The Row Page 3

  “Maybe cartoons?” I assume with Matthew we probably need to pick something in the G to PG rating range. “What do you think, Jordan?”

  We both turn to face him and he looks up from checking something on his phone. He seems genuinely surprised that we’re even asking his opinion. Maybe hanging with a kid Matthew’s age all the time has its downside. You never get a say in anything.

  “Yes. Cartoons it is,” Jordan says as he leads the way toward the theater.

  Matthew sits between us for the movie. I glance over at Jordan during the previews. I’ve had a lot of fun with these brothers already and I’ve only known them a couple of hours. Could Jordan finally be someone who wouldn’t push to know too much about me? Maybe this could actually turn into a real friendship? My cheeks flush as I look away, grateful for the dim theater around us.

  I scowl in the darkness. I know better than to get caught up in anyone like this. It never ends well … no matter how it starts.

  Still, on a scalding hot Wednesday afternoon with nothing better to do, why can’t a girl dream a little?

  When I lift my eyes again, I see Jordan watching me. This time he doesn’t look away or seem shy. He just smiles at me … and I smile back.

  * * *

  After the movie, we race cars down the slide at the mall playground and get pretzels. Matthew and Jordan are an infinitely better distraction than the people-watching I’d been hoping for. By the time we’re leaving, I’m starting to wish I had a younger sibling to hang out with.

  They walk me to my car because Matthew informs me “that’s what the gentlemens do.” Cuteness is surprisingly difficult to argue with.

  Matthew zooms along in front of us as we make our way toward the mall exit. We watch him run his favorite car, the silver monster truck, over every flat surface he can find—the backs of benches, around flower pots, across the bottoms of store windows—I’m surprised he hasn’t started trying to drive it over the people passing by.

  “Thanks for hanging out with us today.” Jordan sounds a little uncomfortable. “I hope we didn’t keep you from anything important.”

  “I had nothing else to do,” I say. “And even if I had, I would’ve picked doing this. You two are highly entertaining.”

  “Well, that’s good to know.” Jordan tousles Matthew’s hair as he zips by. “It seems he’s the secret weapon I never knew I had.”

  “Should I expect to see you here with a different girl every week now that you know you’ve struck gold?” I grin.

  “Nah, too easy. Then it won’t be a challenge anymore.”

  “Yeah, too easy is never fun.” I chuckle, then look down when I realize Jordan is watching me more closely than before.

  “Seriously, Riley, something about you is so familiar.” Jordan squints and that sense of dread creeps over me again. My stomach goes shockingly cold after such a fun day. I plead inside my head. Don’t remember me from a newspaper or a picture online somewhere. Not today. Not you. “Are you sure I don’t know you from somewhere?”

  “I don’t know.” I stall before continuing as we approach my car. “Maybe you saw me here before. Do you spend most of your Wednesdays with your brother at the mall?”

  “We’ve never been here before, actually.” Jordan adjusts the green bin of cars that he has tucked under his arm. I hear several tiny crashes from inside it.

  “Like I said, one of those faces.” I shrug and pull my keys out of my pocket.

  Matthew runs his monster truck over the hood of my car and then abruptly hugs me. “Thanks, Riley.”

  “You’re welcome, Matthew.” I pat his head. When I open the door to climb inside, my car seems oddly emptier than it did this morning.

  “You want me to give you two a ride to your car?”

  “No, we’re just a few rows over.” Jordan opens his mouth to speak again, but then looks down at my car and frowns. “Uh … does your tire always look like that?”

  “I have a flat?” I ask, but it’s more of a statement than a question now that I’ve seen it. The tire is so empty it looks like the only thing holding the car up is the rim.

  “Yes, you do.” He follows me to the trunk. When I open it, I see an empty spot where the jack is supposed to go and I groan. I’d lent it to Tony—a guy from my old job—a week before my co-workers had found out and started giving me trouble about Daddy and I’d quit.

  My perfect distraction day just took a very wrong turn.

