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  He reached down and gently kissed Kristy on the lips.

  “You’re a good woman, Kristy Tucker, and you deserve good things.”

  Lance ambled down the driveway toward his pickup. Kristy watched him go, a heavy pit in her stomach. Frozen, paralyzed by uncertainty, she stood in the driveway as Lance fished in his pocket for his keys. Kristy had spent so many years focused on Ryan and Pops, focused on doing the best she could at a job she hated. She was always so goddamn worried. But now that worry was going to ruin something before it even started. She wouldn’t see him sitting in her kitchen, making terrible knock-knock jokes or arm-wrestling Ryan or trading barbs with Pops about the best offensive lineman in the NFL. But that was her choice. She was only stuck if she decided she was.

  “Wait! Lance! Wait!”

  Startled, Lance looked up. Barefoot, Kristy raced across the driveway and ran toward him, throwing herself into his arms. She kissed him again, but this time she didn’t pull away. She wasn’t going to let him go. It was Lance who broke their kiss, his eyes twinkling.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “What for?” Lance asked, wiping away the tears that were streaming down Kristy’s face.

  “Because I almost let you go.”

  Lance grinned, a smile that nearly sent her to her knees.

  “Good thing for both of us that you came to your senses,” Lance said, picking Kristy up and kissing her until she was breathless. As Lance held Kristy in his arms, that familiar sense of impending doom bubbled up in her, and then, just like that, it was gone.

  EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER

  Dear Ms. Tucker,

  Hope you had a great holiday and married life is treating you well. I’ve been in a bit of a funk. I’m sure you know that my children died a few weeks before Thanksgiving so this is an especially hard time for me. On top of that, we just received the court ruling and they’ve denied my most recent appeal. According to the courts, the judge’s impropriety in my case, including his vocal statements against African Americans, did not merit further review. So it looks as if I will finally be receiving my new execution date. I could be angry about this but I’m grateful I had these past eighteen months to keep fighting the good fight. So let’s continue on with the interviews we have scheduled. Until they put that needle in my arm, I won’t ever give up.

  Warm regards,

  Clifton Harris

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Kristy sat at her kitchen table, staring down at her laptop, researching judo techniques. She’d become obsessed with learning the names that went along with the movements. Kansetsu-waza was a joint-locking technique. Osaekomi-waza was a pinning technique. There were choking techniques as well. She’d memorized these moves and the names, remembering when she’d joked with Lance that judo was a gentler form of martial arts. That wasn’t true. Not even close.

  Kristy’s laptop dinged, signaling a new message. She clicked over to her e-mail and saw in the subject line: Featured Wedding Photo.

  Kristy,

  I’m so excited to share the news that your photo has been selected as one of the Houston Chronicle’s top wedding photos of the year. Hope you and Lance are still blissfully happy. Thanks again for letting me be part of your special day! Xoxo Rebecca

  Kristy stared at the photo in question, her favorite out of hundreds. She’d even framed a copy and hung it in the bedroom, wanting that photo to be the first thing she saw each morning. It was taken at the end of their wedding night, just Kristy and Lance alone on the dance floor, Kristy’s simple and elegant ivory gown hugging her curves, her dark wavy hair cascading around her face. Lance had taken off his suit jacket and loosened his tie, his hands draped around Kristy’s waist. Her head rested on his shoulder, a shared look of bliss on their faces. A digital image that fairy tales were made of. That’s what she’d believed. That’s what she wanted to believe.

  “Reliving the magic?” Lance asked, and Kristy nearly jumped out of her seat, hoping Lance didn’t notice the judo web page link and question her about it. He leaned down, wrapping his arms around her, as he studied the photos, gently kissing Kristy’s neck, his hand reaching into her robe and caressing her breast. Less than a year ago, Lance’s chiseled body had inspired awe and desire. But now, she feared his strength and power, wondering what kind of damage he might inflict if she spoke too loudly, if dinner wasn’t ready on time, if her clothing was just a bit too tight for his liking. He was a well-trained fighter. With a well-timed flick of the wrist or a chokehold, he could paralyze Kristy or even worse. She spent a great deal of time trying to hide how afraid she was. This morning, she plastered on her best smile.

