The Row Read online

  I am not a murderer, Riley. Now, how can I know for sure?

  I’m guilty and I’m going to be punished for what I’ve done. I don’t even know how to begin to believe that either.

  Every attempt to understand only leads to more questions. I thought he could never lie to me, and now I know for certain he has at least once. How am I supposed to tell his truth from his lies? He’s always been my favorite person in the world. Who is he now?

  I would never do anything to hurt you or your mama. I don’t know.

  Trust me. I don’t know.

  I love you, Riley …

  I kick my car tire hard and pain shoots through my foot, but I’m too big of a wreck to even care. Tears stream down my face as the Texas sun beats down on my back, but I feel so cold inside that I don’t know if I will ever stop trembling.

  8

  THE SWING I’M SITTING IN HOLDS perfectly still, but somehow the sand between my toes feels like it’s moving. I decide I don’t care and take another swig from the bottle of rum before fumbling the top and almost dropping it in the sand. Then, with a little difficulty, I finally manage to cap it and tuck the bottle back securely under my jacket. Not that I think anyone will come walking through this park at almost midnight on a Friday, but this is the first time I’ve ever tasted alcohol and everything about it feels rebellious.

  I’d been such a mess during the hour drive home from Polunsky. I had to pull over three times because I felt so sick over my conversation with Daddy. By the time I got back to town, I was only sure of two things. First, I needed some time to try to understand what he was thinking when he confessed to me before I talked to Mama about it. Not a problem, of course, because she’s working late as usual anyway. Second, I knew that I really, really didn’t want to think anymore.

  I heard in one of our health classes at school that alcohol slows down your brain function. That’s kind of what I was after. I parked in front of the house, checked to make sure Mama wasn’t home, stole the first bottle I could reach for out of the liquor cabinet, and came straight to this park.

  It turns out, that health class info was dead on.

  My head hangs to one side against the chains and it feels heavier to hold up than I remember it being. My phone is on my lap for some reason and it slides off, landing in the sand beside me. I think about picking it up, but it feels like it would be a lot of work, so I don’t.

  I watch the lights of cars passing by on the nearest street. It’s well over two hundred feet away, on the far side of the park. Traffic keeps up a steady hum that is only interrupted by the occasional blaring honk of a car horn. Everything around me feels so fuzzy it makes me laugh. I sing softly to myself in the darkness, choosing a heavy metal song to fit my dark mood. It doesn’t sound nearly as tough and angry when it’s just my voice and no pounding drums or wailing vocals … but it’s nice.

  Tomorrow will be the first day, other than visitation days, that I won’t have a letter from Daddy to open in as long as I can remember. I feel empty, my heart aches, and I’m lonely. It’s only been a few hours, but I’m already regretting the way I left Polunsky. Daddy had still been trying to talk to me. Maybe I could’ve begged him to explain. Maybe I could’ve gotten some better understanding of whether he’d been telling the awful truth … or the worst kind of lie—one designed to push his family away.

  And now it’s too late for any answers. Now I won’t even be able to open one of his letters or speak to him for a week, and I don’t know how to deal with that.

  I’ve been alone for much of my life, but I’ve never felt this alone.

  I wish again that I had someone to call, that I knew anyone who would come meet me in the park at night and talk to me. Friends should do that, but I don’t have that kind of friends—not anymore. The only way I can keep any friends is by lying to them, and I know from experience, the truth always comes out in the end. People keep you at a distance if they think killing runs in your blood.

  And if I believe what Daddy confessed to me, then maybe they were right—right about me being wrong about him for so long.

  Pulling the bottle out, I take another drink. The burning sensation from the first couple of swallows is long gone. It has been replaced by warmth that momentarily makes me feel not so alone.

  But then it passes and I’m cold again … and lonelier than ever.

  I slosh the bottle around in front of my face. Holding it up, I watch the amber liquid surge from one side to the other in the moonlight. My fingers are numb and I lose my grip, dropping the bottle into the sand.

  “Aw, hell.” I lurch out of my swing and reach for it even though it’s mostly empty anyway. When I lift it up to the moonlight again, the liquid definitely has more grit to it than before. “Damn.”

  I slump down in the sand and accidentally knock my phone aside when I’m reaching for the bottle. The phone flips over, landing with a soft thud in the sand. The screen lights up and I see a couple of missed calls from a number I don’t recognize. Probably a wrong number.

  I roll over onto my back and stare up at the twinkling starlight. Each star seems to flicker and wink at me. Nothing in my life feels constant anymore, nothing steady or dependable.

  How many times has Daddy declared his innocence over the years? One hundred? One thousand? Were those the lies? Or just this last one? How many times can you lie to someone you love before everything you share becomes the lie?

  I grab the bottle of rum, sit up, pull back, and chuck it as hard as I can. I hear a crash of breaking glass on the rocks of the shallow pond. My sudden fury washes away as quickly as it came. My hand feels as empty as I do. What if Daddy didn’t mean it? What if someone made Daddy tell me that he was guilty? What if—

  A soft whistle comes from the shadows behind me, and I whirl around to face the darkness. My motions are too fast for my current state, though, and I tip to one side, my head spinning. “Who—who is that? Who are you?” I ask once I find the words I’m looking for.