  I close my eyes and rest my head against the open trunk lid. I almost let a storm of curses burst out of me. How could I forget about the jack? Why did my tire go flat right now, and out here of all places? Why on the night before Daddy’s hearing?

  What am I supposed to do now? Who can I call? Mama is working late and even if I can get her on the phone, I know I’ll have to wait until she finishes up before she’ll be able to come and get me. Why is Mama never around when I need her most?

  The last question ricochets through my body like a microscopic bullet. I don’t usually let myself think like that. The thought pierces every cell until there is nothing in me that doesn’t hurt, that doesn’t bleed. This particular question is the one I actively try not to ask … because I’m honestly not sure I can handle it if the truth is that the only parent who really cares about me is on death row awaiting execution.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  I turn around and sit on the edge of my open trunk. The still-hot metal heats my legs uncomfortably even through my khaki shorts, but I don’t care anymore. I look up at Jordan.

  “It appears that I am seriously lacking in the jack department.”

  Jordan grins suddenly. “I believe I can help with that. Stay here, we’ll be right back.”

  Before I even get a chance to answer, he picks Matthew up and carries him like a sack over his shoulder. Matthew giggles and then makes an uhh sound as Jordan jogs across the parking lot. With every foot landing, Matthew’s voice gets louder.

  “Uhhh UHhhh UHhhh UHhhh UHhhh.”

  I watch them, a laugh bursting free from my chest. They climb into a blue Honda and drive over to park next to my car.

  When Jordan hops out, Matthew follows him like a little shadow.

  Jordan hesitates, but then looks down at him. “You can play right around these two cars or inside my car. Nowhere else, okay?”

  Matthew nods and starts running his silver monster truck across Jordan’s bumper.

  Jordan walks up to me and extends a hand to pull me up from my spot on the trunk.

  “Thank you,” I say quietly, wishing I could’ve ended our meeting as the cool person they just met and not the helpless girl who isn’t even able to take care of her own flat tire.

  His hand squeezes mine as soon as I’m up, then he drops it and pops open his trunk. He grabs his own jack and I start freeing the replacement tire from my trunk. Jordan helps me lift it out.

  “I’m sure I can do this myself if you need to go.” I try to let Jordan off the hook as I reach out for the jack, but the truth is I have no clue how to change a tire. It isn’t like I have my dad around to teach me, plus then Jordan would be the one without a jack when he someday needs it.

  Thankfully, Jordan is already shaking his head. “Let me help. I’d rather not disappoint my folks’ dream of turning Matthew and me into good Southern gentlemens.”

  “Lofty goals.”

  He shrugs as he pushes the jack into place. “It’s good to have dreams.”

  “I suppose.” I can’t find a witty comeback this time. I sit down close to the car, watching Jordan so I’ll be able to take care of this on my own if it ever happens again.

  Jordan frowns at my now hopelessly dirty shorts. “You can just sit in your car or go inside the mall while I do this.”

  “No way. I’ve never been confused for a good Southern lady, but even I know better than to leave the guy helping me outside on a hot summer evening while I wait in the air-conditioned building.” I look through my bag. “I just wish I had some sweet tea
or anything flat I could use to fashion a large fan.”

  Jordan chuckles as he finishes cranking the jack up high enough to lift the weight of the car off the flat. “I thought girls only did that in old movies like Gone with the Wind.”

  “Maybe the girls you know are actually helpful instead of just pretending to be.”

  He squints over at me. “Maybe they’re less creative.”

  “That’s hard to imagine.” It surprises me how comfortable it feels to just sit and chat with him. “So, if I can’t fan you, I’ll have to entertain you with witty conversation.”

  “Somehow I’m certain you’ll be good at that.” He glances up at me.

  A wave of pleasure goes through me before I continue. “Let’s see, I now know that you’re an expert in miniature cars and scientific experimentation, you at least appear to know how to change a tire, and you temporarily pride yourself on being a gentleman.”

  Jordan doesn’t even hesitate as he removes another lug nut. “Sounds about right.”

  Matthew comes over, his hair all matted with sweat. “Can we go home now?”

