The Row Page 5

  Suddenly, we are in a silver morgue with a pendant light swaying over the only table not in shadow. Mama is laid out on the table in front of me, in only her underwear and bra. I can see all the bruises, burns, and cuts that were previously hidden by her clothing. Around us, the walls suddenly light up with X-ray after X-ray, each and every one showing different broken bones. There are more than a dozen, and they feel like they’re closing in. I’m surrounded by so many breaks, so much violence. Whoever did this had savagely attacked her, strangled her—and then put her clothes back on so she looked peaceful when placed carefully in our front yard.

  I curl in on myself. Unable to look at her anymore like this. So I become nothing more than a small ball in the midst of all this carnage. Backing myself into the corner, I close my eyes. Hoping against hope that it isn’t real, and it will all stop. Up until the moment the dream ends and I wake up in a cold sweat.

  * * *

  As I’m getting ready for my visit to Polunsky on Friday afternoon, Mr. Masters calls me. I smile to myself as I answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Miss Riley.” Mr. Masters has a pronounced drawl so thick it’d make molasses look runny.

  “Mr. Masters,” I reply slowly, mocking his drawl.

  When Daddy introduced us a long time ago, Mr. Masters had seemed so tall. I remember thinking that with his fancy and expensive suits, he must be someone important. I’d asked Daddy what I should call him. Mr. Masters had crouched down in front of me and given me a very serious look.

  “What do you want to call me?” he’d asked.

  I’d hid a little behind Daddy’s arm without answering. Mr. Masters told me since I was a young lady I had two options. “You can call me Mr. Benjamin or Mr. Masters.”

  I’d thought about it for a minute, but Mr. Benjamin just didn’t seem fancy enough for this man. “I choose Mr. Masters.”

  “Excellent choice,” he’d said, standing up straight and extending his hand to me. “And I’ll call you Miss Riley.”

  When I’d shyly stuck my hand in his, I felt something beneath my fingers. When I pulled it back, I saw he’d slipped a small pack of Skittles into my palm. They’d always been my favorite candy.

  Mr. Masters winked. “I heard you like those.”

  I’d beamed up at him and I remember thinking that he was like the president, only magical.

  So far, he’d never given me a reason to change my mind about him.

  “How are you doing on this scorching afternoon?”

  “I’m enjoying the pleasures of air-conditioning while I get ready to go visit Daddy. How are things on your end?” The humor disappears on both ends of the phone as soon as I mention my father.

  “I’m still working. I haven’t given up.” His voice is soft now. “How’s your mother doing? I’ve been worried.”

  “She’s still working, too.” My laugh comes out with a bitter edge. “What else would she be doing?”

  “What did the doctor say?” He sounds gruffer than before. “Stubborn woman isn’t taking my calls.”

  “At least we’re in the same camp. She didn’t answer when I called earlier either,” I mutter. “He said she is carrying too much stress and put her on some blood pressure meds.”

  His only response is an affirmative grunt on the other end.

  “Well, please keep me posted, Miss Riley,” Mr. Masters finally says. “Tell me if you think of a way I can help you—either of you. You’re the only reasonable one in your family these days.”

  I laugh in surprise. Masters speaks to me freely. He always has. He doesn’t treat me like a child the way my parents do. “Maybe someday you can tell my parents that.”

  “Perhaps.” He chuckles before saying, “Good afternoon, Miss Riley.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Masters.”

  When I hang up, I sigh and rub the circles beneath my eyes in the bathroom mirror. Between my mind spinning about the hearing and the nightmares, I’d barely slept the night before.

  After a long stretch of my neck and shoulders, I decide this is as good as it’s going to get. I’d considered applying some powder to try to cover up the signs of exhaustion, but I’m a minimalist when it comes to makeup. Besides, it would take something like a miracle to hide the effects of the last twenty-four hours. Instead, I grab a Coke from the fridge and my keys off the counter, and head out the door.

  7

  THE REGISTRATION BUILDING AT POLUNSKY is squat and gray; it looks like a block of extremely condensed fog. Which is perfect because my brain can’t seem to shake its foggy feeling either.