  “Relax, Riley.” A tall, definitely male form steps out into the moonlight, but I can’t quite get my eyes to focus on him. He walks toward me with his hands up. I scoot backward across the ground a bit and he slows down.

  Now he’s only a few feet away. My vision sharpens and when I recognize him I still can’t believe he’s real. “Jordan? Wh-what are you doing here?”

  “You called and asked me to come. Don’t you remember?” His dark eyebrows lift and the corner of his mouth turns up.

  The missed calls on my phone … could that have been him trying to call me back? I groan, embarrassed, and try to fold my arms across myself, but somehow I end up ramming them into each other and have to try twice to get it right. I look down and see a small white paper under the swing; I know before I pick it up that it’s his number. I honestly don’t remember calling him, but I do remember thinking again and again that I wished there was someone I could call.

  Apparently, I found someone.

  I place one hand on my forehead, not sure how to even begin apologizing for this. “I can’t believe you came. I’m so so s-sorry.”

  Jordan sits down beside me in the sand, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Don’t be sorry. I’m glad that you called.”

  I glance over at him, trying to read his face in the moonlight. He stares straight ahead, but he doesn’t look annoyed or bothered at all. I relax a bit, lying back on the sand so I can rest my head, which is starting to swim again.

  He gives me a wry smile. “I think you almost hit me with a liquor bottle when I was looking for you.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “You have great timing. You’re there to help with my flat tire. And now you show up in time to catch my f-first time drinking.”

  Jordan looks a little concerned as I try to prop myself up on my elbows, wobble, and lie back down. “First time, huh? Did you drink the whole thing?”

  “No, officer. Just most of it.” I give him a fake salute and he shakes his head.

  Drawi
ng a deep breath, I pull myself up to a sitting position next to him.

  “And I’m assuming you didn’t just pick today randomly to start drinking.” He sounds hesitant, like he knows he might be prying, but still needs some answers. “You sounded really upset when you called me. What’s going on, Riley? Are you okay?”

  I look over at him, wondering how to answer his question. Wondering how quickly he’ll make an excuse to get out of here if I tell him the truth. A soft sob escapes my throat at the thought of being alone in the park again, and Jordan puts one of his arms around my shoulders for a quick, comforting squeeze before dropping it again.

  “Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.” His eyes mean it. And after all this time, I’m so sick of the lies. Daddy was the only one I never lied to, but now I find out he has lied to me at least once … and maybe more.

  No matter the cost, I can’t take any more lying. Especially not to the only person who has been a friend to me lately.

  “It’s m-my father.” I pull my knees into my chest, wrapping my arms around them.

  “I see.” Jordan nods immediately. “Problems with the divorce situation?”

  I blink at him before remembering that I had lied about that, too. “Oh … kind of, but I lied to you about that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry for all of this. I just didn’t…” I’m rambling and my words slur so much that I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say.

  Jordan puts a hand on my arm to stop me, with a small frown of confusion. “It doesn’t matter. Just tell me the truth now.”

  “My parents aren’t divorced, but Daddy hasn’t lived with us since I was six. He—my f-father is in prison.”

  “Oh…” Jordan gives me a sad look. “You don’t have to hide that, Riley. You aren’t the first girl I’ve met with a parent in jail.”

  “No, he’s not just in jail.” I bury my head in my arms so I don’t have to see his face as I say the rest. “He’s on death row for m-murdering three women. He’s going to be executed soon—too soon.”

  Seconds pass, a minute—and Jordan is completely silent. I groan.

  “If you need to leave now, I don’t want to watch you do it, okay?” I whisper into my arms, but loud enough that I’m sure he hears me. My head and heart throb as I finish. “So just go.”

  Another minute passes in silence and I finally raise my eyes. Jordan sits beside me, a deep frown on his face. His eyes are closed as he rubs his hand against his temple.

  “I said you could go.” My voice is small and I hate it.

  “I don’t want to go,” he responds immediately, before opening his eyes and looking straight at me. “What’s your last name, Riley?”

  It’s a weird question, but knowing I already lied to him, maybe he wants to check my story. It looks like my family is full of liars. I can hardly blame him. “It’s Beckett.”

  “Beckett, okay.” Jordan takes a slow, deep breath. Then he asks the last thing I expect. “How can I help?”

  I shake my head in confusion. “Help?”

  “Yes. I hate seeing you like this.” He places one hand on mine for a moment. “No matter what your father did, you aren’t responsible. How can I help you?”

  I sit up straight and jerk back my hand. “Who says he did it?”

  A slight shadow crosses Jordan’s face. “So he told you he’s innocent, then? You believe he is?”

  My shoulders slump instantly, because the truth is I have no idea anymore. My head is starting to clear a bit, I feel nauseous, and I’m starting to wish I hadn’t thrown that bottle of rum. Then I’m softly crying and murmuring things that I know I shouldn’t be telling anyone, but I can’t hold the weight of them alone anymore. “He always said he was innocent. For eleven years he’s said that, but today he told me he’s been lying. He said he wants me and my mom to move on. He wants us to l-let him go.”