  Jordan pauses and looks up at him. “Remember those things the gentlemens do?”

  Matthew’s eyes go from me to Jordan, and finally to the tire. He sighs. “This is one of those things, isn’t it?”

  “Yep.”

  Matthew shuffles away, looking hopelessly bored.

  “I’m sorry. I can try to do this—”

  “Sorry, can’t hear you, this socket wrench squeaks too loud.” He holds his free hand out like he’s helpless against such a problem.

  The wrench is almost completely silent.

  I roll my eyes. “Fine.”

  “Good answer. It’s really pointless to argue anyway. I’m a scientific mastermind, remember?”

  “I don’t remember ever saying mastermind.” I frown in mock confusion.

  “Weird.” Jordan looks up at me with wide eyes. “Pretty sure I heard you say that.”

  “So anyway, back to my witty conversation. What else should I know about you?” I lean my head back against the car. “Anything else your mom wants her dear son to be? The first mechanic slash babysitter slash tiny-car scientist perhaps?”

  Jordan’s movements stop abruptly. When I tilt my face toward him, he keeps going, but he doesn’t answer, and there is a distinctly pained look on his face now. Perfect. Of course I would somehow manage to hurt one of the only prospective new friends I’ve made all year.

  “I … I’m sorry—” I begin.

  “No.” He shakes his head and his smile is back to almost the strength from before. Jordan removes the final lug nut and stands up straight. “You have no reason to be sorry, Riley.”

  I climb to my feet and help him lift the tire off in awkward silence. I’m not at all sure what I said that hurt him, but I’m determined not to repeat the mistake.

  Jordan and I put the replacement tire in place before he turns to face me.

  “Now you aren’t speaking, and I don’t want that.” He pushes his wavy black hair back from his face and glances over his shoulder to make sure Matthew is out of earshot. “Our mom died in a car accident a few months ago. Thinking about her hurts, that’s all.”

  My stomach drops and I feel terrible. “Oh, Jordan, I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you.” Jordan nods. “Now to make sure I didn’t scare you away, promise me that you will talk to me constantly from right now until I finish putting this tire back on.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “That’s quite a request. I’m actually not a big talker.”

  “Learn to adjust.” He grins and then squats down to start securing the lug nuts back into place.

  “Okay then.” I retake my seat on the ground, trying to think of anything to keep this conversation going. It suddenly feels like a lot of pressure.

  Jordan stops and gives me a pointed stare so I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

  “It sucks having only one parent.” I blink at him, and from his expression I can see he seems as surprised by my comment as I am. That? That is what I decide to say? What happened to being evasive?

  Then he turns his eyes back to the tire. “Yes … it does. Your parents divorced?”

  “Yes.” This lie is too easy and common not to take advantage of, but somehow lying to Jordan after what he just told me feels wrong. I try to leave in some of the truth. “My father hasn’t lived with us for years … since I was six.”

  “That’s a long time.” Jordan’s tone is level and measured, but his eyes are filled with such a deep and aching sadness that my breath catches in my throat when he goes on. “Do you still miss him?”

  “Yes,” I respond quietly. “Every day.”

  Jordan finishes securing the spare and lowers the jack. Several seconds pass before he asks, “Does it get easier?”

  I think about that question for a moment. Truthfully, I don’t really remember much about the time when Daddy lived with us, so that part would be hard to compare with. But I do remember early visits at Polunsky, back when I would hope that maybe next week, next month, next year, that at some point it wouldn’t make me as sad when I said goodbye.

  That day had never come. It still feels like I’m leaving a piece of me behind when I exit Polunsky. It’s like a part of me has been imprisoned with him for most of my life.

  Finally, I reply with the only answer that feels true. “Not yet.”

  Jordan climbs to his feet and picks up his jack. “All done. We both survived, but I think at some point you owe me that sweet tea you mentioned.”

  His tone is light, but his eyes study me intently. The idea that he actually wants to see me again makes my stomach wobbly.

  “That sounds more than fair.” I give him a shy smile as I close my trunk. Jordan pulls a paper out of his pocket and I see him writing on it before he walks to stand beside me.

