The Row(32)

I blink once—twice—certain that I’m missing something. Then I laugh until she frowns deeply in response. Finally, I say, “Stop? What do you mean stop?”

“Just for now. Just for a little while…,” she begins, and there is a pleading note buried deep in her tone.

“Stop going completely?” I raise my voice and lean away from her in shock. “I don’t understand, he only has a few—”

“You don’t think I know that?” As she interrupts, her voice matches my pitch before she takes a breath and reaches her hand out for mine. I jerk away before she gets close. “Not forever, Riley. Just until the police get this new murder sorted out.”

“You want me to stop visiting Daddy right now?” I shake my head because I’m still not sure how she can be saying this. I may have considered not going back, but thinking about it myself and being told not to by Mama are very different things. The wary look on her face tells me she really means it, and I stand up immediately. “You’re asking me to stop visiting when he could have less than three weeks until … when he has only three weeks—”

I still can’t finish the sentence, but she doesn’t let me anyway.

“Riley, I know it’s hard to understand.” She climbs slowly to her feet.

“What’s wrong with you? How could you possibly think this is even an option for me?” My voice gets louder and then I just stare at her. She feels like a complete stranger to me. “He’s my father!”

Mama’s chin sticks out a bit and her words fall with a staccato emphasis. “And I am your mother, Riley. You don’t speak to me like this.”

“You—you’re being crazy! This is insane. How am I supposed to talk to you when you’re saying things that make no sense at all?” My hands clench so tight at my sides that my short nails feel like they’re cutting into my palms. “You know someone else killed that girl this morning, right? You know that there is more chance now than ever that he’s actually innocent? Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Not more complicated than everything else. Tell—me—why!” The last three words are half plea, half demand.

“Young lady, you don’t tell me what to do.” Mama actually quiets her voice instead of raising it. I recognize it as a technique she uses to get me to calm down, which only pisses me off more.

“What went on between you and Daddy back before he went to prison?” If I keep asking, maybe at some point she’ll accidentally answer me. “What haven’t you told me?”

“Enough!” Mama slams her fist down against her side so hard I wonder if she might have a bruise later. We both pant into the huge divide that’s been planted between us. Has it always been there? Did I just never see it before all this?

“I don’t even know who you are, Mama. We live in the same house, but you don’t talk to me. You don’t trust me. You don’t tell me anything. Nothing you’re saying makes any sense and I’m so tired of being kept in the dark. I will not just leave him alone now. I can’t do that. I won’t!” My hands ball into fists, my eyes burn with held-back tears, and I realize I’m shouting. Mama’s brows draw together in warning, but I don’t care. All the frustration, sorrow, and fear I’ve been bottling up inside explodes. I can’t control it—and I don’t want to. “Do you know why I’ll never abandon him, Mama? It’s because I am not—like—YOU!”

Her cheeks drain of all color and her mouth opens once, then twice before she closes it. Mama points one shaking finger in the direction of my bedroom.

“Go. Now.” Her words land hard and I know I have to get out of here. I’ve crossed dozens of lines that I’ve never come near before. “And you will do exactly what I say, whether you like it or not.”

My eyes and chest burn but I go to my room and slam the door because I don’t want to see her this way.

I don’t want to see me this way.

And I’m afraid if I stay, we’ll both say more things that we can never take back.





15

I KNEW MAMA COULDN’T MISS an entire day of work. Within twenty minutes of me slamming my bedroom door, she was gone. She must’ve pulled an all-nighter too, because by the time I leave for Polunsky the next afternoon, I still haven’t seen a glimpse of her.

The drive out to Polunsky is torture. I spend most of it with my emotions swinging drastically between excitement about this possible new hope and dread about how the upcoming visit may play out. I’ve never felt this way about visiting before and I hate it.

Of course, I’d never really considered the possibility that my loving father could actually be a murderer either. My, how times have changed.

When I’m not torturing myself about how the visit will go, I try to puzzle out what is going on with Mama. Why? Why after all this time, after raising me to take a trip out to Polunsky every week, after teaching me to love and adore my father, after telling me every day that Daddy was/is/will always be wrongly convicted?

Why try to keep me away now?

I, of all people, understand how shocking Daddy’s confession was. But what is she thinking now? Could it really have been enough to make Mama entirely change her mind about him, or is she just as confused as I am? One single confession under circumstances like those we’ve been under … should that be the one we believe? Or the years and years of maintaining his innocence that came before it? And right now, in the face of the best evidence we’ve ever had that he could truly be innocent? It’s hard to believe that she would suddenly be convinced that he’s guilty. But if not, why forbid me from visiting him now?