“How old are you, Corinne?”
“Seven.”
“You love your brother?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m gonna be real sad when he goes off to college.”
“I bet you are. What’s special about your brother?”
“He’s fast. And…when he packs my lunch, he always leaves me notes. I’m gonna miss that.”
“What kind of notes?”
“Nice stuff.” Corinne pauses. “Like if he knows I’m worried about something or trying to be funny. Like, ‘Smile. I’m watching you, Bighead.’ ”
Susan laughs awkwardly.
“It’s okay if he says Bighead.” Corinne shoots me a warning. “Only he can say it, though.”
I chuckle, because she’s told the world her nickname from Jamal, and now he’ll have to triple his notes to her.
“Or on Mondays when I’m real sad, he always leaves me a note like, ‘I love you more than the sun.’ I keep all those.”
Her voice has a heaviness to it no seven-year-old’s should have. The thing that goes unsaid in our family. That missing piece of us that keeps us down because we only see Daddy an hour on Saturday or Monday.
“Tracy.” Susan tries to stay upbeat. “You’re a year behind Jamal. Are you also an athlete? College plans?”
“I used to do track.” I pause, looking at Corinne, and then go for it. “I’m a school journalist and organize Know Your Rights workshops in the community.”
Mama digs her finger into my side. I have to grind my jaws together to keep a smile.
Susan’s face is expressionless before she turns to Mama.
“Mrs. Beaumont, what do you think about your son?”
“I’m so proud of Jamal. Anyone would be lucky to have him. He’s respectful. Dedicated. Charming. There’s no one like him.”
“I’ve definitely picked that up.” Susan rests her hand on her chin again. “Bet your husband is real proud, too.”
“He is.” Mama gives a tight smile.
Three minutes left on the show clock. My chest floods like I’m being filled by water. Time’s almost up. Susan has opened the door to talk about Daddy. I know that what hurts Jamal will hurt Mama. But we all want Daddy home. I can’t let this opportunity pass us by. I speak before Susan asks Mama another question.
“College seems so distant because I’ve been focused on helping my father’s appeal.”
Mama parts her lips. A small gasp escapes.
Jamal flinches, and it’s like a wave has come crashing down over the entire interview.
“Jamal.” Susan turns to my brother. “Is this what influenced your decision to stay close to home?”
Jamal’s expression goes blank.
Susan keeps going when Jamal doesn’t answer. “Because your father is in Polunsky Prison.”
I watch him. Hope this pushes him to speak up on Daddy’s innocence. But he’s staring past the camera like he wants this to be over.
“Not too long a drive from Baylor to see him or your family.” Susan uses her hands like there’s an actual map.
Jamal stays composed. “I couldn’t find a reason in the world to go somewhere else. I wouldn’t want to miss any time with Pops, Moms, Corinne.” Jamal gives me a once-over. “My dear sister Tracy.”
Shame runs through my veins when Jamal singles me out.
“I can imagine,” Susan says. “You don’t get that time back. Every week counts.”
She’s wrong; every second counts.
“Now, your father, how long has he been sitting on death row?”
Sitting? Why do people say sitting? Like he’s waiting patiently in line with a number in his hand.
“Yes. Ma’am. He’s…umm.” Jamal shoots a look at Mama. He’s starting to flounder.
The crew is buzzing, scrambling at the breach of contract.
“He’s been, umm…on death row nearly seven years since the conviction,” Jamal says.
Inside I scream out in joy that he doesn’t skirt the issue.
“Must be painful.”
“A lot of pain felt from him missing in our lives.” Jamal pauses when his gaze is caught on Mama. “I’m sure there’s a lot of hurt, of course, from the families who lost the Davidsons that night.”
Daddy’s innocent. Why did he say it like that?
“But I take all that and train. I run. I care for my family. I work. I live my life freely because my dad can’t. I don’t need to be at a big track school. Not when the thing that matters is putting in work to help take care of my family. That’s something I can control. No one can beat me.” Jamal gives a shy smile. Slows down his rapid pace of talking. “In my head, I mean. Everyone has to lose sometime. But in my head, I can’t lose. Because I’m growing with each race.”
“Your dedication’s a rare trait, Jamal.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I don’t let things get me down. That’s why I’m so glad you highlighted me, and we can focus on my accomplishments.” Jamal smiles, unaffected by her prodding questions. I almost believe him.
“Must be hard, though.” She puts her delicate hand on her chin again. “Your father’s death sentence, having to start over from New Orleans, and then…the challenges in Texas.”
“Texas is home now. I plan to keep it that way.” Jamal keeps his fake grin.
It aches to watch Jamal hold his composure. He’s avoiding the topic as best he can. Mama’s scowl says she’ll slam it shut if Susan tries her.
“How long does your father have on death row?” Susan’s voice goes low.
“Two hundred and sixty-seven days.” I say it because knowing how long Daddy has left is the air I breathe. Time to live. To appeal. To turn back time.
Mama whips her head at me. The camera follows.
“Two hundred and sixty-seven days,” Jamal repeats. “That’s why we want to keep our family together and focus on the good.”
“Yes.” Susan touches Jamal’s shoulder this time. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be having your father in prison. Convicted of a double murder. Unimaginable.”
“Our father is innocent,” I say. “He’s been trying to appeal. But we don’t have the financial resources to prove his innocence.”