  “Drive safe. You have a full-size spare, so you’re set, but you may want to get that flat fixed or replaced soon.” He reaches down and presses the paper against my palm. “Just in case you decide to make a habit of getting flat tires.”

  I feel warm inside as I see a phone number scrawled in heavy black numbers on the tiny paper. “Thank you, Jordan.”

  “Why is this picture so old?” Matthew’s voice comes from behind me and I spin to see him sitting in the passenger seat of my car. The door hangs open and I gasp when I see my picture of Daddy clutched in the boy’s small hand.

  I rush over to him, jerking the picture away and sticking it in the glove box before Jordan can see it. When I stand back up, both of them are watching me with wide eyes.

  “Sorry, I—”

  “No.” Jordan cuts me off before I say any more. “I’m sorry he was snooping around in your car.”

  “I wasn’t snooping!” Matthew yells, and when I glance down at him, he’s rubbing his eyes and looks very tired.

  “I know you weren’t.” I crouch down in front of him. “It’s okay. Thanks to both of you for all your help.” I lift my eyes back to Jordan, hoping he doesn’t think I’m a total freak after that display. “I had a really fun day.”

  Matthew nods seriously, then turns his face up to Jordan, a whine creeping into his voice. “Are we done being gentlemens yet?”

  “I guess so.” He points toward their car. “Go buckle yourself in.”

  Jordan and I stand together alone. I squirm awkwardly, but he seems to have recovered.

  “I’m sorry, it was just—”

  “Really, Riley, you don’t have to explain.” He walks closer and rests one hand on my shoulder for just an instant, but even that shoots sparks through me. Then he pulls out his wallet and shows me a picture of a beautiful Hispanic woman who has Matthew’s dimples. Her hair falls in soft curls that remind me of Jordan’s. “Of all the people in the world who should understand why you have a picture of your dad hidden in your car, don’t you think I’m one of them?”

  I can’t tell him that my reasoning is different, but I ca
n’t lie. Not after he showed me something that is obviously so special to him. But maybe our answers are the same. Maybe we both love and miss the parents that we can’t be with. Why can’t it be as simple as that?

  So I just whisper, “Thank you.”

  “Have a good rest of your week, miss.” Jordan tips the brim of a nonexistent hat to me as he backs away, and my soft smile breaks into a full-blown grin.

  Matthew waves from the backseat as they drive away. I wave back, amazed at how one afternoon with a guy I barely know could leave such a huge impression on me.

  5

  THE COURTROOM SMELLS OF SWEAT AND FEAR. People shift awkwardly in their seats. They don’t look much at each other, just mostly at us—they don’t even try not to stare. I grab Mama’s hand and don’t look them in the eye, but I can’t help but wish we could face today alone instead of with a hundred hostile strangers.

  As much as I hate it, I understand them perfectly. They’re both fascinated and frightened by my father and his family. We are the circus freaks in this charade. Maybe I should be better equipped to entertain them, but I’m not. I keep my appearance as generic as possible for every court appearance in the hopes that I can bore them into forgetting me. I wear large sunglasses even indoors, no earrings or hair accessories. I keep my dark hair straight and in a low ponytail. If I could find an outfit to blend in with the wooden bench I perch on, I probably would.

  I can’t even bring myself to look at the people on the opposite side of the aisle. If the strangers in this room have hostile gazes, the glances from the families of the victims are downright hateful. I’m sad for them. I really wish they could find the justice they think they have, but it’s not here. I’ve never seen justice here.

  In some ways, we’re the same. All bound together by a stranger who committed a few acts of senseless violence. I expected the families of the victims to go away once Daddy was found guilty, but that was naïve of me. They’re here for every hearing, every appeal—just like us. None of us, on either side of this situation, have been able to move on.

  Mama and I have been told to sit quietly, no matter what the result may be. And we’ve done our duty every time. We might as well be bound and gagged in this room. We’re helpless to do anything here, as we always have been. The fact that we are sure he’s innocent doesn’t matter, and it never will.