  “Our wedding photo is going to be in the Chronicle,” Kristy said. Lance pulled away, his smile disappearing, replaced by a scowl, his grip tightening ever so slightly around her neck.

  “Were you planning on asking me first?” Lance asked.

  “Yeah, I just got the e-mail. Of course I was going to ask you. It’s not a done deal. We’d have to sign a waiver.”

  “I don’t want everyone knowing my business. Tell her thanks but no thanks. Our wedding day was for us and our family. Understood?”

  Kristy nodded, quickly shooting the photographer a courteous reply declining the opportunity and thanking her yet again for capturing such a perfect day. She wasn’t lying when she said it was perfect. A year and a half ago, it appeared that Kristy had met a man not only worthy of being part of her family, but a man she loved in every way. She’d been convinced that Ryan would freak when she told him that she and Lance wanted to start dating.

  “Ryan loves me. It’s not gonna be an issue,” Lance said confidently. Kristy seized her opportunity to broach the subject that next morning while driving Ryan to school.

  “Lance is really nice,” she began awkwardly.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “We’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

  “Yeah. Wait, do you want me to ask him to stop coming around?”

  “No. Actually … I mean, I was just … I mean, Lance and I …”

  Ryan looked over at Kristy and sighed dramatically, in typical teenage melodramatic fashion.

  “Oh God, you like him … I mean, you like him?”

  “He likes me too,” Kristy said, her voice a bit defensive, like a lovesick schoolgirl.

  “Really?” Ryan asked. Kristy found it amusing, watching him assess her, as if he was seeing a real person for the first time and not just his mother.

  “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but we’d like to go out. See where it goes.”

  Ryan shook his head and Kristy could tell he was still trying to process this.

  “I just didn’t think you were his type.”

  “And what type is that?”

  “I don’t know. Younger.”

  “He’s ten years older than me,” she said as she smacked him on the leg. Kristy launched into her best Quasimodo impression.

  “Your mother deserves love, Ryan.”

  In spite of himself, Ryan snorted.

  “God, Mom, you are such a freak. You know once Lance figures that out he’ll hightail it outta here?”

  Kristy had considered that possibility as well. She had expected Lance to get bored by the ordinary sameness of her domestic life, but he had embraced it. Six months after they met, they agreed that it didn’t make sense for Lance to keep his condo in Huntsville. He moved into her house and settled in effortlessly. Ryan and Pops loved having him around, and Kristy couldn’t remember the last time she was this at ease. She didn’t ask a lot of questions about the future, content to take things day by day. Lance had other ideas.

  Eight months after their first meeting, Lance organized a birthday dinner in town for Kristy. She wasn’t exactly excited about turning thirty-three, but Lance insisted they celebrate. She arrived home from work to find the entire place engulfed in darkness.

  “Pops? Lance? Ryan?” Kristy called out, feeling nervous, reaching into her purse for Mace. C
all it a hazard of the job or the vandalism that occurred earlier in the year, but Kristy often feared the worst. She gasped when she entered the living room and found the entire place decked out in candles.

  Pops was sitting in his recliner, wearing his favorite denim collared shirt and a pair of slacks, face clean-shaven, with his hair slicked back. Leaning against the wall in the corner, Lance was dressed in a starched white long-sleeved shirt and gray blazer. Kristy spun around and saw Ryan in his own white button-up T-shirt, his hair neatly combed. No, wait, he’d actually gotten it cut without her having to ask.

  “What is this? Pops? Lance? What’s happening?”

  “Kristy Ann, take a breath,” Pops said. She saw a twinkle in his eye that she hadn’t seen in ages. Lance cleared his throat, wiping his hands on his jeans as he moved closer to Kristy. He stopped, inches from her, the two of them face-to-face.

  “I’ve been planning something real special. Go big or go home, right? But all that fuss and hoopla doesn’t seem right. What matters is all of us in this room. You know my family never gave two shits about me. I used to dream about what it would be like to have a family, to have people that I rely on. Meeting you and Ryan and Frank has made me excited to plan for the future, so I’m just gonna say it. Kristy Ann Tucker, will you marry me?”