  I spent yesterday evening filling Mama’s prescriptions and then stayed up late making sure she would agree to take them. She asked again and again if I was still planning to come for my visit and if I was sure I didn’t want to wait until we found a time when she could go with me. I was surprised she’d even asked, because we both knew that would never happen. By the fifth time I assured her that I’d be fine on my own, she seemed convinced. It took all my self-restraint not to slam the door when she asked me to tell him that she was fine.

  I don’t expect the usual part of our conversation to take long because I’m not going to lie to him.

  We’re not great, Daddy. Not great.

  By the time I say hi to Nancy and make it through the checkpoint, it’s clear that she and the others in the registration office know what happened at the appeal. They all give me consoling looks, and no one attempts to laugh or joke with me like usual. I grab my stuff back from Nancy when she finishes her pat-down, eager to get out of this office that suddenly feels like a funeral wake.

  “See you next week, Riley,” Nancy says, and as I turn to head to the front desk for my visitor badge, I hear her add, “I’m sorry.”

  I nod in thanks. My mind drifts back and forth between panic and numb resignation, just like it’s been doing since the appeal yesterday. My body goes through the motions, following the normal routine as I try desperately to pretend everything hasn’t changed.

  It’s quiet in the tiny visitation room, and the last thing I want today is to be left alone with my thoughts. The clock on the wall ticks away seconds, and I try not to listen to it. I keep thinking of how many hours are in four weeks, twenty-eight days—twenty-seven now.

  When my mind spits out the correct answer to the math problem, my heart sinks. Twenty-seven days is six hundred and forty-eight hours.

  I shake my head. No, it’s actually less than that. It won’t be twenty-seven full days anymore. Every hour that passes is one less. Two hours per visit, with only four more visits, including this one. Two hours each—eight hours total?

  I have eight hours with Daddy until the state of Texas executes him for crimes he didn’t commit. Eight hours before they steal him from me just like they did when I was six … except this time I lose all of him forever.

  Screw Texas. I hate Texas.

  So I refuse to think about the time remaining anymore. It helps no one. I will think about the only options we have left: the writ of certiorari and clemency. No matter what the judge said, we still have a chance the Supreme Court will decide to delay the execution and review his case. And if the Supreme Court refuses to hear the case, then our only hope is the governor granting clemency. And a governor granting a stay of execution like that in Texas is almost unheard of. We really need a plan now … and a good one.

  I stand in the room, pacing back and forth next to the table. By the time Daddy arrives, I’m chewing away at my nails like I have no other alternatives for food despite the fully stocked vending machine I keep walking past.

  “Hi, Ri,” Daddy says when the officer brings him in. I hug him tight and then study him once we’re seated at the table, wondering where we should start.

  “How is your mama?” He starts the visit the way we always do, but I feel more like I’m talking to a ghost of my father rather than the real thing. The light in his eyes is gone and he looks completely worn through. It seems like he’s lost even more weight since
yesterday.

  “She’s fine. She said to tell you that you don’t need to worry about her.” I put on the brave smile I have permanently welded to my face for every visit.

  “No lies, remember, Riley?” Daddy reaches out and pulls gently on one of the brunette tendrils that fall out of my ponytail. “Not now. Not to me.”

  Reaching up, I tuck the stray piece back into place. “Let’s just talk about our plan, then,” I say, changing the subject.

  Daddy releases a sigh that sounds so deep it may have started in his feet. He starts to respond, but there’s a swift knock on the door, and it opens immediately. On death row, there is no right to privacy.

  An older guard I don’t recognize steps aside, and I see Stacia behind him. As Daddy’s former paralegal, Stacia comes at least once a week to discuss appeals and options on behalf of the rest of the legal team. She usually comes earlier in the week, though, so it’s been a while since I’ve seen her here. Her face is starkly paler than it’s ever been next to her dishwater-blond hair. It seems frizzier than normal, and her cheeks have taken on a slightly gaunt look over the last year. Fighting for someone in Polunsky really seems to leave its stamp on people.

