The Row(5)

His face is so soft in the photo, so young. His eyes hold a touch of the recklessness he always says I got from him. His expression is now hardened by everything he’s gone through. I love Daddy as he is, but I can’t help but wish I’d known him when he looked like this. I shouldn’t have the photo outside of our house. Mama says the ones from when he was younger are the ones people are most likely to recognize. But I can’t bear to not have it close. I kiss the photo before slipping it back up behind the visor and starting the car.

Daddy’s upcoming appeal hearing is the reason I feel so anxious and worried lately. He’s also the reason I can’t stay shut up in our house for another minute. Ever since I was old enough to drive, I’ve made a practice of seeing what it’s like to be someone else on a regular basis. That’s the kind of distraction I need to keep my mind busy for the rest of today … and I think I know where to find it.

I drive in the direction of First Liberty Mall. It takes fifteen minutes on the road before the air conditioner is even worth turning on. At least that still leaves me another forty-five to drive in the nice, cool interior before I get to First Liberty.

There are malls much closer where I could go to get out of the house. After all, I live in northeast Houston. Nearly every mall in the city is closer to home than the one I’m heading to. But I prefer a longer drive in exchange for the invaluable perk of anonymity. At First Liberty, I won’t see anyone who knows me. I’m not that Riley from school, that Riley from the law offices, or that Riley from the Polunsky prison unit.

While I’m there, I can pretend to be anyone I want. I don’t have to be the girl with the dad on death row. I don’t even have to tell anyone my real name if I don’t want to, and the nearly-an-hour drive in each direction is absolutely worth it to be anyone else on a day like today.

When I pull into the mall parking lot, a smile creeps across my face. No one here goes to my school or would recognize me. The diner across from the movie theater is a great spot, so I head in that direction. Often, I just like to people-watch. Other times I give myself a little challenge to interact with strangers. See who I might have decided to be if the Texas court system hadn’t already defined that for me.

Of course, talking to people is always more risky. Folks I interact with look at me closer. And it’s still possible that someone could recognize me from the newspaper articles about Daddy’s trials and hearings, but that would be a risk anywhere in Texas. I usually stick with people my age, and that group spends about as much time reading newspapers as they do churning butter. With three high schools within spitting distance, this mall is always full of teenagers.

So for today at least, I can have a fresh start. And that’s exactly what I need before tomorrow has the chance to crush my family’s future.

The moment I enter the mall, a cool draft hits me and instantly puts me at ease a bit. In the back of my mind, I thank the gods of air-conditioning for the zillionth time.

I head straight for the Galaxy Café, and the hostess seats me near the window where I can watch the people walking by. The ambience here is fantastic. I would love this place even if it didn’t offer me the freedom it does. It’s like a diner lifted straight out of the sixties. They play old music like the Beatles and Elvis and it always reminds me of the music Daddy used to play around the house and how Mama would laugh. But that was long before prison bars stood between them. The seats are covered in bright red vinyl, records adorn the walls, and the ceiling is painted deep blue with tiny white pinpricks of light spread across it in constellations that mimic the nighttime sky.

Galaxy is both old and new. It’s kitschy and cool, and I love everything about it.

On a Wednesday afternoon, the mall isn’t too busy, but there are about ten tables already taken with late lunch customers. I order a thick Oreo milkshake and start studying the people around me. One nearby table is full of teens. I scoot to the edge of my booth and pretend to scroll through my phone as I try to eavesdrop on their conversation. Before I get a chance to hear much, though, I feel an impact against my right sandal.

When I bend over, the first thing I see is a red Matchbox car. I pick it up and squint at it.

“Sorry about that. Driving skills obviously need improvement.” A deep voice speaks from the booth behind mine and I spin to face it. My first thought isn’t exactly articulate: Wow, hotness. His warm eyes are a slightly lighter shade of brown than his dark olive complexion.

Hot Guy extends his hand. I freeze, not sure if I should shake it or stick the car into it. As if he can read my mind, he drops his hand back to his lap and provides me with an alternate option.

“Unless you’re interested in joining our competition? Any experience on a pit crew, by chance?” His eyes now have a wicked sparkle to them that draws me in.

“Pit crew?” I ask.

“Girls don’t like cars.” I hear a small voice from the other side of his booth and slide to the side a bit to see who spoke. A seriously adorable little boy looks up at me. He can only be Hot Guy’s little brother. His Angry Birds T-shirt is just a smidge too big for him. He has the same skin and dark, wavy hair, the same athletic build, the same square jawline and Roman nose—he is his brother in miniature. When he beams up at me, I can see that one of his front teeth is missing. “Hi!”

“Hi…” I can’t help but smile back at him.