I fight the instinctive urge to be suspicious. The warmth of his hands sinks into my cold fingers, branding me. The idea of sifting through details of my father’s case with Jordan sounds like the worst plan ever. It was horrifying just hearing bits and pieces of the case when I completely believed Daddy couldn’t have done it. This time with the doubts that linger now, it will be so much worse. I open my mouth to argue, but before I can, he goes on.
“I hope you want me there, but even if you don’t, I think you’ll need me, Riley.” Jordan’s face is a confusing mess of confidence and desperation. “This won’t be easy for you, no matter what you find. You have to stop trying to do everything on your own, and I can help. I want to help you.”
My mouth, which had been open, poised to argue, is left hanging. I close it, realizing how near we’re standing to each other, and how much I want him to stay here, to stay with me.
But no one ever stays—I know that. Just because he hasn’t left me so far doesn’t mean he won’t.
“I’m not…,” I begin softly, but he cuts my argument off again by pulling me into a tight hug.
“Let me help you.” His voice pleads against my ear and I lose all will to argue with him anymore.
“Okay,” I answer finally. “For now.”
“Deal.” He releases me with a smile and then leads me toward my car. I walk along in his wake as my mind fights to find firm footing for why this isn’t my best option. When we get to my car, he opens the door for me and says, “You won’t regret it. Occasionally, I can even be helpful.”
Moving around to the inside of my door, I watch him for a few seconds before finally accepting the fact that I want him to be here with me through this as much as he says he wants to be.
But he definitely doesn’t need to know that.
“I hope you’re right.” I eye him warily for a moment and then climb in and start my car.
17
I FIND MAMA’S NOTE on the counter when I wake up Saturday morning.
I have to work today, but I’ll be home tomorrow. Plan on being around. I know you went to Polunsky yesterday even after I asked you not to. We need to talk.
—Mama
The metallic taste of blood is on my tongue and I realize I’ve been biting my lip a bit too hard. It isn’t like I expected that Mama wouldn’t find out. I just hoped it might take longer. I pick up my phone and text Jordan.
Busy today? I think it’s time to do some research.
It takes less than a minute before my phone dings with his response.
Jordan: I’m free in an hour. What did you have in mind?
I think for a minute, then decide that since Mama will be gone all day, we might as well take advantage of it.
Meet me at my house. Bring a laptop if you have one.
Jordan: See you then.
A thick fog of anxiety hangs over me as I hop in the shower and get ready. I keep trying to relax my shoulders, but they’ve tightened again on their own within minutes. I take one deep breath and check my clock. Jordan should be here in about ten minutes. Maybe there is something I can do to calm myself before then. I go to my room out of habit and grab Daddy’s letter that he’s written for today, opening it hastily.
Riley,
Happy Saturday, my dear! I’m so sorry about last week and I hope you can forgive me for lying. Sometimes people do the wrong thing for the right reason. I hope you can understand that. I need you to. I can’t imagine finally getting out of here only to have lost you along the way. That would be a harder punishment for me than all these years I’ve spent in Polunsky.
Now that we have hope again, please keep my mistake with you alone. There’s no need to involve your mother in something that only has the potential to hurt her further.
All my love,
Daddy
I sigh. Too little too late. If only I’d read this or talked to Daddy before I told Mama. This wasn’t the right choice of letter to ease my stress. Usually Daddy’s letters find a way to make me feel better, but apparently not today.
I walk back to my closet in a daze. How can it have already been eight days since Daddy told me the thing I never wanted to hear? Time seems to be flying faster than small-town gossip, and I’m being dragged along behind it no matter how hard I fight.
It feels like my universe collided with another one, imploded, and then formed an entirely new solar system. And here I am left standing in the middle of utter chaos. I keep digging for the truth, making a giant mess in the rubble and just trying like hell to figure out this one crucial detail.
If everything around me changes, am I still the same?
I search through the shoeboxes, looking for one with letters from several months back. The top portions of the stacks wobble as I dig and I hope to God everything in the whole closet doesn’t fall out and flatten me. Although, wouldn’t that be one fantastic headline?
Death Row Man Finally Released, Only to Mourn Daughter Crushed Just Weeks Before by Avalanche of Shoeboxes
I smile to myself as I turn and lean against my wall. The correct shoebox is finally in my hands. I open the top envelopes and start scanning through them.
By the time the doorbell rings, the dull pain at the base of my skull has eased a bit—all thanks to Daddy and his letters.