She scratched Captain’s ears, her face reflective. After a couple of beats she said, “I understand now why you didn’t want to do a documentary. It’s real, what you went through. Film can’t capture that.”
I thought about her video, how it might have saved my life. Then I thought about all my friends on the inside who had no voice, no one speaking for them. Some major news shows had offered big money for an interview, but I’d turned them all down. This felt different, though, talking to Ashley. She was different.
“No, but we can try if you want.”
“That would be great.” It was the first time I’d seen her smile since I’d found her sitting on my doorstep.
*
The next morning I woke up thinking about my visit with Ashley. Her mentioning her relationship with her mom and dad got me thinking about my own parents. My dad had written when I was back in Rockland, asking if he could visit and offering financial support for my lawyer. But there was no apology, from him or my mother, and I’d felt my old anger rearing up. Why hadn’t they believed me all those years? Why hadn’t he mentioned my mother? I told him I didn’t need help and that I’d get in touch after I was released, but I hadn’t done it. I’d seen his company sign at a house being built in a nearby subdivision, and that morning I finally decided to stop and see him. I wanted to look in his eyes and know that he believed I was innocent—that he’d been wrong about me.
When I pulled up at the site, I spotted him near his work truck, some building plans spread out on the hood. He was studying them intently and didn’t hear me walking up to him.
“Hey, Dad,” I said when I was close.
He spun around, his expression startled. He reached out a hand, holding it out in the air, his face filling with an odd sort of wonder. Like he couldn’t believe I was standing there. “Toni … I…” His voice caught and his eyes filled with tears. “It’s so good to see you.”
I’d wanted to be hard, wanted to tell him how shitty they had made me feel, how he had let me down, but now I couldn’t say anything, couldn’t speak a word, my heart pounding and my throat thick. Then he was standing in front of me. I tried to back up, to push him away, but his arms were around me, his body shaking as he kept repeating, “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”
And then I was crying in my father’s arms.
*
When we finally pulled apart, we leaned on his truck and talked for a while, about where I was living now, my plans for the future. Then, tired of small talk, I cut to the chase.
“I told you I didn’t do it, Dad. Why couldn’t you believe me?”
“I wanted to, Toni, I really did.” He explained that he never thought I was guilty until the trial, then the evidence had been so compelling he didn’t know what to think. He told himself if I did it, it was the drugs and the booze, I couldn’t have known what I was doing. In a hesitant voice, he said he and Mom had struggled a lot about me and had almost divorced a few years after the murder.
We were still talking when another vehicle pulled up on the other side of Dad’s truck. Dad looked nervous, his gaze flicking from me to the car, like he didn’t know what to do. Then my mom got out. She was walking over to us, carrying a bag from Tim Hortons and balancing a tray of coffees. When she looked up and saw me standing beside Dad, she stopped still, her eyes wide.
“Hi, Mom.” I held my breath. Would she hug me like Dad? Or would she reject me again?
“What are you doing here?” she said. I couldn’t read her tone, wasn’t sure how she felt about seeing me like this, but she looked upset, almost apprehensive.
Dad said, “Toni came by to say hi.”
Mom set the bag and tray of coffees down on the hood of the truck, glancing around to see if any of the workers were watching.
Thinking that she might be expecting an angry confrontation, I said, “It’s good to see you. I’ve missed you.”
Now she was staring at her feet, shaking her head back and forth. Was she crying?
“I want you to know that I’m not angry—not anymore,” I said. “I can understand how things looked, how much trouble I caused you as a teen. It hurt, a lot, but I’d like us to start over if we can. Maybe spend some time together—”
My mom finally looked up. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t sad. She was furious.
“I don’t care what the courts said. You took her there, you left her alone.” Now there were tears, but they weren’t for me—they were for Nicole, always for Nicole. Her breath was ragged and she was sucking at the air, her grief and rage making her body shake.
“You knew she was sneaking out, you knew what was going on for months. And you didn’t say anything. She’s dead because of you and I never want to see you—”
“Stop!” my dad yelled. “Just stop.”
Mom glared at him as tears leaked down her face. “And you, Chris. You let Toni get away with everything. If you’d just been firmer with them—”
“Stop it,” Dad said again. “Stop blaming everyone. She’s gone, Pam.”
“You don’t think I know that?”
“You still can’t let go.”