They instead would be twenty-eight years old, probably very well educated and married with perhaps a baby or two for Ruth and Marvin to play with. She doesn’t care who the bomb was intended for, Adam, only that it was placed there and it exploded. Her babies are dead. That’s all that matters.”
Lee stepped backward and sat in her rocker. She rattled her ice again and took a drink. “Don’t get mewrong, Adam. I’m opposed to the death penalty. I’m probably the only fifty-year-old white woman in the country whose father is on death row. It’s barbaric, immoral, discriminatory, cruel, uncivilized—I subscribe to all the above. But don’t forget the victims, okay. They have the right to want retribution. They’ve earned it.”
“Does Ruth Kramer want retribution?”
“By all accounts, yes. She doesn’t say much to the press anymore, but she’s active with victims groups. Years ago she was quoted as saying she would be in the witness room when Sam Cayhall was executed.”
“Not exactly a forgiving spirit.”
“I don’t recall my father asking for forgiveness.”
Adam turned and sat on the ledge with his back to the river. He glanced at the buildings downtown, then studied his feet. Lee took another long drink.
“Well, Aunt Lee, what are we going to do?”
“Please drop the Aunt.”
“Okay, Lee. I’m here. I’m not leaving. I’ll visit Sam tomorrow, and when I leave I intend to be his lawyer.”
“Do you intend to keep it quiet?”
“The fact that I’m really a Cayhall? I don’t plan to tell anyone, but I’ll be surprised if it’s a secret much longer. When it comes to death row inmates, Sam’s a famous one. The press will start some serious digging pretty soon.”
Lee folded her feet under her and stared at the river. “Will it harm you?” she asked softly.
“Of course not. I’m a lawyer. Lawyers defend child molesters and assassins and drug dealers and rapists and terrorists. We are not popular people. How can I be harmed by the fact that he’s my grandfather?”
“Your firm knows?”
“I told them yesterday. They were not exactly delighted, but they came around. I hid it from them, actually,when they hired me, and I was wrong to do so. But I think things are okay.”
“What if he says no?”
“Then we’ll be safe, won’t we? No one will ever know, and you’ll be protected. I’ll go back to Chicago and wait for CNN to cover the carnival of the execution. And I’m sure I’ll drive down one cool day in the fall and put some flowers on his grave, probably look at the tombstone and ask myself again why he did it and how he became such a lowlife and why was I born into such a wretched family, you know, the questions we’ve been asking for many years. I’ll invite you to come with me. It’ll be sort of a little family reunion, you know, just us Cayhalls slithering through the cemetery with a cheap bouquet of flowers and thick sunglasses so no one will discover us.”
“Stop it,” she said, and Adam saw the tears. They were flowing and were almost to her chin when she wiped them with her fingers.
“I’m sorry,” he said, then turned to watch another barge inch north through the shadows of the river. “I’m sorry, Lee.”
Eight
S o after twenty-three years, he was finally returning to the state of his birth. He didn’t particularly feel welcome, and though he wasn’t particularly afraid of anything he drove a cautious fifty-five and refused to pass anyone. The road narrowed and sunk onto the flat plain of the Mississippi Delta, and for a mile Adam watched as a levee snaked its way to the right and finally disappeared. He eased through the hamlet of Walls, the first town of any size along 61, and followed the traffic south.
Through his considerable research, he knew that this highway had for decades served as the principal conduit for hundreds of thousands of poor Delta blacks journeying north to Memphis and St. Louis and Chicago and
Lee stepped backward and sat in her rocker. She rattled her ice again and took a drink. “Don’t get mewrong, Adam. I’m opposed to the death penalty. I’m probably the only fifty-year-old white woman in the country whose father is on death row. It’s barbaric, immoral, discriminatory, cruel, uncivilized—I subscribe to all the above. But don’t forget the victims, okay. They have the right to want retribution. They’ve earned it.”
“Does Ruth Kramer want retribution?”
“By all accounts, yes. She doesn’t say much to the press anymore, but she’s active with victims groups. Years ago she was quoted as saying she would be in the witness room when Sam Cayhall was executed.”
“Not exactly a forgiving spirit.”
“I don’t recall my father asking for forgiveness.”
Adam turned and sat on the ledge with his back to the river. He glanced at the buildings downtown, then studied his feet. Lee took another long drink.
“Well, Aunt Lee, what are we going to do?”
“Please drop the Aunt.”
“Okay, Lee. I’m here. I’m not leaving. I’ll visit Sam tomorrow, and when I leave I intend to be his lawyer.”
“Do you intend to keep it quiet?”
“The fact that I’m really a Cayhall? I don’t plan to tell anyone, but I’ll be surprised if it’s a secret much longer. When it comes to death row inmates, Sam’s a famous one. The press will start some serious digging pretty soon.”
Lee folded her feet under her and stared at the river. “Will it harm you?” she asked softly.
“Of course not. I’m a lawyer. Lawyers defend child molesters and assassins and drug dealers and rapists and terrorists. We are not popular people. How can I be harmed by the fact that he’s my grandfather?”
“Your firm knows?”
“I told them yesterday. They were not exactly delighted, but they came around. I hid it from them, actually,when they hired me, and I was wrong to do so. But I think things are okay.”
“What if he says no?”
“Then we’ll be safe, won’t we? No one will ever know, and you’ll be protected. I’ll go back to Chicago and wait for CNN to cover the carnival of the execution. And I’m sure I’ll drive down one cool day in the fall and put some flowers on his grave, probably look at the tombstone and ask myself again why he did it and how he became such a lowlife and why was I born into such a wretched family, you know, the questions we’ve been asking for many years. I’ll invite you to come with me. It’ll be sort of a little family reunion, you know, just us Cayhalls slithering through the cemetery with a cheap bouquet of flowers and thick sunglasses so no one will discover us.”
“Stop it,” she said, and Adam saw the tears. They were flowing and were almost to her chin when she wiped them with her fingers.
“I’m sorry,” he said, then turned to watch another barge inch north through the shadows of the river. “I’m sorry, Lee.”
Eight
S o after twenty-three years, he was finally returning to the state of his birth. He didn’t particularly feel welcome, and though he wasn’t particularly afraid of anything he drove a cautious fifty-five and refused to pass anyone. The road narrowed and sunk onto the flat plain of the Mississippi Delta, and for a mile Adam watched as a levee snaked its way to the right and finally disappeared. He eased through the hamlet of Walls, the first town of any size along 61, and followed the traffic south.
Through his considerable research, he knew that this highway had for decades served as the principal conduit for hundreds of thousands of poor Delta blacks journeying north to Memphis and St. Louis and Chicago and
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