  She couldn’t believe it. Lance was on one knee, holding out an emerald engagement ring. She’d fallen hard for Lance. He made her laugh, challenged her intellect, and blended into her family effortlessly, but she wasn’t expecting marriage. Things like that never happened to Kristy Tucker. They happened to women with thinner waists and less baggage. Women with shiny hair and capped teeth. Lance was still holding out the ring, a smile from ear to ear as he waited for her to speak.

  Kristy looked at her father and Ryan for approval.

  “Damn, Kristy, don’t keep the man waiting.”

  “C’mon, Mom. What’s your answer?”

  Kristy’s tears were flowing as she nodded and smiled at the same time.

  There were shouts of excitement from her father, whoops of joy from Lance and Ryan. Lance lifted Kristy off her feet and kissed her again and again.

  “I’ll always be yours, Kris. And you’ll always be mine. No matter what. I want to hear you say it. Say you’ll be my wife.”

  Overwhelmed with joy, holding on to Lance, Kristy leaned in and whispered her answer over and over again so he would know how much she wanted this.

  “Yes, I’ll be your wife. Yes. Yes. Yes.”

  Kristy’s wedding day had dawned, cool, crisp, and not a cloud in sight. The small chapel was covered in pale yellow roses. Kristy had asked Carmen to be her bridesmaid. Ryan served as Lance’s best man. Pops, dapper in a gray suit and lavender tie, proudly led Kristy down the aisle without his oxygen or his walker. They kept the guest list small. Kristy’s old boss, Jack, and his wife were there, Gus and his wife, Meg. Lance had tried to convince Kristy not to invite him, but work politics required it. There was a smattering of other work friends, Bruce and his wife, Mac and his girlfriend, Vera. On Lance’s side, he invited his business partner, Roy, and his wife, Yolanda, as well as a few coworkers from the real estate office and the guys he coached at the YMCA. As far as family, Lance didn’t have any, at least none he cared to invite. His mother had run off and his father died when he was in his thirties. “You’re my family now,” Lance said. They exchanged handwritten vows, each of them revealing their own hopes and dreams and how they would support one another. Then the preacher pronounced them man and wife, and Lance kissed Kristy passionately, tears streaming down his face as he whispered, “I’ll never let you go.” At the time, Kristy found it endearing. Now it seemed like a warning.

  They were ushered to the reception in the stretch limo, a surprise Lance had booked. When Kristy stepped inside the barn, owned by Roy, she’d gasped as she surveyed the hundreds of pink and yellow roses. Endless strands of twinkle lights and candles cast a romantic glow over the long farm tables.

  Lance and Kristy were greeted by a mariachi band, another gift from Roy. Kristy didn’t think it was possible to cry any more until Ryan stood to make his best man toast.

  “Growing up, I didn’t care about my dad. He bailed on my mom and me and I didn’t want to waste my time thinking about him. And I didn’t miss having a dad. Mom and Pops gave me plenty of love and attention … sometimes too much.” The crowd laughed and Ryan grew more confident, standing taller, so handsome in his gray pinstripe suit.

  “I didn’t know what it meant to have a father until Lance came along. He listened to my worries about school, taught me how to do a perfect leg sweep, gave me advice on how to get a girl to notice me as more than just a friend,” Ryan said, his gaze landing on Ella. “And it worked.”

  There were more chuckles. Kristy’s son was blossoming into manhood right in front of her and she couldn’t have been prouder.

  “I won’t lie—when my mom asked me if she could go out with Lance, I wasn’t crazy about the idea. I was actually kind of grossed out. But I know how hard she works and how she deserves good things in her life. So today, in front of all of our family and friends, I’d like to raise a glass to my mom and her badass new husband, Lance, and wish them a lifetime of love.”

  The crowd toasted and cheered. Lance gently wiped away Kristy’s tears. As the night wore on, the photographer captured a moment in time before everything went to hell. Now here she was, staring at this photo, their happy faces, her optimism mocking her.

  “Morning, Mama Bear. Morning, Lance,” Ryan said. “What’s shaking?”