  She falters a step when she sees me, but the hesitation only lasts a moment. “I’m sorry, David, I forgot today was your visitation day with Riley.”

  Stacia is awkwardly shy and a little backward, but she’s very loyal, and that’s what matters. Her feet shift side to side as she keeps her eyes on the floor. She seems even more uncomfortable than usual, and for Stacia, that’s saying something.

  “It’s okay. I’m sure I don’t have much time left to worry about whether or not I should spread my visitors out better.” He smiles at her, but the sadness and fear behind it take my breath away.

  I’ve never heard Daddy talk like this. He’s always been so full of hope. He never talks about the end or how much time he has left. Seeing him like this is more terrifying than anything the judge said in the courtroom yesterday. A cold sweat starts on the back of my neck and my heart speeds up in my chest.

  “I-I’m so sorry to have to interrupt with this…” Stacia lifts her hand to him and I see she clutches a white envelope. It’s pressed so tight between her fingers that each one has left a deep crease. Her eyes flit to me. “To both of you.”

  Daddy reaches for it. I see the return address on the envelope with the words Supreme Court of the United States and everything slows down as he opens it.

  We weren’t expecting to hear back on the certiorari today. It is our true Hail Mary pass. And now that I know all the answers are in that envelope, I suddenly hope for something drastic to stop us from seeing what it holds. I hope for a fire drill, or a meteor, or the end of the world—whatever it takes to prevent us from reading the answer.

  Anything to keep our last scrap of hope alive right now, because I am not ready to lose it.

  The paper he removes isn’t thick, and even from the opposite side of the table I can read the word DENIED in bold, panic-inducing letters.

  That single word removes one of our two remaining options, and I can’t help but feel like someone just ripped off my right leg. It’s painful. I feel shockingly off balance.

  Daddy reads the entire thing slowly. Then he folds it, puts it back in the envelope, and hands it to Stacia. “Thank you … for everything.”

  She grips the paper with both hands and her eyes are damp, but she can’t seem to find any words to say.

  Daddy saves her from that task. “I’d like to get back to my visit with Riley now, but thank you very much for coming.” His words are kind, but his tone is exhausted and lightly dismissive.

  “Of course.” Stacia looks down, backs toward the door, and knocks on it. She looks like she failed him, and I feel a sick hope rising up that maybe she did. She’s been helping with his case. Maybe she messed something up? We might have another chance at appeal if that were true, and I would do almost anything for that chance right now.

  I close my eyes, disgusted with my thoughts. Stacia cares about my father. I truly wouldn’t want her to have made a mistake. She would never forgive herself for that.

  “I’ll come back on Monday,” she murmurs as the guard opens the door for her. Then Stacia ducks out through the doorway without waiting for a response.

  Daddy stares down at the table in silence as the door clicks closed again, and I wonder if he’s forgotten that I’m here.

  I swallow back all the fear and dread that threaten to clog up my throat, forcing my voice to come out steady. “Well, I guess the plan I wanted to put together just got even more important.”

  “Let’s not plan, Riley.” Daddy closes his eyes and his head hangs forward to rest on his chest for a moment. He looks drained. He’s always been a handsome guy, but lately, everything seems to be catching up with him. When he opens his eyes again, they’ve gone from dull to almost vacant. My stomach clenches just seeing them. What small amount of hope he may have retained after the hearing yesterday just left him—right here in front of me.

  That thought terrifies me, so I push forward, my words spilling out over one another in their rush to escape. “I think maybe we should plan out some kind of campaign, you know? See if we can get other people involved, maybe from other states. Have people write to the governor with us and ask him for a stay. I think that outside of Texas people are more likely to—”

  “Riley—” Daddy tries to interrupt, but I don’t let him.

  “Because in Texas, executions are just too common and people are used to it. Plus, I was wondering, is there any chance that anyone on your legal team messed something up?”

