The Row(12)

The bailiff orders us to rise as Judge Howard enters. I remove my sunglasses, sticking them in my purse. I want to be able to see everything that happens clearly. The judge’s black robes float about her and make her seem more like an omen of death than the symbol of justice she should be. When we sit, she almost looks bored as she shuffles through the papers in the stack before her. It infuriates me in a way that I know it shouldn’t, but she has too much power, and I have none. And I hate her for it.

Finally, she stares over her bench at my father. “Mr. Beckett, I have gone through the evidence you’ve submitted to this court several times. And while I agree that a juror’s family members shouldn’t give advice to the juror on rendering a verdict, I do not believe that in this case the advice swayed her decision. That means your evidence isn’t sufficient to warrant the retrial you’ve requested, or even another stay of your sentence.”

My breath catches in my chest as though an enormous weight has just crashed down on me. The room fills with the murmurs and rustling of the crowd watching Daddy’s show. On the other side of the aisle people are cheering. They smile and hug at the thought of my father being killed. The irony is both maddening and heartbreaking. Being accused of killing is what landed him here in the first place. What kind of system is this? What kind of justice repays the killing of innocent women by then killing an innocent man?

The eye-for-an-eye mentality seems like it will always be alive and well here in Texas.

I feel sick and wish everyone else would just leave. My heart thuds painfully inside me like it wants to escape. My head spins as I try not to let my inner turmoil show on my face. If Daddy turns to look at me, I refuse to let that be what he sees.

Judge Howard pats at her curly gray hair before picking up one of the papers in front of her and frowning. “You’ve been convicted of the murders of three young women, Mr. Beckett. And they are particularly gruesome murders. Violent beatings followed by strangulation. Is that correct?”

I hear Daddy’s voice hesitate. “I … I’ve maintained my innocence—”

The judge frowns down from her bench at him and interrupts. “Just answer the question, please.”

Daddy responds immediately, but I can hear the slight edge he’s trying to bury deep in his voice. “Yes. The state has convicted me of that crime, Your Honor.”

“Those crimes,” she corrects him, her gaze growing harder.

“Those crimes,” he repeats back.

She glances down at her papers again. “It says here that you’ve already requested your writ of certiorari?”

My father clears his throat before answering, and my heart aches for him. “Yes, I have, Your Honor.”

“And I’m sure that as a former lawyer, you understand how unlikely it is that the Supreme Court will agree to hear your case?” Judge Howard squints over the bench at Daddy for several seconds until he nods. Then she brings her arm and the paper down onto her bench with a boom that reflects the finality of her dismissal. “Mr. Beckett, you don’t have time left for me to mince words here. Assuming you aren’t one of the lucky few cases chosen, you’ve exhausted your final appeal, and your execution will be carried out as scheduled in four weeks. From what I can see here, you’ve definitely had your due process. I recommend that you and your loved ones prepare yourselves.”

Daddy doesn’t move or flinch. I’m not even certain he is breathing. My eyes don’t seem to be able to blink as I stare at him, trying to absorb the way he looks today, right now, before everything changes.

They’re going to kill him. They are going to kill my father. And there is nothing I can do to stop it. If this happened on the streets instead of in a courthouse, I could call the police. Here and now, I can do nothing but watch in horror. People around me shuffle to their feet, but my world shifts and spins and I think I might be falling until I realize I’m not the one who is moving.

Mama falls off of our bench and crashes onto the ground in front of us. It takes me a full three seconds before I can react.

“Mama!” In—and out; I remind myself to breathe as I check for her pulse. My entire world locks up, not willing to move forward until it knows that I will at least have one parent left.

Then I feel the light but steady thrum of her heartbeat and a shuddering breath forces its way free from my lungs. Leaning in to hug her close, I hear her exhale quietly against my ear. Mr. Masters has come over to us. He says something I can’t make out, and his hands are on my shoulders, pulling me back gently.

All I can hear is my own panicked muttering. “She’s still here. She’s okay. She’s okay.”

Stacia is speaking behind me and I realize she’s calling for an ambulance.

When I look down, I see blood on my shirt and realize Mama hit her head when she fell. I grab the only thing I have in my purse, a workout T-shirt, and hand it to Mr. Masters, who presses it against her head.

Nothing here makes sense. Mama never shows weakness. She never fails and she never falls. This can’t be real. It can’t be happening right now. Not after what the judge just told us. If I squeeze my eyes tight enough, I might wake up from this nightmare.

I have to wake up.

I’m on the floor with my eyes shut tight. I’m clutching my unconscious mother’s hand when I hear Judge Howard dismiss the court. The guards begin taking Daddy away.