The Row(10)
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 can’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 na?ve 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.
Daddy is here to play their games and guess at their questions. All in the vain hope that the correct answer might convince them of the innocence he has argued for almost twelve years. That he might someday earn his freedom.