I don’t say anything else, but I feel the weight of everything that’s happened in the last week through my neck and shoulders. I hang my head with a deep breath, trying to release some of the tension there.
“You deserve better, Riley. You always have. I know this is all so hard, but please don’t give up on me,” Daddy whispers, his eyes pleading with me.
“I haven’t,” I whisper back, and I hate myself because as much as I want to completely believe him, I’m not convinced. Being his daughter has taught me not to trust easily and now that I know he himself lied once, I can’t trust him again without some kind of proof. At the same time, I don’t know how to give up on a man I’ve loved and fought for my whole life.
How could an innocent man choose to leave this world with those he loves believing he is guilty of something so awful?
Even though I know for certain that going down this rabbit hole will rip me to pieces, I need to find the answers for myself. I need answers from Mama, from Mr. Masters, from Daddy.
From now on, taking anyone’s word as truth is not enough.
16
I PARK MY CAR across the street from the address Jordan gave me and wait. Maybe I should’ve argued with Jordan when he asked me to come to his house tonight. I thought about it, and he must’ve known it would bother me to come here, because before I could say anything he told me all the reasons he couldn’t leave. He was watching Matthew, and it was getting kind of late, so leaving around bedtime wasn’t an option, etc., etc.
The truth is, though, I feel a kind of dark curiosity about their house. His dad put my dad in prison. Vega had always been the monster of my nightmares, but Jordan and Matthew have kind of shattered that idea. So what is left? Could the monster who stole my dad away also be a loving father? Do they have a happy home?
Is it how my home would’ve been if Daddy had never gone to Polunsky?
Plus, I did promise to come and tell him how things had gone during my visit with my dad.
But now that I’m here, I’m terrified. He said his father would be gone for the evening, yet just the idea of him suddenly showing up is keeping me here in my car—where I have been for the last ten minutes.
With a sigh, I fold my arms over the steering wheel and rest my head on them. The idea of simply walking up and knocking on their door is extremely daunting. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. Maybe I should’ve told Jordan he had to wait until we could meet somewhere, anywhere else, but I didn’t.
Oh, screw it, I’m going in.
Pushing away my fear, I step out of the car and cross the yard, jogging up onto the porch before I can change my mind. My hand shakes as I raise it to knock on the door, so I get the three raps over with quickly and hide it behind my back.
1 … 2 … I count in my head just to keep my thoughts from going crazy while I wait. 3 … 4 … Please let Jordan be the one who answers. Please. 5 … 6 … Does Jordan have any other siblings besides Matthew? How have I never asked about this before? 7 … 8 … I take two quick steps down the porch, sure that I should just go home—
The door opens, and Matthew looks up at me with a puzzled frown that clearly says I know you, but I don’t remember from where. His Avengers pajamas have creases like they just came out of a drawer. The dark, wavy hair that perfectly mimics Jordan’s is all messy. He must’ve figured out where he knew me from because he suddenly grins at me, both front teeth now missing. “I remember you!”
“Hi, Matthew. I remember you, too.” The toothless smile is infectious. Resistance is futile. “Is Jordan here?”
“Yes!” He continues to stand there, smiling at me. I imagine he should be in bed by now, but I’ve never really been around kids this age and certainly don’t know what to do with this one. “You’re Riley, the girl who likes the purple car!”
It probably would’ve been better for him not to remember my name—in case he tells his dad about the girl who came by later—but it isn’t like I’m the only Riley in Houston.
“Yep, that’s me.” He sounds so excited, I chuckle and wonder if I should start introducing myself this way all the time. It’s definitely better than my other options: I’m Riley, the girl who visits death row every week! Or the girl who got drunk that one time and told her biggest secret to the completely wrong guy! No, Purple Car Girl is definitely my best option. Shifting my feet forward, I peek around Matthew, hoping to possibly see Jordan lurking somewhere in the background, but no luck.
“Thanks for visiting,” Matthew says like an usher who opens the door for people when they’re leaving a museum. He sticks his small hand out to shake mine again and my worries about coming here dissolve.