The Row(71)

“Improving, and she has an interview for a good job lined up on Monday. That should help. Thank you for yester—actually thank you for everything these last—”

He doesn’t even let me finish. “No need to thank me. I’m just glad she’s okay. Are you?”

I try to think of a response, but just end up shrugging. I really don’t know what the right answer to that question would be. He seems to understand, because he doesn’t press me. We swing in silence, watching the sunset together, and I realize this might be the most at peace I’ve felt in a very long time.

I let my swing twist back and forth a bit, and something falls out of my jacket pocket. Before I get a chance to grab it, Jordan reaches out and picks up the paper I forgot I’d put in there.

“What is this?” He unfolds it and gets too good of a look before I jump up from the swing and rip it from his hands.

“It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.” I hold the paper behind my back, hoping he’ll just drop it.

Jordan’s face looks like a summer storm heading over the horizon, and I know immediately that hiding this from him isn’t an option anymore.

“Was that drawing of—give it to me.” His calm voice is a startling contrast to his angry expression.

I groan. “It’s fine. This really isn’t a big deal.” I bring the paper forward and try to smooth it out. He stands up from his swing and I hold it out where we can both see. I look again at the crude sketches of Daddy in the electric chair and me hanging from a noose. Seeing them in the fading evening light sends a fresh chill through me. Jordan holds entirely still for several seconds.

“Riley?” Jordan hasn’t lifted his eyes yet. He sounds horrified. “You’ve received more than one note like this?”

I crumple the drawing a bit and drop it onto the ground. “Yes. I’ve gotten them off and on for years. At school in my locker, sometimes on the front porch, but this one was left on my car. People are stupid sometimes. It’s just something I’ve had to get used to. Don’t worry about it.”

By the time I finish, the storm in his expression has turned into a full-blown hurricane.

“This isn’t nothing, Riley. Who would draw something like this? Doesn’t having this kind of hostility all around you scare you? It damn well scares me. Why didn’t you tell me?” His stare borders on violence. “I thought you trusted me. I thought we were…”

His words hang on the air, heavy and dense with implications. They make me want to beg him to finish his thought. What did he think we were? What could we even have the potential to be, considering our fathers, considering their history?

But he won’t finish. He’s waiting for an answer from me. And I honestly have none.

“Yes, it’s scary. It’s terrifying, but if I let myself be scared by every idiot in this city who has a paper and a pencil, I’d never sleep.” My voice shakes now that I allow myself to say these words out loud. I haven’t let messages like this scare me in a while, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still worry that next time it won’t be just a threat in a drawing or on a note.

The anger in his face turns to fear, and then I see sadness that hurts me deeper than I knew it could. “Do you still not trust me? After everything?”

I sit back on my swing and sigh. “Maybe I should’ve told you, but what good would it do? Like I said, this isn’t a new development, and I don’t want us to get distracted. We have twelve days left. We’re running out of time, Jordan.” My voice has a distinct note of panic to it at the end that seems to reach through his emotions. He watches me with a silent frown as I twist in my swing until I’m fidgeting and just wishing that he would speak.

Eventually, I wrap my arms across my stomach, trying to protect myself from his disapproval, which stings worse than it should. “This is too important to me; you know that.”

“You are too important to me! You’re more important than a case or a truth or anything else!” He turns away from my shocked expression, leaving me trying to get my heart to stop pounding in my ears. Jordan picks up the paper and scans it again before shoving it in his pocket. He turns to face me, then steps over, lifts my hands off the chains, and pulls me to my feet until I’m standing in front of him.

“Trust me, Riley.” The worry I see in his eyes is plain. The hurt he’s feeling is fresh.

“I do trust you—” I begin, wanting to reassure him, but he stops me.

He grabs my hand and pulls it in against his chest, clasping it tight between both of his. His eyes plead with me to understand what he’s saying. “Believe me that I won’t hurt you. I won’t disappear. I’m not going anywhere.”

The heartbeat that I feel beneath my knuckles is as steady and earnest as Jordan’s voice. I want to believe him. I want all of his words to be true, but saying that it is true, saying that I do believe him, leaves me open and vulnerable in a way that terrifies me. Only one thought keeps me from saying what he wants me to say.

Not everyone chooses to leave me, but they still do.

“I’m not saying that I won’t disappear until we figure this out. I’m not saying I’m here until we find out if your father is guilty or innocent,” Jordan gives voice to my fears. Then he brings my hand up, kisses the inside of my wrist again, waiting until I meet his eyes. And then he says the words that I never thought I would hear anyone say. “I’m saying I don’t care if your dad did it or not. I don’t care because it doesn’t change how I feel about you. I’m saying you never have to be anything more than just my friend, and I’ll still be here to help you. I’m saying I’m here for you as long as you want me around, Riley—no matter what.”