The Row(43)

“I know we’re going to talk, but I have some questions for you, too,” I blurt out before she has a chance to speak. “And I’d like to be awake enough to formulate them, so I’m taking a shower first.”

I phrase it like a statement, but we both know it’s more of a question, so I wait. She watches me for a full thirty seconds before inclining her head without a word.

I grab some clothes, head straight for the bathroom, and proceed with the hottest shower I’ve ever taken. By the time I’m done and have brushed my teeth and hair and gotten dressed, not only am I fully awake, but I’ve got a list of questions for Mama that may make her wish she hadn’t given me the time to shower.

My hair drips wet and cool on my neck and back as I enter the room. A fresh plate of toast and a cup of juice are in front of the spot on the couch beside her, so I walk over and sit down.

“Thank you,” I say, and before she can get started, I keep going. “Daddy says he didn’t do it. He says he had finally given up and was just trying to give us a way to a fresh start.”

Confusion crinkles her brow, and I can honestly say I know exactly how she feels. “He said that?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome. I thought you would want to know.” And I brace myself.

She nods and takes a single deep breath before starting in. “Why did you go to Polunsky after I asked you not to?” Her voice is stern, but I see hurt behind her eyes.

“You know why I went, and I told you I was still going to go,” I respond without emotion.

“You’ve never blatantly disobeyed me before.” Her tone softens.

“You’ve never told me not to go see Daddy when he’s only weeks from execution before,” I respond back, matching her tone. She’s silent, but when I glance over she’s frowning. I decide it’s my turn to start asking questions.

“Why did you tell me not to go? Why now?” I watch her face closely, and what I see there surprises me more than anything else could—it’s fear, and then it’s gone.

“I just think maybe this is a time to keep our distance.”

I pounce. “Why? Right now, for the first time in years, we have hope. How could you turn on him so quickly? Why back away now?”

“I haven’t turned on him, but he’s never told anyone that he’s guilty before,” Mama hisses before sitting up straight and looking abashed.

“Of course he hasn’t. Doesn’t it make sense to you that he could’ve given up? That he was trying to do something unselfish and help us let him go?” I settle back farther into the couch cushions, like I can use them to fortify my defenses.

“Now is quite the time for him to start being unselfish,” Mama growls out so soft it’s almost like she’s talking more to herself than to me.

I gasp and my muscles stiffen.

“What do you mean? You think Daddy is selfish?” I frown in confusion. Mama has never spoken about Daddy like this. “He does nothing but worry about us when he’s the one stuck in that awful place.”

Now the anger grabs hold and I stand up, raising my voice to her. “I have literally never even heard him complain. How can you say these things? It hasn’t been long since you started choosing work over him, over me, over everything you’re supposed to lov—”

Mama is on her feet before I’ve even finished my sentence. I hear the crack when her slap lands brutally hard against my left cheek before I feel the burning sting of it. I lift my hand gingerly to my face and back away slowly, gaping at her. I’m in shock, and in pain, and I’m even more confused than before. Not only has Mama never struck me, but she’s never reacted with violence. Ever.

Her mouth hangs open as she watches me put several feet between us, then she looks down at her hand like it’s some foreign object she doesn’t recognize. She hides it behind her back and shakes her head wordlessly as she stares at me.

My left eye is stinging badly enough now that it starts to water, but I won’t let her see that. I turn and stalk toward my room.

She yells after me, “Riley, wait!”

I slam and lock the door. I know Mama has the key, so I slide my chair over to block it, but there’s no need. I don’t even hear her moving outside for at least twenty minutes. My own fuming movements and the soft sobs I can’t quite silence completely are the only things that break the stillness.

Picking up my phone, I consider texting Jordan, but don’t because I don’t know what to say. He might be handling it okay that my father is a monster, but what if he knew that my mother has this penchant for violence inside of her also?

Who are my parents? Are they anything they’ve always raised me to believe?

I hear a soft knock on my door and I freeze, holding my breath.

“I’m so sorry, Riley.” Her voice sounds near tears. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry.”

Something hardens inside me and I don’t answer. I just wait and listen.

“I’m leaving an ice pack out here for you. You should put it on your cheek.” Her voice breaks with remorse on the last word and my heart aches to get up and open the door. She goes on before I have a chance. “I’m going to the store for a while. I’m sorry. Please know, Riley, that I’m not your enemy.”