The Walls

by Hollie Overton

  “Actually, I was thinking about skipping dinner.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, you should celebrate with your friends.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I’m kind of looking forward to takeout and the Housewives. A little me time, you know? But I’ll pick you up in the morning and we’ll grab lunch, okay?”

  “Sounds good,” Ryan said.

  “You’re such a good kid. Have I told you that before?” Kristy asked.

  “Maybe once or like a million times,” Ryan replied. “Oh, and if you talk to Lance before I do, let him know that we kicked ass. Okay?”

  “It’ll be the first thing I tell him.”

  On the drive to the Homestead Suites, where they were all staying, Kristy’s phone rang. Lance didn’t get great cell service at his hunting site, so some evenings he’d drive to the nearest gas station a few miles away just to call her. In a different world, Kristy would have found it sweet, but now she knew it was just part of Lance’s desperate need to control her.

  “Hey, darlin’,” Lance said. “Is it good news? Or bad news?”

  “Great news. They won state. Ryan and the team won first place.”

  Lance hollered excitedly, “Damn straight they did.”

  “Ryan was so excited, Lance. He wanted you to know,” Kristy said, realizing how ordinary their conversation was, two parents proudly chatting about their kid.

  “He had nothing to worry about. Didn’t I say that?”

  “Yes, you did, Lance,” Kristy said. Yes, Lance, you’re always right. You’re the smartest person that ever lived.

  “I’ll shoot him a text and tell him how proud I am,” Lance said. “And tomorrow when I’m back, I’ll whip him up a celebration dinner.”

  “He’ll love that,” she replied. There was a pause on the line. Kristy wanted to ask Lance about Hannah. Why did he torment her? Why had he pushed Hannah to the breaking point? Was he going to do the same thing to Kristy?

  “How’s the hunting going?” she said instead.

  “Took down a buck this morning. This thing is huge. We’ll be eating venison for weeks.”

  “That’s great,” Kristy said, feeling a rush of sympathy for the defenseless animal Lance had mercilessly stalked and killed.

  “I love you, Kris, and I miss you.”

  “Love you too,” Kristy replied automatically. Pulling into the parking lot, Kristy hung up, dreaming of a night away from all the uncertainty.

  A troop of weary flight attendants beat Kristy to the reception desk. Kristy listened to their excited chatter discussing their next flights. Kristy could count on one hand how many times she’d left the state. What must it be like to travel day after day to new cities, soaking up different cultures and languages with nothing tying you down? She imagined driving to the airport right now.

  “Surprise me,” she’d tell the desk agent. “I’ll go anywhere in the world.” But wasn’t that a version of what Hannah had done, leaving behind the people she loved most? Kristy would never judge Hannah, but that wasn’t an option for Kristy. She’d never willingly walk away from Ryan and Pops.

  She checked in and grabbed her room key and hurried down the hall. She unlocked the door and closed the curtains. Without even bothering to kick off her shoes, Kristy collapsed onto the king-sized bed. As she sank into the mattress, she reveled in the solitude. But soon the silence became unbearable, thoughts of Lance and Hannah and Lisette and Ryan and Pops crowding her brain. She switched on the TV, flicking through channels, until she landed on a rerun of Friends, its laugh track familiar and comforting.

  At some point, Kristy dozed off. She woke four hours later, the room pitch-black, the TV blaring. She gulped down a bottle of water, ordered a large Domino’s pizza and garlic bread, and opened the cheap bottle of merlot she’d bought at the H-E-B the night before.

  Kristy flipped through the channels, sipping the wine, knowing that she’d finish this bottle and wishing she had bought a second. She’d given up drinking since the accident. Alcohol made her less sharp, unable to read Lance’s moods. It was easier to avoid it altogether, but tonight she craved the escape, the heavy warmth working its way through her body. She hadn’t relaxed in months and she needed this. To hell with it, she thought as she finished the bottle. She was going to walk to the store on the corner and buy another. She sifted through her purse for her keys, and that’s when she saw Clifton’s most recent letter. She always destroyed them once she was done reading, not wanting Lance to find them. She must have forgotten to burn this one. She couldn’t be this careless in the future, but Kristy eagerly opened the envelope and began to read.

