I look up at her and my eyes fill with tears again. “He wanted to meet me, to tell me something, Mama. He wouldn’t have even been there if it weren’t for me.”
“Investigating your daddy’s case is what got him in trouble. And that’s his job. This isn’t about you, honey.” She leans over and kisses my forehead. She smells like fresh flowers, and her eyes are clear. I’ve been watching closely, and I don’t think she’s had a drop to drink since the night she was fired. She was actually offered a job yesterday working as an executive assistant with a large accounting firm. She’ll be starting next Wednesday. She’s excited about it because the atmosphere is more relaxed, and she thinks she’ll be able to be home more, which sounds pretty great to me.
Maybe everything will turn around for us now. Maybe we’ll finally get that fresh start we’ve always needed.
I feel someone staring and search the crowd. Jordan’s brown eyes watch me from a few rows back on the other side of Mr. Masters’s grave. He stands next to Chief Vega. They’re both among a group of other officers. The chief nods to Mama, but I can’t take my eyes off of Jordan. He looks incredible in his black suit and it makes my heart jump around inside my chest. His eyes are full of all the things I want to see. They’re warm and welcoming, and I can see even from this far away that he misses me, too. I want to run to him. It takes all of my willpower not to sprint over and wrap my arms around him.
In the three days since I asked him to go, it’s been so hard not to pick up the phone and call or text him. I miss everything about him.
His father leans over and whispers something to him. Frowning, Jordan turns, and the spell is broken. I’m reminded of all the reasons our most important differences will prevent me from ever being with him again.
Dropping my shoulders, I stretch my back as I try to clear the longing out of my bones. I whisper to Mama, “Can we please go?”
She doesn’t say a word, but I see her look up at Jordan before she takes my elbow and leads me toward the car. His eyes are on me again like a weight as I walk away, and my steps feel harder and heavier because of it. By the time we get to Mama’s car, I’m trying hard to keep myself together. Once we’re a few minutes into the drive, Mama looks at me with sadness in her eyes.
“You’re sure this is what you want, honey?” Her words are soft, but the fact that she’s speaking them means a lot. I told her when she came home on Monday that I wouldn’t be having Jordan over anymore, and she hadn’t asked any questions. Instead, she just gave me a hug.
“I know he’ll only confuse me right now.”
Mama nods and keeps driving, but she reaches over and holds my hand as she does it.
*
On Friday afternoon, when I would normally be heading out to Polunsky, I’m in a courtroom instead. Mama sits beside me, clutching my hand. I know that everything Mama’s heard from Chief Vega and the new lawyer tells us that this should be pretty straightforward, but I’ve never been in a courtroom without being terrified. The family-of-the-victims section is conspicuously empty today, and I don’t know if that’s because they feel bad about all the time that’s been stolen from Daddy—or perhaps because it’s still impossible for them to look at him and not see a murderer.
It may be that way for most of Houston, to be honest. Far more attention in the media is given to a man’s guilt before he’s declared guilty than to a man’s innocence after he’s been cleared. David Beckett’s guilt had rated as a front-page story for months. The meeting to declare him innocent after nearly twelve years in prison only got a single paragraph near the bottom; the rest of his story was continued on the fifth page. Now it’s Stacia’s story that dominates the media’s attention.
It won’t go to trial. She’ll go straight to sentencing, because she signed her confession.
If she hadn’t signed and it had gone to trial, it’s weird to know that I would be sitting on the side with the victims this time around. Mama and I—along with his full-grown daughter, who now lives in Canada—are the only family Mr. Masters had.
I wish again that he could be here with us. Mr. Masters would know what to do with everything we are facing. I desperately miss him always taking the time to prepare us for what we might see and hear.
Now, there is only one thing we can do. We have to prepare for the worst and hope for the best.