He was sitting on his bed, with his knees drawn up to his chest and his eyes closed, rocking out to some music on his iPod. She couldn’t see the headphones hidden within his ears, but she could hear the tinny echo of music played much too loudly.
She went over and tapped him on the shoulder.
He reacted like a startled horse, shying away from her hand, but she could tell by the wary look in his eyes that he’d expected her. He pulled the earbuds out and tossed the tiny silver player on his bed.
She went to the end of his bed and sat down opposite him, leaning back against the footboard. “You could have come to me with this, you know.”
“How?”
“You just walk up to me and say, ‘Mom, I have something I need to do.’ ”
It was a long moment before he looked at her and said, “Most kids remember their moms reading them to sleep. I remember running to get you toilet paper and crawling up into your lap to wipe your eyes. I thought I was bad, that it was my fault. It was Aunt Aurora who told me that my daddy had broken your heart and that I needed to be strong for you. I was six years old when she told me that.”
“Oh, Noah.” Vivi Ann had blocked out so much of that time; it was what she’d ultimately had to do: forget and go on. “I never knew you and Aurora even talked like that.”
“She was the one I went to when I had questions. She was the only one who’d tell me the truth. You acted like he was dead.”
“I had to,” was all she could say.
“But he’s not dead.”
“No, he’s not.”
“And I have a right to try and help him.”
Vivi Ann almost smiled. Usually she saw Dallas in Noah; just now, she saw herself. “I know how you feel, believe me. I should have seen it coming and helped you. I’m sorry.”
“You won’t stop Aunt Winona?”
The question was like an undercurrent in calm water; it came suddenly and sucked her under until she could hardly breathe. It had almost killed her, the hope necessary to do battle with the justice system. She’d believed in the law at the beginning. But if she tried again, failed again, she was certain she’d drown. “I won’t stop you. But . . . I don’t want you to get your hopes up. Disappointment can be toxic if you aren’t careful. And your dad . . . might not agree to the test.”
“So you do think he did it.”
Vivi Ann looked at her son, hating the heartbreak that was stalking him. Quietly, she said, “Dallas trusts the courts even less than I do, and he’s even more afraid of hope. His whole life the system let him down. That’s one of the reasons he might say no.”
They both knew what the other reason was.
“It’ll be over then, won’t it?” Noah said.
If there was one truth Vivi Ann knew to her bones, it was that loss, like love, had a beginning but no real end. “Yes,” she lied, “I guess it will be.”
Chapter Twenty-four
On the long drive to the prison, Winona rehearsed what she would say to Dallas. I’m here on behalf of your son. You do remember—Idiot. Don’t bait him, she admonished herself.
I’m here on behalf of your son. He wants to petition the courts to test the DNA found at the crime scene. Surely, if you weren’t there that night, you’ll want to do the same thing.
She glanced down at her watch when she pulled up to the prison. It was one forty-five. If everything went well, she would be back at Mark’s house in time for dinner.
She drove up to the guard tower and gave her name into the speaker beside her window. While waiting for approval, she looked out over the forbidding gray stone, chain-link fence, and razor-wire world of the prison. She could see the armed guard in the tower, and as she drove through the gates and into the parking area, she couldn’t suppress a shudder of apprehension. The gate clanged shut behind her.
She forced a straightness into her spine, surprised by how frightening it was to simply visit here. How had Vivi Ann done it every Saturday for years?
She entered the administration building and was immediately struck by the noise. Although there weren’t a lot of people around, the walls vibrated with sound. The place seemed at once both eerily empty and bizarrely crowded.
At the desk, she signed in, got an ID badge, stowed her purse and coat in the locker room, and went through the metal detector.
“Usually lawyers request a private meeting with their clients,” the guard commented as he led her down the corridor. The echoing din grew louder. “You new?”