The Row(59)

“Why didn’t you ever tell me the truth about Daddy cheating on you?” I whisper, trying to brace myself for the answer, but then realizing there is no way to do that with a topic like this one.

Mama’s face immediately falls, and watching it feels like a punch to the gut. Up until that instant, some part of me hoped that there might have been some misunderstanding. That Mama would sort it out and explain how all the evidence I’d seen was some sick private joke, and we’d laugh. But then, maybe that’s just me trying to hide behind denial, too. Perhaps it’s a family trait. Now that I’ve seen her expression, the regret and pain on her face, I know for certain that my instinct was right. She knows the truth. She isn’t crazy or deluding herself, but she has been deliberately hiding this from me all along.

I slump down low in my chair, holding tight to Jordan’s hand like an anchor in a storm. I feel so confused. I’ve always believed my parents—always. Now, within the last two weeks, I’ve caught them both in their lies and it’s turned my world upside down. I’ve never been able to depend on anyone but them. Now I can’t depend on anyone but myself.

How do I find the truth in a den of liars?

“I just—I thought you probably knew, hon—” Mama starts, but I interrupt her before she can dig herself a deeper hole.

“No, you didn’t. Do not feed me any more lies!” I expect my words to come out as a shout. Instead they’re a hoarse whisper. “You knew I didn’t know, because you made sure I didn’t, Mama.”

Her expression is rapidly flipping through a variety of emotions: indignation, anger, sorrow, guilt, frustration, and finally defeat. “I was trying to protect you, Riley. You need to understand. You were so little, and it’s so hard because we know Stacia. If we want to get your daddy out of this mess, we need her help—”

“Stacia?”

Mama’s mouth closes.

“Daddy’s assistant? The one we’ve had over for dinner? Talked to? Laughed with?” My voice creaks with a desperation for her to say she meant something else—someone else—anyone else.

Mama’s skin pales to the color of the white kitchen cabinets behind her as she realizes she’s just dropped a bomb into the center of my world. And now there is no way for her to stop it from going off. Distantly, I feel Jordan’s hand frantically squeezing mine under the table like he’s trying to give it CPR.

But I may never recover from this kind of destruction.

My urge to argue that this couldn’t be true fades as I realize with a sinking feeling that it makes perfect sense. How they always “worked” late together. How she has been just as committed to proving his innocence as we were. She’d even been to visit him at Polunsky every week. He’d told us that she was assisting him with his case. He said she was the go-between for him and Masters, but maybe they’d just been carrying on the emotional aspect of their affair this entire time.

“He cheated on you with Stacia?” I repeat, feeling the weight of Jordan’s worried gaze glued to me. I’m glad I’m already sitting down, as my thoughts feel like someone replaced my brain with a blender.

“Oh, God.” Mama lowers her head slowly to the table. A muffled sob escapes before she continues. “I never told you because I was trying to protect you.”

“From what? The truth?” I ask, my voice cracking with frustration.

“From the fact that someone we love can still hurt us so much.” She lifts her head and I see tears streak down her face as her eyes plead with me to understand, but I don’t. Protecting me because I was only six? Okay, I can see that. But I’m not six anymore, and I haven’t been for a very long time.

“I found out he’d cheated with one of the victims from the case, Mama. I know you were all lying about Hillary. But from what you’re saying, he cheated on you more than once. You knew about it. And one of his mistresses ended up dead? This person can’t be the man I thought he was, but you knew the truth,” I snap. “Why couldn’t you protect me by telling me who he really was? By not letting me believe that the man I looked up to was a hero? Or for the love of God, Mama, doing what any sane person would’ve done by moving us to another state and changing our names?”

Her eyes widen and she stops crying. “Being a cheater doesn’t mean he’s a killer. Riley, what are you saying? Is that what you would’ve wanted me to do back then? You were so young. Would you have wanted to not know your father at all? Would you have wanted to not visit him or ever see him? Would you want us to spend our lives pretending that he’s already dead?”

My heart aches at the mere thought, but I pause rather than reassure her. If there is anything I’ve learned lately, it’s that my heart isn’t exactly trustworthy. I glance at Jordan and the sympathy and kindness in his face lend me strength. Still, I can’t make my voice rise above a whisper when I answer. “That probably would’ve hurt less than this.”

Mama clucks her tongue at me. “Riley, you’re acting like everyone else when you should know better. You’re saying we should’ve tr-treated him like we assumed he wasn’t innocent.”

I’m quiet because I don’t know how to respond to that anymore. She goes on, her speech starting to slur more with the emotion of our conversation. “No one c-can put him at any of the crime scenes, Riley. Not a single one. No one can even tie him to two of the three victims. He was at the office alone when it happened, so he has no alibi, but he did that kind of thing all the time. They never foun—found any of the so-called souvenirs he was supposed to have taken.”