“Johnny thought if he told the police about the coat, it would only add to the evidence against him,” Grant says. “And he was desperately trying to prove his innocence.”
“Your father,” Johnny says.
Heat floods my veins. “What about my father?” What had Rosalie said?Sins of the fathers, sins of the daughters.
“He knew my confession was coerced, and he still allowed it.”
“He believed your confession,” I say.
“Nah. He was protecting you girls. Him and that DA.”
Katrina’s father.
I look out the window pointing in the direction of Rosalie’s house. “Or is it you who was protecting someone? How far would a brother go to protect his sister?”
“You think I’d go to that hellhole on purpose?” he says, his voice rising.
“Cool it, Rita,” Grant says.
“Don’t mess with my only family,” Johnny says.
“Ditto,” I say.
“No one is messing with anyone,” Grant says, glancing between us.
“I want to show you something,” Johnny says, standing.
He disappears down a hall and reappears holding an envelope. I turn toward Grant, but he’s studying his phone.
“What do you think, Grant?” Johnny says.
Grant looks up and nods to Johnny. “Show her,” he says. “You can trust her.”
I want to reach over and hug him for saying those four words. Grant doesn’t know that the Rita Meade who raced here only days ago is not the same one sitting here with him now. I want to say it’s the school and skull and Johnny and all of it, but really it’s something even deeper. Something at my core that’s been digging its way out for years without me noticing until now. A little girl just wanting validation. But the validation from this story isn’t going to come in the form of blue ribbons or awards; it’s going to come in the form of building trust again.
Johnny hands the envelope to me. It’s addressed to Johnny at Angola State Penitentiary. There is no return address, but the postmark is from Miami. It’s dated the same as the padded envelope sent to my father’s house. The one with the pregnancy test inside.
I look up at Johnny. “Heather.” Her name comes out as a breath, barely audible, but Johnny nods.
I pull the handwritten letter from the envelope and start reading.
Dear Johnny,
I’m so sorry. I know those words mean nothing coming from me but I needed to say them. I’m going to the police and I’m going to tell them everything. I’ve already reached out to a reporter, Rita Meade. I can’t live with this lie anymore. I can’t live with what happened to you.
The night I ran off, you saw me. Do you remember the coat I had with me?
Did you keep that coat, Johnny?
If you did, you need to find it and look in the pocket. I hid something that you need. Find it when you get out. And trust me, you are going to get out.
Heather
I read the note three times before I hand it back. She mentioned my name to Johnny. Maybe that’s why he’s okay talking to me.
“Did you share this letter with the police before you were released?”
He nods. “I showed it to my attorney. He made a copy.”