  Ms. Tucker, you might be wondering how I knew about your troubles. I used to wonder how other folks didn’t see it. It’s always there, always in the eyes. When a man batters a woman, her eyes change. For years, I kept thinking someone would see Mama’s eyes, see the distance in them, like she was away from her body. Away from this world. I thought that they’d have to see what he was doing ’cause it was so clear to me.

  On the nights after the bars closed, Daddy would stumble in, reeking of cheap whiskey and cheaper perfume and she’d keep on Daddy about his vows and his family and how he embarrassed her, and he’d lose it, whaling on her. I can still hear her screaming for him to stop, begging and pleading and telling him that we were listening. Of course no one ever called the cops. ‘Let them Folks handle their own,’ because that was the neighborhood motto. Mama would wake up the next morning, cover her bruises with makeup, and we’d all show up at church. Sometimes she would have a sprained wrist or a bruised cheek and an excuse to match, but most folks wouldn’t even ask what happened. Even as a little kid, I kept thinking, why the hell won’t anyone pay attention? But I am paying attention, Ms. Tucker. I see you. I see your pain.

  When we first met, you had a spark, a light that filled you. I haven’t seen that spark in quite some time. I can’t imagine doing what you do. I bet you could do this job without ever showing kindness or consideration to all of us on the row. Some of the staff despises us and they show it in ways I can’t even begin to say. Yet even with everything you have to endure, you still put on a smile and show up. That says a helluva lot about your character. So please know that I am aware of what you’re going through. You gotta keep fighting, just like I keep fighting.

  I like to imagine what might happen one day when the state admits I’m innocent. They’ll owe me $100k for every year I spent locked up. I’d have a nice bit of change to start over. I’d buy a house in the middle of nowhere. I’d have a big ole yard and a picnic table. I’d eat all my meals under the stars. Hell, maybe I’d even get a sleeping bag and sleep under them. Every now and then I’d dial your number and say, “We need to catch up.”

  We’d go to this great hole-in-the-wall Creole place in Houston and sit on the patio. You’d tell me about your life. I’d see your sparkle was back and I’d know that you were happy and safe. You’d have left this place, gotten a fresh start. Maybe you’d be writing stories for magazines or doing nonprofit work for people like me. We’d order cold beers and heaping bowls of gumbo and the biggest po’boys you’ve ever seen. Maybe I’d have a new lady friend. Maybe I’d even be thinking about kids again. I know I’d have a job. I think I’d like to teach, make use of all the things I’ve learned in here. You’d sit across from me and you’d say, “Clifton, how can you be so happy? I mean, they stole so many years from you. I just don’t understand why. Don’t you have hate in your heart?” And I’d say, “Kristy”—I’d call you Kristy, not Ms. Tucker because we’d be good friends by then—“Kristy, I lost everything: my kids, my wife, my home, but every morning when the sun peeks through my curtains or when I see the stars shine down on me at night, I know that I have a fresh start. I’ve got my freedom and that is a beautiful thing. I realize it’s a pipe dream for me but I want that for you. You should want it too.

  Kristy finished the letter and read it again, wanting Clifton’s hop
es for the future to be true. But it was impossible to imagine how either of them could escape their situations.

  She dozed off, more than a little drunk. Her sleep was fitful, full of images of a figure slumped over in a garage, the fumes pouring in. In her dreams, Kristy could hear a car running, but she couldn’t get the garage door open. When she finally busted down the door, she saw Ryan’s body slumped in the front seat. Her baby boy was gone. She’d done all of this for Ryan and now she’d failed him.

  Kristy jolted awake at nine, that terrible nightmare still clouding her thoughts. Head pounding, mouth dry, the back of her skull aching, her stomach uneasy from the grease and cheese, she downed a terrible cup of hotel coffee and showered. No amount of hot water or caffeine could wash away the dread.

  A little after ten o’clock, Kristy met Ryan in the lobby, his hair tousled, eyes bleary and bloodshot. He’d stayed up all night playing video games and hanging at the pool, but he was still on a high from his win, happily chattering to Kristy about his evening.

