, so I do my best not to. He’s done as I asked, and other than the look we exchanged at the funeral, I haven’t seen or heard from him since.

  I miss talking to him, the way he challenges me to see things differently. The way he makes me laugh.

  Jordan’s voice is only a piece of what I long for. I miss his touch, his smile, his smell, his kiss—God, I miss him kissing me, holding me.

  I’ve questioned my decision to make him leave a million times. Sometimes I’m just furious with him for bringing up the doubts that I’m trying to let go of. It felt like he wasn’t just reminding me of everything that could go wrong, but he was also rubbing it in my face. Other times I feel like such an idiot that I swear if I have a brain cell left in my head at all it would be long dead of loneliness. Maybe I’ve made a huge mistake and now I don’t know how to fix it or take it back. And Daddy being home only further complicates our situation.