  “You have to listen—” Daddy frowns, tilting in toward me, and so I lean back. For the first time ever, I’m fine with pissing him off. Let him get frustrated. That I can handle. What scares me right now is hearing the utter defeat in his voice.

  “And you already have so many people from other countries who write to you here. I know they’re all strangers, and probably more than a few are totally nuts, but they’re fascinated with your story and say they’re on your side. Warden Zonnberg told me.” I lurch forward and wonder if I’m blinking at all because my eyes are starting to burn. “We can get them to write, too, and I think with that many—”

  “Enough, Riley!” Daddy barks, and the guard in the hall hammers his fist on the door and looks in the small window to make sure I’m okay.

  When I wave him off, the guard relaxes, and I watch my father closely. He has never once raised his voice to me—not once. I don’t know how to respond or even what to say to that, so I cross my arms and wait.

  “I don’t think this is good for you anymore … and it’s definitely not healthy for your mother,” he starts.

  I can’t stop a scoffing laugh from escaping. “Daddy, this has never been good for us.”

  “And I hope someday you can forgive me for that.” His face hardens and I fill with immediate regret.

  “I’m sorry, Da—” But he doesn’t give me the chance to take it back.

  “I need to say this while I still have the courage to do it, so please let me!” He doesn’t raise his voice again, but instead scoots forward, grips my hand tightly in his, and captures my eyes with a gaze so intense I don’t dare look away. “Your mama is struggling but won’t admit it. And whether we like it or not, I am rapidly running out of time here. You’re stronger, better, and brighter than I ever could’ve hoped for, and as much as I hate it, I am forced to rely on you instead of your mother. For that I’m forever sorry.”

  He takes one long, trembling breath without looking away. And then continues in a low enough whisper that I’m the only one who can possibly hear. “Riley, I’ve been lying. It’s time you know the truth. There is no point in fighting this battle anymore. I’m guilty and I’m going to be punished for what I’ve done.”

  Time freezes for moments, seconds, maybe minutes. I wait for the punch line of this terrible joke, but it never comes. I can’t make sense of anything
he’s saying. I keep shaking my head, hoping something will fall into place, or that I might suddenly understand why he would say something like this. My heart has stopped, and ice replaces the blood in my veins.

  Daddy keeps going, like he doesn’t know damn well that my world is crumbling apart. “I’m telling you now so that you can finally let go of this fight and move on with your life. You need to let me go. And you need to decide at what point your mama is ready to know this, too. I’m sorry, Riley, but you may have to be the one to tell her.”

  I blink, and blink again. Then the horrific sound of a howling, moaning wind fills my mind, and even though he is still speaking, I can’t hear his words anymore. I’m trying to pull my hand from his, but he won’t release it. I can’t process what he’s saying. It isn’t true. It can’t be true. It can’t.

  My heart rips into a dozen partially beating chunks and it shouldn’t surprise me that I can’t seem to catch my breath. The only thing that could make sense here is that he wants me to stop pushing him. Maybe he’s given up, and he is trying to give me permission to give up, too.

  But I can’t give up on him. And he can go to hell for even asking me to.

  I finally wrench my hand away and get to my feet. My ears are working again, but all I can hear is my own voice shouting the word No! over and over again—no to being here anymore, no to what he’s saying. And no to everything else he is trying to turn into a lie.

  The officer opens the door, but he stops in surprise when he sees that it’s me and not Daddy who is causing problems.

  “Riley?” Daddy stands up, eyeing me warily like I’m some caged animal—like I’m a monster.

  Like the monster he just tried to tell me that he is …

  The irony makes me feel nauseous. I take another step backward. The guard looks from my father to me before holding out the stack of letters that my father has written me for the week.

  Turning my back on Daddy without a word, I stalk past the officer, deliberately not touching the letters. I don’t know what to think or feel. I just know that I can’t hear any more from him right now. I walk through the doors and out into the yard. My feet carry me all the way to my car in a stunned daze, and then I stand there. I stare at the car door as my mind spins through everything he’s ever said to me, trying desperately to find something real—something true to cling to.