  Kristy rarely had one-on-one time with Ryan anymore and she soaked it up. She would not allow herself to think about the future. She would focus on the here and now. She drove to Lydia’s, a restaurant on the outskirts of Austin. A family-run business for almost fifty years, it was famous for its homemade chicken-fried steak and the best cream gravy Kristy had ever tasted. After a twenty-minute wait, Kristy and Ryan placed their orders. Ryan leaned forward.

  “Mom, I’ve got big news.”

  “Oh really, what is it?”

  “I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure, but I got the e-mail today.”

  He handed his phone over to Kristy.

  Dear Ryan Tucker,

  We received over three thousand applications for this year’s precollege programs. After careful consideration, we would love to invite you to participate in the Notre Dame Leadership Seminar. We are impressed with your academic standing as well as your dedication to your community at large. Our courses will challenge you and provide you with the opportunity to hone your leadership skills and to improve your communication techniques. We look forward to seeing you at the University of Notre Dame this summer.

  Kristy looked up from the letter. Ryan was biting his straw in excitement.

  “This is incredible,” Kristy said, trying to wrap her head around what it meant. “Can we afford this?” she asked.

  “All expenses are paid. Everything. And, Mom, I spoke to the admissions woman, who said that most students who do this program and apply to the college are accepted. I mean, it’s one of the top schools in the country and I might actually have a chance.”

  “You act so surprised. I still remember when you were five and we went to the Capitol,” Kristy began. Ryan groaned.

  “Mom, you’re not actually going to tell this story again.” But he was smiling.

  “You walked right up to one of the congressmen and you said, ‘I’m gonna run for office one day.’ I swear, the look on his face. He was shocked. He said, ‘Son, you’re gonna have to work hard if you want to get here.’ And now this is it. Everything you’ve done is finally paying off.”

  Kristy beamed. Ryan was going to get out of Texas. He was going to escape all of the bullshit and the bullies. He was going to do everything that Kristy hadn’t.

  “That’s the best news ever. God, I’m so proud of you,” she said.

  “I just … I wanted to thank you. For that trip to DC when we didn’t really have the money. For everything. I mean, I know a lot has changed now—I know I gave you a lot of shit about your job—but I see all the sacrifices you made.”

  Don’t break down, Kristy told herself. Just keep it together. You have to keep it together.

  Kristy reached for Ryan’s hand.

  “You’re worth it, kiddo.”

  The food arrived and the conversation shifted to planning Ryan’s summer travels and the Urban Debate summer camps he helped organize. Kristy wanted to stay here forever in this cozy restaurant, talking to Ryan, but before long, they were heading back to Conroe. Ryan dozed, his body curled up in the passenger’s seat, his expression one of pure contentment.

  They arrived home to find Lance on cloud nine. His hunting trip had been a rousing success and he’d prepared heaping piles of barbecued ribs and deer meat to celebrate. Pops and Lance were dining at the picnic table in the backyard, sipping on Budweisers. Lance and Pops gave Ryan a rousing standing ovation. Once they were done, Lance grabbed Ryan and pulled him into a bear hug.

  “You’re a goddamn champion, that’s what you are.”

  Ryan laughed, soaking up the praise. Lance did praise like nobody’s business.

  “We destroyed them, Lance. Just like you said we would.”

  “Because you’re a warrior and that’s what warriors do.”

  Lance turned his attention to Kristy, reaching for her. “And here’s the warrior’s mama, looking so darn pretty.” Lance pulled Kristy onto his lap as he sank down onto the bench, nuzzling her neck.

  “I missed my girl.”

  “I missed you too,” Kristy said, the words like marbles in her mouth.

  “Kristy girl, did you have a good time?” Pops asked, his breath labored, but a grin on his face.

  “It was amazing, Pops,” Ryan interjected.

  “How was your weekend?” she asked Pops. His complexion was good, his eyes sparkling. He looked like he’d just showered and was wearing clean clothes.

  “Had myself a real good time. Last night, Mac and Vera cooked me dinner and challenged me to a game of poker. I swear, that girl is a ringer. She took me to the cleaners.”

