Page 115 of The Summer that Changed Everything
He’d convinced her that would be too overwhelming and impractical, and she’d need to get their consent or try to come up with a legal way to obtain their DNA without it. He told her that she could go to months and months of work, maybe years—and so could he—with nothing to show for it in the end.
After that, she’d begged him to approach the Innocence Project even without a DNA match for the blood that’d been found in the sink, said they might have other ideas about how to prove it wasn’t her father. And he told her there was no way they’d take on a case like her father’s when there were so many othercases, cases with much better chances of a favorable resolution, waiting in their queue.
That was when she began to realize that he seemed to be less committed than he once was. He didn’t tell her Ford had stopped paying him, but that had to be the reason. It was the only thing that explained his polite resistance to everything she suggested and the fact that he seemed to have stopped working.
Ford was abandoning her again, even in this regard, she realized, despite having promised her he wouldn’t.
I love you. I will always love you.
She’d clung to those words since he’d left, held them close to her heart to help carry her through. But he didn’t know what love was. She was so angry at herself for believing him, for trusting him again. How many times did a person have to let her down?
When Friedman stopped accepting her calls the following week, she knew he wasn’t going to help anymore. She left a voice mail telling him she’d start paying him herself if he’d recommit to the case. But he never returned that message, either. So she wrote letters to the commonwealth attorney who’d prosecuted her father, complaining that she couldn’t get Kevin Claxton to listen to her but she had “compelling evidence” to suggest it wasn’t her father who’d killed the Matteos. She also wrote the Innocence Project directly and any organization she could determine did similar work, hoping to find someone, anyone, who might help her.
The following weekend she was still waiting to see if her efforts would generate any response when she went back to visit her father. She told him what she’d realized about the nail clippers and apologized. She regretted that she’d never thought of them before. She also told him how hard she was trying to get the attention of the right people, someone who could assist her in finding a match for that mystery DNA. She was so frustrated and upset, and felt so helpless by the time their meeting came to an end. But when he stood, he pressed his palm to the glassas if he wished he could touch her and smiled. “Nothing could be better than having you back in my life. If that’s all I get, it’s enough,” he said before they led him away.
Lucy was wondering if she could convince Friedman to send her a copy of her father’s police file. He hadn’t even come to town, had done no in-person interviews. Maybe there were people who remembered something they hadn’t said back then that he’d missed. She could interview them herself, she was thinking, when she got a text.
It was Ford, but she didn’t dare read what he’d sent. Not only was she driving, she was afraid of how badly it would upset her. She didn’t want to let him hurt her again, had to start protecting herself. Was he telling her he couldn’t continue paying Friedman? That his wife wouldn’t allow it?
She could see why that would put him in a bad situation, and she knew, if that was the case, she was wrong to hold it against him. It had never been his responsibility in the first place. It was just that she missed his support, and she wanted to believe he loved her enough to stand by what he’d said this time around.
It was an hour later when she pulled into Richmond and decided to have dinner at Abilene’s Southern Cuisine. Abilene’s was more expensive than the restaurants she generally frequented, unless she’d just had a big poker win and decided to splurge, but she wanted someplace quiet and relaxing to read and digest whatever Ford had sent. She figured it must be important. This was the only time he’d broken his own rule about not continuing to communicate with her.
She settled into a booth in the far corner and ordered a glass of wine before finally pulling her phone out of her purse and reading his message. Then she felt her jaw drop.
I wanted you to know before it hit the papers. Kevin Claxton was arrested for the murder ofTony and Lucinda Matteo this morning.
She blinked and read what he’d sent again.
I don’t understand,she wrote back.
When the paper comes out tomorrow, you will. I’ve hired an attorney to do what he can for my brother—I’m hoping if he provides testimony against Kevin, the CA will go easy on him—and to see that your father is released as soon as possible.
She knew he was trying to keep their contact to a minimum. Considering how they felt about each other, it was the only way he could be true to Christina. But she couldn’t help writing back:
You can’t tell me anything else? What does your brother have to do with it?
The DNA in that sink was Houston’s. He didn’t kill anyone, but he was there that night. I’m sorry I couldn’t share this with you sooner. I’ve been working through quite a few things on this end.
Friedmanknew, she realized. That was why he’d backed away from her. He’d known for a couple of weeks. Since Ford was the one paying him, he’d told Ford and then pulled away from her because he didn’t know how Ford would react to the news—or even what he might do with it.
The waitress approached. “Are you ready to order?” she asked with a solicitous smile.
“I’m afraid I’m going to need a few more minutes,” Lucy replied. She hadn’t even picked up the menu. She couldn’t think about anything except what she’d just learned, was still absorbing what it would all mean. After fifteen years in prison as a wrongfully accused man, her father would be released. He’d have the chance to build a better life, and she’d be part of it. He’d have to come live with her in Las Vegas until he could figure out apath forward, she decided, but she didn’t mind. He was her only family, and after so many years, she had him back.
The waitress returned a few minutes later, and she ordered macadamia-encrusted Chilean sea bass. But she didn’t go home after she’d eaten. She drove right back to Pound so she could see her father again first thing in the morning and give him the good news.
It turned out that getting someone out of prison was neither easy nor immediate. Three weeks passed before Lucy received word that she could pick up her father, and it would’ve been much longer had Ford not hired an attorney to wade through the paperwork.
But it happened. That in itself was a miracle, something she would never have believed was possible even a few months ago. As she stood next to her truck in the parking lot of Red Onion State Prison and saw her father walking toward her, she wondered if he was as overwhelmed as she was—with gratitude, relief, hope and fear of the future, since everything had changed so radically. She was no longer a young woman living with him. He was no longer in charge. She was an adult with a place of her own and would be the one looking after him, for a while at least. The state would compensate him for his wrongful imprisonment—at fifty-five thousand dollars a year—which would help until he could get a job and get out on his own. But still, they both had a lot of adjustments to make.
Whatever the future held, they’d work through it, she promised herself.
She’d offered to leave North Hampton Beach and take him back to Vegas so he wouldn’t have to return to the community where everything had gone so wrong. She’d been afraid the memories would be too difficult for him. But he’d said he wanted to see it again, to use the cottage while they had it toenjoy the sea. And when he’d put it like that, she could understand why. Vegas had its good points, but there was nothing quite as cathartic as watching the sun rise over the ocean. She thought it might help him heal and recover and slowly get back to the business of living a regular life. It would also give them some time to get to know each other again before she was back at work and among her regular friends. Fortunately, Dahlia had been happy to extend the lease.
“How do you feel?” she asked when he reached her.
He squinted as he looked up at the clear blue sky. Then he rubbed his hands over his face. “I feel like I’ve been granted a second chance.” His chest lifted as he drew a deep breath. “I can promise you this...”