  “Your mama is getting all sentimental,” Lance responded, and Kristy smiled on cue. That’s what Lance expected, for Kristy to follow his cues.

  “Just looking at the wedding photos.”

  “If we’re not careful, she’ll make us watch the wedding video again!” Ryan teased.

  Lance grinned. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

  Kristy hated that video now. It was a distorted reality that only captured pre-wedding Lance. Post-wedding Lance was someone different entirely.

  “You ready? I need ten minutes and I can drop you off on my way,” she said to Ryan, desperate to escape the confines of her home. The tables had turned. Her home was now a prison, her work a refuge.

  “Actually, I told Ry I’d give him a ride to school,” Lance said.

  Kristy wanted to challenge him. Hell no. This is my kid. Taking him to school is my thing. He monopolized Ryan’s time, making sure Kristy was never alone with him. She thought about arguing, but Ryan would side with Lance now and Kristy would pay the price later.

  “Sounds good, fellas. I’ll see you later.”

  “I’d say have a good day, but you’re gonna watch someone die so I guess that wouldn’t make sense,” Ryan said. He was less sensitive these days, something else he had picked up from Lance.

  Kristy stood up, knowing she had to get moving or she’d be late.

  “Kristy,” Lance called out. She froze, the low treble in his voice signaling that she’d done something wrong. Ryan didn’t seem to notice, busily texting on his phone.

  “What’s wrong, Lance?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Just wanted to give my wife a good-bye kiss.”

  He smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Kristy hurried over and Lance wrapped his arms around her. Kristy winced, his hands digging into her bruised rib. Lance didn’t seem to notice. Either that or he simply didn’t care. Kristy didn’t know what was worse.

  “Be safe out there, babe, and I’ll see you tonight.”

  Kristy headed upstairs, glancing back at Lance and Ryan, the two of them chuckling as Lance poured them both giant bowls of cereal. Later, Kristy drove down the interstate, her mind spinning, wondering what the hell she had gotten herself into.

  The first time she saw a glimmer of Lance’s temper was a few weeks after the wedding. She’d organized a night out with Lance’s friends, Roy and Yolanda, as well as Mac and his girlfriend, Vera. Dinner in the Woodlands
, then dancing at Mickey’s, a country-and-western bar that Lance loved. After a few songs Kristy, sweaty and thirsty, whispered to Lance, “Babe, I need a break.” He’d nodded agreeably, wrapped his arms around her, and led Kristy back to the table while the others continued dancing.

  Kristy rarely smoked but she was a little tipsy and craving a cigarette. She grabbed Roy’s pack off the table and went to light one, cradling it between two fingers, when the back of Lance’s hand slammed into her mouth. The cigarette went flying, and Kristy stumbled backward. She reached for the table to steady herself. Lance stood there, shaking his head. Embarrassed, Kristy scanned the room to make sure no one was watching, as if she herself had somehow done something wrong.

  “Jesus Christ, Lance. What the hell was that?” Kristy asked, keeping her voice low.

  “Darlin’, you know how I feel about smoking. Those things practically killed your father. No wife of mine is going to poison herself with that crap.” He pulled her close, gently kissing her mouth.

  Kristy thought about making a scene, but the others were returning to the table. Lance started cracking jokes, and Roy ordered a round of Cuervo shots, and the night continued on. Wasn’t it easier to just let it go? Lance clearly hadn’t meant to hurt her. He was looking out for her. As the days passed, still a blissful newlywed, Kristy convinced herself that Lance’s outburst was an isolated incident. It was simpler to tuck it away in the deep recesses of her mind.

  It’s where she often stored things she didn’t want to think about, all the unpleasant moments in her life. This was the place in the deepest part of her mind where she stored all the executions she had witnessed over the years. Some of the condemned men walked to the death chamber with dignity, stoic, their heads held high with pride. But most didn’t. Most men hollered and screamed and begged for their lives, cursed God and the government and the justice system and everyone else they could think of. They dragged their feet and some even had to be carried, limp, heavy, wet with sweat and urine. Eventually they lost the will to fight, but before that moment they created heartbreaking spectacles impossible to forget.