  Kristy laughed but it was unbearable, being this close to Lance, his hands gently rubbing her back. She waited a moment and then delicately extracted herself from his embrace.

  “I’m gonna wash up before I eat,” Kristy said.

  “Sounds good, darlin’. Ryan can give us the replay of the weekend’s events and share his good news.”

  Kristy left the three of them at the picnic table and went upstairs to shower, thinking about Clifton, wanting to tell him what she had uncovered. Sometimes she hated that she couldn’t just see him or call him up. She hated that he was alone in his cell, trapped just like she was. She wanted to curl up in bed but Lance was in party mode and Kristy was expected to put in an appearance.

  She joined them outside, picking at her plate of ribs and potato salad, fading into the background while they chatted happily. Later that night, Kristy lay in bed, her mind spinning, when Lance reached out for her.

  “Darlin’, where’d you go?” Lance asked. “You’ve been somewhere else ever since you got back today.” Annoyed that she had let herself get careless around Lance, she placed a hand on his chest.

  “I’m right here, Lance.” He took her hand in his.

  “I closed that deal on the outlet mall. Darlin’, my commission is gonna be huge. I’m thinking it’s time for you to quit that job. Devote more time to us and starting a family. We haven’t talked about kids, but it might be nice to have one of our own.”

  Kristy stiffened. The thought of having Lance’s child was unbearable. She couldn’t imagine being trapped with him in this house, day in and day out, Ryan heading off to school, Pops shuttled off to a nursing home, and Kristy and a baby at Lance’s mercy.

  Kristy wouldn’t let that happen. No way in hell. She demurred.

  “Sounds like a plan. We’ll discuss when I should put in my notice.”

  She returned to work the next day still reeling from Lance’s baby bombshell. Once he got an idea in his head, he didn’t let go. Kristy had to do the same. She was sitting in her office, trying to figure out her next step when Carmen knocked on the door.

  “Hey, Kristy, I think you made a mistake on the calendar. You’ve got Clifton Harris scheduled for an interview with a reporter from the Associated Press in six weeks.”

  Kristy glanced up.

  “Wait, what’s wrong with that?”

  Carmen pointed to Kristy
’s giant wall calendar, which listed all the upcoming executions. She swiveled in her chair to get a better look.

  Kristy’s heart dropped. In less than six weeks, barring any last-minute appeals, Clifton Harris was scheduled to die.

  Dear Ms. Tucker,

  I suppose this will be one of the last few letters I’ll write to you. Makes me feel like a bit of a failure since I promised to help you with your situation, but there’s not much I can do about it. Whatever happens next, you’re stronger than you realize. Trust me, I know there are times when the darkness seems too much to bear. After the sentencing, I remember every second of the drive from Bastrop to Polunsky. Two hours, and I never once took my eyes off the road. I’d been well versed in how death row worked. The guards at the county jail liked to tell me all kinds of stories about what I could expect. With my limited rec time, I would see very little daylight. God, what I’d give to see dark clouds rolling in or the rainbow that follows after a July thunderstorm. I’d be the happiest man on earth. I’m hoping heaven has plenty of wide-open spaces. Not sure how I feel about doing more interviews. Doesn’t seem like much point now. But I guess you could change my mind. I do want to see you again and I hope I get the chance to say good-bye.

  Yours truly,

  Clifton Harris

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Child Killer’s Execution Set,” boasted the front page of the Huntsville Item, accompanied by Clifton’s mug shot, a skulking image glowering up at Kristy. She had seen other photos of Clifton, dressed neatly in a starched gray button-down shirt and navy tie, his hair neatly combed, glasses softening his stoic expression. But those photos didn’t sell papers. Clifton needed to appear monstrous, otherwise it made folks uncomfortable. The image they used of him—clad in an orange jumpsuit, hair sticking straight up, eyes wide with what Kristy recognized as disbelief but the world interpreted to be madness—was designed to make you hate him and what he did. But perception was often skewed. People never looked beneath the surface. To the world a photograph of Lance would conjure up a movie idol: clean-cut, handsome. Hannah and Lisette Mendoza had seen the other Lance Dobson just like Kristy.