  “Shh. It’s okay.” Jordan scoots closer and puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me gently against him. After a few seconds, he asks, “Which do you think is the truth?”

  I shake my head and it sets my vision swinging. “I really don’t know anymore. I hate that so much. How can I live not knowing who he is?”

  He doesn’t respond; he just holds me and lets me cry against his shoulder. He doesn’t hate me because of my father, he doesn’t think I’m weak like my mother does. He just whispers that I’m going to be okay, and that’s exactly what I need right now.

  After I stop crying, I don’t move away even though I know I should. His chest is hard and strong beneath my head, and his fingers are warm over my shoulders as he steadies me. He smells like soap and something musky that makes me want to close my eyes and relax. My thoughts are out of my control and seem to go straight to my mouth without any kind of filter. “You smell so good. Did you just shower?”

  He laughs in surprise and his breath is warm against the top of my head. “Yes. My dad made me play in a neighborhood football game tonight. I had to shower right after.”

  “Are neighborhood games always this late at night?” I try to sit up straight, but can’t quite do it and end up leaning my head back against his shoulder because it’s feeling even heavier than before.

  “No, it ended a few hours ago, but they start around dusk. It’s better to start late on really hot days.”

  “Your dad made you play?” I try to scratch my nose, but end up nearly poking myself in the eye. “He’s not a fan of you quitting, huh?”

  “No. Which is one of many reasons I was so glad to hear from you.” Jordan grunts, and his grimace makes him look much older. I sit back and look at him again. “The house is uncomfortable after we have chats like that.”

  “Many reasons?” I ask. My cheeks feel hot, but then I frown. Jordan is swaying and it’s making me dizzy. I almost ask him to stop before I realize that it isn’t him that’s moving. It’s me.

  “Maybe it’s time for you to go home?” Jordan reaches a hand out to steady me and pulls me up to my feet. Taking my elbow in his hand, he begins guiding me toward the parking lot. “Did you bring anything with you to the park besides your friend in the bottle?”

  “No. It was just us.” Walking seems to make everything worse, and I’m feeling a little sick. “And I’m not sure he’s my friend.”

  “Probably not.” He chuckles.

  We’re almost to the parking lot when I jerk quickly to my left, ripping my elbow from his hand and stumbling away. I put suitable distance between us just in time to throw up my not-friend all over the grass.

  After a couple of minutes, I manage to stop hurling, but my throat burns and my stomach hurts and I’m sure I smell like vomit. When I head back toward where Jordan waits, he begins walking to meet me.

  I hold up a hand and weakly blurt out, “As a girl with a very tiny hope of still being able to look you in the eyes after today, please don’t come too close.”

  He stops abruptly and laughs. “Fine, but you can’t drive home.”

  “I know, but I can walk. I don’t live too far from here and I can walk over to get my car in the morning.” I stumble over my own feet, but somehow manage not to face-plant.

  Jordan is already shaking his head. “How about a compromise? I’ll drive you home in your car?”

  I tilt my head in confusion. “But then you’ll be at my house … you don’t live there.”

  “I know.” Jordan laughs again, louder this time. “It will be fine. I’ll just walk back to get my bike.”

  My eyes widen. “You came here on a bike?”

  He grins and the skin around his eyes crinkles. “Different kind of bike. I have a motorcycle.”

  I shake my head far too fast and then have to stop and breathe. “I don’t know how to ride one of those.”

  “I was afraid of that. And doing it drunk the first time isn’t the best plan.” He winks at me and I see he’s come closer again.

  I take a step to the side. “So you can jog back here in the middle of the night and I can’t walk home now?”

&nbs
p; He lowers his chin and stares at me. “Are you really saying that it is the same to let you walk home, wasted and alone, as it is for me to jog back here sober? You’re too cute, and I don’t know these neighborhoods very well. Don’t fight me on this one.”

  “Ugh, fine.” I tug my keys out of my pocket and hand them to him, then walk slowly toward my car. I throw him a frail smile over my shoulder. “I should’ve called Matthew. I bet he’s less stubborn.”

  “You’ve never seen him at bedtime.”

  I climb unsteadily into the passenger seat. “That bad, huh?”

  “Plus, he can’t drive. Trust me, I’m the best option for you.” He turns the car key and I smile to myself as I lean my heavy head back against the seat. His assessment just might be the most truthful thing I’ve heard in days.

  9

  SUNLIGHT HAS NEVER SEEMED SO EVIL BEFORE. I vaguely remember liking it at some point, but right now it seems like it’s trying to drill a hole through my eyelids and into my brain. I want someone to make it stop. Groaning, I pull my pillow out from under my head and place it on my face to block out the light. It works, but even the pressure from my pillow feels like it might make me throw up.

  I tug the pillow off and moan as I roll toward the edge of my bed. Everything hurts. This is what alcohol does? Why the hell do people even drink? This is so not worth it.

  A light knocking sounds on the door, and I realize I don’t remember getting home last night. Much of the night feels blurry, actually. I blink and sit up quickly, relieved to see that I am, in fact, in my room. Then my head explodes with new pain and I lower it into my hands as I hear the door open.